Long Sprawling Poems
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There on the forest floor,
Twixt Elm and Sycamore,
Lay he.
His eye stay close—
Yet still the swirls of colours rose.
Many a fading hue and bleeding tint,
He drown down within,
Looking up from within a dream;
He was all part of a stream.
Of vivid colours:
That were all and everything.
Every color of the rainbow:
Blues, reds, greens, and yellows
And every shade in between.
It was like nothing he had ever seen,
But for the life of him,
He could not remember where he had been,
But could still hear a distant hymn
That seem’d originate somewhere
Deep, recessed within.
Voices angelic, in chorus sung,
The verses play upon the tip of his tongue,
But no words would come.
His mouth agape,
The colours of the curious 'scape
Would seem reverberate.
Instead of words attuned to ear
These seem’d only reflect upon the eye,
And the pangs of the beauty brought
Ever the more a sigh and tear.
The colours abate any rise of fear,
But soothed instead his heart—
Brought his worries a quiet
To rest within and summarily
Depart.
And so he lay—
And no beast or trouble made claim
His flesh. Nor did nature seek reclaim,
But sprawling clouds and thunders came
To break the sleep; break his slumber,
Dispel what ever magic spell he be under.
The rain struck his face
And mixed with the tears that race
Down either side,
Tho’ not of woe did he cry,
But of the grace;
The colours and angelic strains
That wrought him lie there,
Ever in rest and an eternal peace
To wont ere be unbroken.
The rain falls and strikes
Like a liberating armada,
A tyrannical king.
His response from a place deep within…
“No.
I don’t ever want to wake again.
Leave me here to lay,
I have found a heaven;
Where to forever play,
To lay,
To love in array
All that stirs above and below.
Look and see me as all that flows;
All that is
And all that man will know,
But chooses unwisely
In his youth—
For the reign of a narrow truth
That brings him aught,
But tireless pursuits
And suffering,
Before his totems,
And selfish deems—
Refusing to accept
All is not as it seems,
And so, mires in the shallows
For his fear of the deep.”
At the start it's all light
Until night comes
As we grow we alternate
Light and dark
Dark and light
In the end it could be dark
But then again it could be light
At the end, I suppose
I won't care
Well because it's the end
I'll have no time to consider
Or to reflect on the shade of it
All you can do is embrace the end
And accept it.
It's the last great mystery of man
What happens at the end
The unanswerable question
I guess we'll never know
Do we want to know
Does the mystery not make life exciting
Would knowing your fate not ruin the journey
Enjoy the journey and
wait for the surprise at the end.
Now I don't know what this is
A poem of sorts I presume
No structure to my words
Similar to our life on Earth
A mess splashed on a page
Like people and there lives on land
Both are working towards the end
When it's all neatly wrapped up,
But I could keep on going for a good while
I'll finish this sprawl here and tell you about a girl
She's pretty, smart and funny
I want her as my world
She didn't think so highly
Of her looks brains or charm
But when I see her name
Her presence keeps me calm
Now I've started rhyming
This poems got a flow
But I've ran out of words
And I think I'll probably go.
I was out walking on a trek
through forested Adirondack hills,
looking for a good place to camp,
to drop my pack and just chill.
It was a weekend excursion,
and I’d already done eight miles,
seeking out the kind of peace
a man only finds in the wild.
Summiting a gentle knoll,
the forest dropped by the wayside,
for a moment I couldn’t register
what lay before my eyes.
There stood a sprawling logging camp,
hewn from rough, fallen trees,
and a beaten path where horses
had trod upon the scene.
I stood there in stunned silence,
how could this all exist?
How could they be profitable,
and in this modern world persist?
Maybe It was a niche thing,
some sort of nostalgic deal,
or a camp of recreationists
who wanted to make it ‘real.’
Just then one of the ‘jacks waved,
and I walked into their camp,
He smiled, saying,”You look like
a right regular deep woods tramp.
“Cookee’s serving up chow soon,
why don’t you come and stay,
we can always find a spare bunk,
you won’t get in the way.”
Now a hot meal in the deep woods
is not something to turn down,
so I went inside and feasted
On beef, beans, and bread brown.
After eating I settled on in
to the spacious, if rank, bunk room.
The men told stories of their times,
of log drives and forest gloom.
Their names were Dutch, Red, Albert,
Guillame, Flash, and Scotty,
They frowned but once, when they said
they sure missed their friend Guy.
We all played cards to pass time,
and a few smoked long pipes,
one by one we all dripped off,
and slept a quiet, peaceful night.
The next morning after flapjacks
I set back upon my path,
and waved to the fellows true
who’d recreated the past.
They were such a friendly lot
that I went back two more times,
a fine summer, I do say so,
but something itched in my mind…
That itch came to the forefront
one chilly, October morn,
I was talking with my good bud,
local historian Nick DeLorn.
Nick had a brace of posters,
pictures of old logging camps.
He was putting them up above
the town museum’s wheel-chair ramp...
CONCLUDES IN PART II
My ancestral house I left a long time ago,
glints the hues of longing in memory horizon.
One summer on the faded trail of nostalgia
I retrace the time track to reach the past.
Opening the old tarnished gate I go inside,
walk across the yard entangled by creepers,
enter the dark dusty room deserted for ages,
wooden stairs winding upstairs are still there.
I climb up to the sprawling master bedroom,
its cleaved roof leaking the streaks of sun rays.
On the defaced wall hangs a photo of my father
donning the frail rosette my mother once placed .
I open the creaking window on the backyard,
once a garden now a fragment of wasteland.
As I walk out the wind sings the song of my youth,
I see on the rusty gate the golden glow of sunset.
________________
June 27, 2022
Contest : One In Five
Sponsored by : Joseph May
The soil is dreaming in a silent technicolour,
peaceful and alone. It exhales, gently without the tragic
trampling of mankind snapping roots, without the world above
and its usual stampede. Gone. Branches noticed it
first - slowly having time to stretch, to watch clouds;
time to open their barks wide and bows sprawling and luscious,
away from smokes and steams and smogs. The sky is blue,
clear. Rivers are lapping, sighing. Birds fly in a chorus, circling
in trills below the moon’s pupil-white skin - seen at night.
Fields are resting their patchwork bodies, their tissues of
grass and pores sewn from the vapours of oak, birch and ash.
Nature’s legs are stubbly now, growing hair left wild and unshaven.
In the morning, rabbits stand tall on haunches saluting the sun.
Bestowed by God with faith according to Scriptures
I do strive to seek Him, begging for His guidance
Believing His wisdom, always perfect and right…
Divine intervention --- such I desire so well.
1985…
Toward college degree, yet away from my home
Scholarship gained along academic freedom
Yet Bible studies’ truth brought me to the Saviour…
Divine intervention --- my soul redemption set.
1991…
Alighting from the bus; then sprawling on the street
My body rested there… along that busy road
No vehicles passed by as I managed to stand…
Divine intervention --- the Lord guarded me well.
1996…
Teaching career flourished in great institution
Voluntary service versus secular job???
My choice must be resolved for full-time reaching-out…
Divine intervention --- The Master granted peace.
2003…
Ministry adjustments for orphanage venture
Government compliance and license to cope with
Another course-challenge; my heart yielded fully…
Divine intervention --- The Almighty gave joy.
2018…
Desirous for global poetry publication
My persistence fainted; but was soon ignited
Since providentially, I came across PS*…
Divine intervention --- Sovereign endowment.
2019…
My Daddy wished to leave the hospital alive
Doctor handed waiver as prayer was fervent
No to euthanasia; yes, I loved Dad so much…
Divine intervention --- Creator took him home**.
2021…
Our special child’s milestones definitely highlight
Miracles so wondrous despite pandemic blow
Diagnosed to progress toward retrogression***…
Divine intervention --- reflects God’s grace at work.
I thank the Lord indeed; His eyes**** watch over me
His hand remains outstretched to secure my footsteps
Blessing my trust in Him, blocking me from wrong moves…
Divine intervention --- His love’s affirmation.
*My Poetry Soup membership commenced on April 9, 2018.
**My Dad went to be with the Lord on January 2, 2019.
***Our special son is now 12 years old.
****2Chronicles 16:9 For the eyes of the LORD run to and fro throughout the whole earth, to shew himself strong in the behalf of them whose heart is perfect toward him…
December 22, 2021
Narrative in modified Alexandrine form
6th place, "DIVINE INTERVENTION" Poetry Writing Premiere Contest
Sponsored by Chantelle Anne Cooke; judged on on 1/4/2022.
It's a mild October evening for this Halloween,
the witches and leprechauns are plotting their vendetta:
the thunder rumbles and sends all kids sprawling...
after school, they'll sit on the sofa to imitate Jean
who has gained weight and spends hours chilling!
Grandma steps out wrapped in a shawl and calls Laura,
" Come, sweety: I have your favorite candy! "
Do you have one for me? " screams angry Susy.
Wild kids rush into the leaf-covered streets,
they carry huge bags and go on a treat spree...
hoping that someone will give them something:
a Sneaker Bar, or at least a warm greeting;
ah, they'll get mad if someone tosses carrots yelling,
" Eat these, spoiled brats instead of candies
and you won"t have any missing teeth like naughty Paul! "
And running from the angry lady, Kyle is stroke with a ball,
then Spiderman breaks into laughter with Marie!
Landscapes exposing nature’s grandeur
mountain ranges inspire great trip.
Cordilleras of welcoming marvels
propel refreshing ascent
amidst pure verdant sights.
Those delight me, the Earth’s firmament
while surveying the pine trees steadfastly queueing along hills
offering shade to blossoming lilies
with cabbage roses wondrously radiant…
oh, inviting faith-strengthening treks
driven by faithful stewardship with reaching-out pursuits
toward triumphant spiritual peaks----
Today’s awesome focus points me toward the third heavens*
as I hover above this certain magnificent vista**
designed by the sovereign Creator ---
giant mounds sprawling
cloudy crests and pinnacles ~
engraved terraces
*Hebrews 8:1 …We have such an high priest, who is set on the right hand of the throne of the Majesty in the heavens.
**Kibungan, Benguet Philippines is my Dad's birthplace.
September 17, 2020
2nd place, "Writing Challenge - Nature, Four in One" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France; judged on 9/20/2020.
Shimmering
crystal clear cyan sea
bordered by the rugged coastline rocks
where inquisitive lapping waves intrude within
old smugglers’ caves and pirates’ secret hideaways.
Gentle waters tease the sprawling sand.
Dreams haunt the enchanted
Blue Lagoon.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
13th June, 2014
Contest: Choose your favourite body...
Form: Trois-Par-Huit
Sponsor: Andrea Dietrich
Placed: 2nd
The yonder blue hills from the hazy horizon
cascaded gently down the emerald gradient
of the rhythmic undulations of alluring landscape,
that carved the contours of the charming hamlet
where my endearing home was once cradled,
nurturing me in the bounty of beguiling nature.
The pristine panorama of clouds sliding silently
upon the curvature of canvas of the cerulean sky
where my childhood joy soared to great heights
with the colorful kites I loved so much to fly.
A gleaming stream gliding with glistening liquid pearls,
flowed with the flamboyant facade of silvery splendor,
bedecked our sprawling house with an ornate garland,
made of embracing loop of the mesmerizing meander.
On its rippling water I sailed rainbow tinged paper boats
that glided wobbling on the current’s tortuous trail.
On these I perceived to a distant dreamland unknown
my mariner mind with teenage fantasy used to sail.
The boats disappeared with the ebb of the lost time,
in lonely hours the tender moment from childhood I live.
June 11, 2021
Contest : A Tender Moment From Childhood
Sponslor : Malabika Ray Choudhury