Long Shuddering Poems
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Upon amber aura autumn’s passions fly
In prairies, valleys, mountains up high
As golden, yellow, crimson winds sigh
Swirling, whirling, drifting merrily by,
Flaunting red tinges of sugar maple dye
On sepia hills where tangerine leaves vie
For lovers’ sights glued to purple sky
As shuddering barren trees utter a cry,
Carpeting wet forest-lands in foliage dry
Where motifs of multi-colored hues lie
Amid hoots of owls, yelps of foxes sly
As ospreys sing and squirrels nimbly pry,
When moonlit desires sparkle in your eye
Glancing a solitary star sneaking to spy
As your cheeks turn auburn, blush, and shy
Greeting love-vibes in autumn’s goodbye.
January 7, 2020
Placed 1st: Monorhyme poetry contest
Sponsor: William Kekaula
Placed 3rd: Strand select 9 by Brian Strand
Roll back the tides of time, and tell,
Of ancient books of myths, of hell,
Of temperance, nuns succumbed to gloom,
Entombed within their living tombs,
Of monks, and saints, and gospel song,
Born gently by the breeze, along,
Of deep toned organs' peeling swells,
Of virgins, Mary, and funeral knells,
Of dim-lit cells and penance loaned,
Which can for one's darkest deeds, atone,
Look back and lift the veil of night,
And view the man, the anchorite,
There he sits, so sad, so pale,
Shuddering at superstition's tale,
Crossing his chest with meager hand,
While saints and priests, a motley band,
Array before him to urge their claim,
To heal, in the Redeemer's name,
To climb the heavenly ladder, made,
By every patron, of every grade,
From wealthy abbot, fat and fair,
To starving child, withering there,
All of them eager to usher in,
The soul, ransomed by It's sin,
And tell me hapless bigot, why,
For what, for whom did Jesus die,
If pyramids and statues of saints must rise,
To form the passage to the skies,
Would you think man can wipe away,
With what but penance, day by day,
One single sin, too dark to fade,
Beneath a bleeding Savior's shade.
Spring in her step, she’s stepped into spring;
Long silence lapsing, she’s longing to sing.
Keying the lock, she unlocks the keys,
Soothing sweet sonnets, soft melodies.
Tuning her pitch, she pitches her tune;
Heavenly choirs, splendidly crooned.
Flirting with flowers, she flits through the hours,
Blossoming, blooming, testing her powers.
Birthing, unearthing breathtaking views;
Ballooning, expanding, melodious muse.
Loamy rich overtones, lavish, lush spoils,
Overtures plenty - turned in the soil.
Pleasantly following phonic pursuits,
Soulful production of flavorful fruits.
Knowingly rises, ascended, arose;
A rose’s sweet scent awakens the nose.
Arranged like a rainfall, like bells on a roof;
Sonically soaring - aloft, not aloof.
Like slipping through sieves with clever deceiving,
Looming in view, a loom that she’s weaving.
Minding her time, she needs no reminding;
Bound for a spell, she’s simply spellbinding.
Taking a breather, she puts on the brakes.
Shuttering shuddering, tremulous shakes;
Tenacious timbre, tremendous takes,
A garden of glorious growth in her wake.
----------
for the 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 20 Poetry Contest
sponsored by Mark Toney
written 03/21/2022
Vision, a window divine, open wide to aspirations of heart,
A lens paramount, for perusing aesthetics of beauty and art;
A sight beaming imagination, on ambitions of curious soul,
A focus coherent, shaping impulses, passions studious cajole.
A medium of communication, an engaging lure of romance,
An infatuated response, a jubilant hint of enamored glance,
Blossoming in language of love, without utterance of word,
Extolling meaning amorous, that desires romantic spurred.
Perceptive of worldview, on mission to observe and learn,
A journey into the unknown, yearning curiously to discern,
Vision quests for knowledge, aiming to be literate, well read,
Vision peers into future, navigating life’s road maps ahead.
It thrills watching a baby smile, elates in celebration of life,
Saddens when mind summons anguish of grief and strife;
Dejecting violent places, thoughts kindred deeply deplore,
Preferring banks of avid shores, dreams endearing implore.
Vision captures images of life, ruminating in joys and sighs,
Rejoicing in blissful memories, or tearing-up its forlorn eyes;
Reveling in exuberant prairies, vying for flowering springs,
Or shuddering amid barren trees, bearing angst winter brings.
A Singular Presence
A singular presence among a throng of grass blade,
Green as worm blood, her marked grave devours dead air,
Like a convulsing snake slurping a rat’s tail for dessert,
The breaths of ghost winds embrace a shuddering tree,
In numbing grief with robes made of hollyhock and bearded iris,
Her still cry is frozen in the icy prisons of vague remembrance,
Then a single flash of monarch orange astounds the mute witnesses,
As it flutters like a praying monk on fire, landing on drooping leaves,
And her name, etched upon the singular sun-dried tombstone,
Sends to the tranquil estuaries a roaring river of inconsolable tears,
And her awakened soul finds a respite at last in its rush to rise.
Sisters seated by glows
Of white glistens of light
A spirit floated down
Painting the sky golden
They knew she'd never desert them
Gentle hands of ribbon
And once the ring was over
It burned through their retinas
Sober from countless memories
They let candle wax melt their epidermis
Only a picture nestled in draws
Yet flooded with reminders
The fingerprints and dusty cries
Spelt out the name of a mystery woman
Birthing two daughters, then fading
Into plains of trees which bear olives
Mists of the Adriatic Sea
Embracing her shuddering coffin
For she is but a young mother
Selling what she could for glory
To feast with lords of lustfulness
On fish from Portuguese waters
But even she was never saved
From wraths of bacterium
Tuberculosis stole her vitality
And reunited her with her offspring~
I heard a ‘dillo muttering,
a-traipsing and a-bungling.
I could not make out what he said,
a-chattering, a-sputtering.
He started rooting in the bed,
a-grubbing and a-burgling.
Then all at once, he up and fled,
a-prancing and a-scuttling.
Was glad to see him go.
Again! my pillow, rustling,
a-chattering, a-sputtering.
It filled me with a sense of dread,
a-shaking and a-shuddering.
And now he’s underneath my bed,
a-grubbing and a-burgling.
I woke, my heart a-fluttering,
a-racing and a-thundering.
I think I’ll read a book instead,
These dreams are weird, you know?
1
I say I'm a designer of systems, plans
Man's
Parts that stand together, set in place to serve
Trees and planets, too, which are unplanned by us
The observant, wise man
Tries to understand
Name the parts, pistil and stamen
Rocks, eskars
Elements.
Winter is shuddering to an end, mud roads
Cardinal pairs
Robin flocks return that will soon pair off
Buds
Soils swell
Will I live to smell it again, learn the lobelias
Understand and name the parts
It ought to be a great comfort to be so insignificant
Go among weeds, a wind
Thinking to myself
One's never alone
A dichotomous key is needed, a book of twigs and fruits
Accumulated over time and generations
Without it mine would be a blank mind
To be blank but knowledgeable
Without any machinery
In a perfect silence
That is the definition of death for which we have only to wait
But in my panic last night I thought death's inert
Grace requires consciousness
Hold on long to the senses
At least a century, maybe more
A boy hanging upside down from a fence at sunset, counting clouds
2
Now we go to our daily practice
And chosen disciplines
Sustained by the satisfactions of being good men among our fellow men
Women
Choosing to do this and not that
With the finite days allotted us that at first seemed like a lot
They're now few
But the chickadee's life to the chick and the cankerworm moth's to the
worm
Seem as long to them as ours to us
What question am I asking today
By now, past half a century, I should have chosen a discipline
And been satisfied
To be a war president one must have war
May you live in interesting times?wish or curse?
Squirrels, high in oaks,
Fiber, fat and protein in acorns
Strong runners, leapers, climbers
Should stay off the roads which some cannot avoid being where they're
born
Natural selection is occurring
Those that look for machinery in motion
Hesitate or don't as needed before crossing
Live in larger numbers than those whose modus operandi's
Guessing
The ravens eat the fur and guts of bad guesses off the roads
I impose my own small order
Having chosen mountains over plains or shore
Go to my daily discipline
And estimate the motions of the seas and stars
Measuring my satisfactions by my children's satisfactions
Torn skirt billowing behind you
like a parachute,
you fell,
fell,
for the telescoped eternity
of two seconds.
The pond turned its blind eye
to the sky,
and the shuddering gate
swung shut.
No one was talking.
Next day, the sun stirred
the larkspur into bloom again.
A rambler saw the flattened weeds,
suspected a fox,
and poked around for feathers.
They found your body later:
drowned in the darkness of the wood.
And raped,
or so the papers said.
‘A rendezvous with death’
was how one writer put it.
The police are looking for a man in black.
First published in Landfall, New Zealand
While His love replaced my scars
with beautiful buds, vibrant hopes
revealing the wonder of a song
grace poured out on the soul
who knows that His love is like a story
written on the night, across the heavens
poetry in quiet moments, reassuring
as the praise of the endless seas
eternity stills the relentless worries
broken dreams, broken wings, brokenness
silence stirring the spirit’s spontaneity
arising like twilight on creation’s leaves
while His love repels the darkness
the sordid dread, leftover grays
working to tell the moments
what it is to doubt, to fear
in life, there are moments that scream
hesitating on the stillness of a dream
fiery passions, hastening to believe
while the light falls, shuddering
While His love colors the heart in belief
there comes a tear, like dew on the leaf
rising up, stilling the brokenness, the grief
with a love that is beyond telling, so compelling
While His love is more than mysterious
it is wise and strong, and always sees
beneath the struggles, beyond the need
into the soul who sincerely believes
into the soul who can find the wonder of peace
within the love who God remembers to leave
inside the spirit who knows His grace, His peace
the one who He loves more than anything
while His love is more beautiful than a dream
He knows that I love Him, love His light, His grace
love Him so deeply that my praises surely sing
of the wonder, the beauty, the love that brings me through
the love that is more than astute
the love that restores the hope
the love that is His gift to us
the love that is alive and true
His love is the answer to my every need
His love is the promise of unending peace
His love is the light that ignites my praise
His love is the reason I feel so amazed –
By Jesus, my beautiful Savior – my heart’s answer
my heart knows a love and is so thankful to God above!