Long Sirens Poems
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I must admit I do enjoy watching the country unravel at times
That's what spices up a mundane life
makes us appreciate calmer times.
How I do enjoy watching the uncoiling mayhem
Martin Luther Kings and Drama queens
trying to ignite a darker form of change
(passive resistance and civil disobedience be damned).
How I do enjoy watching the uncoiling mayhem,
a combat sport at its very finest.
A twitchy thin blue battle line versus
a pulsing cluster of malcontents...
A mixologist's dream:
tumblers of tear gas
Molotov on the rocks
pockets of flaming shots -
Goblets of salt-rimmed shattering glass -
whirling cherry bombs and baton.
Wrestling matches-naval shots and Bloody Mary lips.
The Blue Man Group atop Battle horses
sirens and flares inter-coursing...
Wish I had the balls to join in the fun.
But I do the next best thing,
steer my recliner straight into the fracas.
In the gritty alleys of city schemes,
Life's grumble rides on subway beams.
Rhythms clink in the rusty car,
Street-wise notes play on sidewalk tar.
Concrete cracks hum a tired tune,
City pigeons coo under a polluted moon.
Taxi horns blare, a cacophony's cheer,
Sirens wail, the soundtrack of fear.
Life is a song, a honky-tonk brawl,
Cement jungles, a chaotic sprawl.
Urban beats pound in rusty shoes,
Overtures conducted by construction crews.
Life is a song, a discordant rhyme,
Concrete canyons in the urban grime.
A traffic jam's crescendo, a city's drone,
Melody mangled in a monochrome tone.
(Bridge)
Subway rats squeak in the sewer's groove,
Graffiti tags on the alley's cove.
Metro tunnels hum, commuters blend,
In this manmade scape, no celestial trend
Even as elastic-plasticene toys we bend
and we bend and we bend and we bend.
Street vendors shout in a market square,
City lights flicker in a neon affair.
Concrete dreams crumble, a harsh street art,
As the cityscape plays its coldhearted part.
Life is a song, a jumbled beat,
Wise guy rhythms in a crowded street.
In the urban score, we play our strife,
Notes of survival in the concrete life.
The final act, a city's weary kiss,
An asphalt encore, a gritty bliss.
Life's song, a graffiti-scrawled word,
In the noisy streets, an echoing absurd.
Asylum from Venezuela’s Instability, Had No Criminal Record
I fled a Country made of Storm—
Where Bread became a Prayer—
And Nights were stitched with Sirens’ Thread
That only Fear could wear—
My Name was clean as Morning’s Hand
When it unties the Dew—
No Shadow followed at my Heel
No Crime my Breath once knew—
The Streets forgot their Gentle ways
The Law forgot my Face—
And Hunger learned to speak in Guns
Where Children asked for Grace—
So I escaped the Trembling Door
Where Hope was priced in Gold—
And crossed the Map with nothing but
A Heart that would not fold—
O Liberty—if Thou be real—
Then open wide Thy Gate—
For Innocence is Homeless now
And knocks—before too late.
where to Hide,
Where to hide?
In a bird cage,
Behind a curtain
In a silk bag,
Under an oak table,
Where to hide?
In a hollow path,
On a white boat,
In Nebraska
Or the bed of a mango,
Where to hide?
In a monkey skin,
There are many ideas
On a red star,
Sleeping all night?
Where to hide?
In the eyes of a friend,
In a barn fire,
In the straw of a crib
Behind pretty santons?
Where to hide?
The wine binds us,
Under the wooden posts,
In the mists of old
In icy winters,
Where to hide?
In a reread poem,
In the scent of a rose,
In the closet of the past
Under a zebra skin,
Where to hide?
Under the sirens of New York,
Under the Congo forest,
In the desert of Mojave,
In the blazing sky,
Where to hide?
In a Greek village,
In a blackened river,
On the psychiatrics couch?
In a children’s book,
Unfortunately, no one has an answer.
Copyright © yann rolland | Year Posted 2023
Found
I forgot where you were.
Where can I find you?
In these displaced memories,
Has now become a silent black
pale fading while being
observed in the middle,
of this hibernation travail.
Here, the distance has caused:
a suffocation, views upon views,
On the choices we made, waiting,
For the sunrise.
Distant sirens, blurring, just outside
My window. Reminding me of our
times together, that everything will
be okay. Sounds like a broken record.
Stuck on replay; I’m not the man,
I used to be. Setting here in my
living room, blues, peering out of
The windows are a balancing act.
Longing for you, where can I find
you? Trying to find you.
We’re always returning,
Too sweet an interruption.
No matter what, I’ve loosened up.
In the right place, at the right time.
What’s mine is yours here to stay.
Stay with me, in time we will see.
When the party’s over.
Now that I’ve found you.
(read like bob dylan talk-sings)
back of the property there's a rattle of crows...
could be that wolf that was walking down the road...
this morning...look'n quite pleased with itself...
like it just ate...big smile and a trot that'd stop any car
and make ye stare...at natures spectacle look'n back at you
in yer machine...float'n down a gravel road...and wolf's thinkin...
man's fly'n but he can't catch me i've seen these things tangled up in trees...
along the road that is...lights flash'n sirens blast'n people die'n...freeze
or thaw...nature deals with interlopers...across her wilds...and territories..
stan sand
Quiet Please
I was born and grew up on the relatively quiet side of the planet. Nevertheless, there was a train line right through the heart of town.
And there were also cotton gins, tractors, and lots of farm machinery.
Obviously, we were not exactly 'noise free'; but basically, the noise I heard most were an occasional barking dog, crickets, bull frogs, and rooster crows.
After high school, I relocated to a very large northern city by a great lake. Suddenly, all my familiar noises of crickets, frogs, and roosters were gone.
Without warning, the sounds of combines and crop dusting planes disappeared They were replaced by commuter buses, automobile horns, sirens, and garbage trucks.
In my late 20's, I moved again to a large western city by the Bay and the Pacific. There, for 30 days, my family and I resided in a motel embraced by a street car rail line. Also there, we were annoyed by rap and rock from loud radios, and more sirens. But also there, we slept sweetly by the ocean waves and fog horns; gentler noises.
03082017 PS Contest, The Noises, Shadow Hamilton
Deep truths, intertwined like the roots of an ancient tree,
flow through me, through you,
The mirror of the universe shatters into a thousand shards,
each reflecting a fragment of essence,
And the opposite hides within itself the dark light of knowledge;
in the endless night,
darkness becomes clear,
and light loses its contours,
An endless journey through the corridors of the mind,
where each thought is a labyrinth,
and each labyrinth a universe,
Deep truths, like falling stars,
crash into the ocean of my consciousness,
With them come the shadows,
accompanied by old songs of forgotten sirens,
Their voice is the echo of silence,
and their silence is a cry of longing,
An endless paradox,
in which love is hate and hate is love,
I lose myself in these murky waters,
where fish swim backwards,
and waves dance to the rhythm of a forgotten time,
A time where each second is an eternity,
and each eternity a moment of awakening,
Deep truths,
like autumn leaves falling,
carried by the wind of melancholy,
They settle on the cold earth,
where the seeds of our dreams lie dormant,
In an endless rest,
until the eternal spring awakens them,
A rebirth from its own ashes,
like the Phoenix rising from the flames of oblivion,
Deep truths,
in which even the opposite contains a profound truth,
A dance of duality,
a waltz of the world we live in,
A world where we are prisoners and free,
at the same time,
in an eternal search for meaning,
Deep truths, like a never-ending story,
written on the parchment of the heart,
with the ink of our soul,
In a book that we will read,
every time we close our eyes,
and dream...
While whispers shush on sheltered shores, as soon the cockcrow quakes,
the seas descry a skittish sky, sense summer zephyrs wake –
roused passions neath the sunrise pulse, the whitecaps throb and ache.
Along the crests crawl shallow shades the soaring sun effaces
and rains in streams enhance the dreams that fantasy embraces
while ocean sprays of yesterdays reveal forsaken faces.
The midday sun has slowed its run, a shrinking puddle steams,
between the knells of shattered shells drift soaring seagulls’ screams –
the beauty wends but never ends, or so it surely seems.
At dusk a ruddy disk descends, the skyline's furnace burns
and neath the swells where Neptune dwells, an undercurrent churns –
a seahorse hides and seaweed bides until the tempest turns.
While twilight hosts the winds with ghosts of barbed electric spangles,
a mermaid braves the crashing waves adorned with starfish bangles –
her spirit yearns in twists and turns entwined in rockweed tangles.
As seven stranded seamen scan the dimple-dappled moon,
a brace of surly Sirens serenade a lonely loon –
the breakers pound and sometimes sound a melancholy tune.
Soon gales ignite the briny night and rip the skies askew
with zigzag teeth flashed deep beneath a blazing bolt tattoo –
storms, spent, subside in ebbing tides, then all begins anew.
Looking out my high-rise window
I can see shy Beauty
of civilly responsible
bird sheltering trees
Five of these
tunneling through man-made holes
in monotonously grey cement
step aside walks.
Lonely in my city window
I can see the desecrating drama
and trauma
inflicted on Gaia's organic integrity
Toxic shelters
treacherous streets
polluting smokestacks
Oil and gas fueled
Made In America
uncivil lack of holy natural
safe shelter.
Longing in my caged window
I can hear sirens screaming
and a car alarm
warning us it feels threatened
by incorporated investments
In pain
dispassion
pollution
anthropocentric dissolution.
On less barren days
when looking out this same window
I feel freer to learn
from trauma's malformed mystery
Looking up
at Gaia's heavenly sky
less troubled by unearthly anthro-hubris
as compared to trans-continental
pocked landscapes.
I notice how I feel
when looking outside
at the boarded-up house
across the street
As compared to
the organically organized green park
behind it
filled with sacred sheltering trees
Now quieting Earth's suffering
by singing with Her
up-reaching crowns of rooted trees
dancing to a holy breeze.