Long Staved Poems
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If you fight with fervent heart,
roar of lion from your part,
perhaps true kindness will impart the vengence of a Goddess staved,
the moon now red with the noon's dead,
in your heart I'm sure is dread,for this rite you were not bred,
many times an oracle told: men from feet made of lead
are mercenaries poorly fed; in countless meadows they have bled,
will they toil loyal,paid by your moldy bread?
So go, my foe of woe,wear the royal robe to toe,
and drink the wine bitter slow,
I am Lord of the sword,a righteous king of the horde,
of many Gods I've implored
to smite this monger to the floor,
not for thirst of the gore
but to have a legend's lore,
to protect a People free with me,before you perish it will be!
The priests posture purely now at the front ranks with faces skyward
petitioning to consecrate,
as the cavalry concentrates hard on their horse's fate
feeling the trumpet's terrible,seething sound,
a wilting wind softly weathers the seasoned infantry's instinct
from gaze to green ground,
while they infer the jarring armor jangle of heavy horsemen,
sufficient to strangle reluctance to prostrate,
a low thunder thumps my ears,my spirit leers across,
limbs like gears I raise my battle axe ahigh,
Tepid tepid rain,from whence you came
not the curving cloud but from the adversary's frame,
the color of the warm rain is the magenta stain
of enemy's brain on my horse's mane,
the Bishop busies as assassin,an orthodox art that has always been,
your Knight is nigh,about to die,
J.A.B. Part Two -
A breathy sigh that moved the air
encircled us with lusty flair.
Its sweet and tender brush of love
Left unsaid our intention there.
Some deep and thoughtful bold assertion
Drew us closer into its glare
And staved away intrusion of all others
Lest they disturb the passion bared,
And sweet the savory music flowed
Around, about, above, below
Until we floated on the brink
Of true love's kiss and knowing wink.
Love speaks to us on deeper levels
Where mere words cannot communicate.
How strong the pull of your embrace
And sweetly tinted kiss upon your face.
Each breathy sigh wafts through space
No matter where you go from me.
My heart knows each step you take,
And when you think of me
Every breath is shared with you
Every moment of love in tune,
Each sacred dream we share together,
And hope for futures yet unplanned,
Caress the air with sweet perfume
To pull us closer back together.
Because our love remains strong and true,
I dare not take a breath without you.
Copyright © Chula Fleming 3/16/1982
Written: October 4th 2023
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
An untapped jewel in a secluded nook.
A home down with treasures to brook
It is a phony ossuary, hence the walls droop.
Gazebo-grinning goofs giggle in a group.
Once a majestic home, a sign of affluence
Now a lair of stealth and an oasis of dalliance.
As time passes, its splendor starts to wane.
A breadline was betrayed between chains.
Within the halls of this mansion, dubbed lair,
A lodger once lived; his presence is debonair.
A fortress of ideas, where brains languish
Its oxidation sealed its own anguish.
A misty garden, a sense of impending doom
Where shadows lurk, in the forlorn room.
A tight grip of ridicule was urged to bestow.
For those who sought a haven, a place to glow,
But the home has a scheme—a revamp—in mind.
Rise from an inky abyss to set the past behind.
A crucible of goals, it yearned to start anew.
Toss its crypt shell, and lair to tame and subdue.
Without the upheaval, the center craved
A beacon of light, a place of refuge, staved.
It would grow from a snug mess of a cabin.
With tittivated requests, it is trashing back in.
With each room restored, every spot is anew.
The home evolved, and its purpose grew.
It is no longer a place of gloom and dread.
Yet it is a blaze-filled delight, as love may spread.
I've been eating my soul, as of late
Devouring morsels of scarred flesh
Trying to find an end to constant unease
A place where my head could rest
There's an angst the lingers over
My big sturdy bed
Looping around billowing waves
Covering my staved off dread
But I have conquered all my fears
I have won the freaking war
Why am I still in sallow bone
Trying to run from threat of the moor
I'm here...in the exact same space
I was in 17 years back...my back...my aching back
I hear no thoughts of lack, despair, voices
Telling me to crack
....open the bottle
There's silence, that deafening silence
I shivered under the weight of it's magnitude
The sheer volume broke barriers set by trauma
That had driven the sharp latitude
....cutting asunder spirit and soul
But today, in this space, I am at REST.
Written by Trudy Schrader on 09-10-2024
In the Land of Opportunity
Entitlement reared her pretty head
Without a backstop to plain bad luck
Social Security's safety net was spread
Next came the 'War on Poverty'
Food Stamps and ADC
It might have staved off hunger for a bit
But dependency was galvanized, and (yes), obesity
Today there is unprecedented help
for anyone who will only yelp
Free computer classes, GED, ESL too
Guaranteed Job Training programs in high schools
and community colleges, Yahoo!
Yet the percentage of those working has gone down
and dropping most free classes reigns supreme
Seems that 'giving away the farm'
won't bring back the American Dream
It's only one man's unscientific perception ~
but 'teaching a man to fish' still passes inspection
__________________________________________________________
ADC = Aid to Dependent Children
GED = General Education Diploma (Equivalent to High School Diploma)
ESL = English as a Second Language (for immigrants and their children)
On this peaceful land where we live comfortably
with the neighboring villagers sharing the sun and moon,
stars and clouds, winds and waters, rains and snows;
we sow the seeds on the field, wander in the wilderness
to spot the games to hunt in the changing colors of the flowers
in the time of bloom and fruit and revolving seasons
One day, from the east, crossing over the great sea,
the white feathered gluttonous bird flew into this peaceful land
and took our land by force; the bird cruelly pecked us with his avaricious beak, cold-heartedly tore us with his sharp talons, kept pushing and shoving us eastward, and this vicious cycle drove us into tribal wars and at last, Illini
to extinct.
And this moaning butte throwing its shadow on the water
atop of encircling cliffs is the Starved Rock, the site where
the great tragedy took place, all Illini tribesmen lost their lives.
The water of the Illinois River mixed with the tears of the people
who lost everything in the east via this legion for further west,
now moans to ease the spirit of Illini wandering around
the Staved Rock, which is still hungry, in the evening glow
as a soundless requiem.
The water flows embracing sorrowful Rock where:
the mother jumped into the water holding her beloved child,
the village elders who collapsed while upholding tribal pride
followed by the war cry of the warriors who grabbed tomahawk and fought but, alas, fell to enemy’s hand, now is telling the story of their last day
it becomes whirlpool in the very middle of the water.
When the streams small and large come together the following paths
meet and form a pool on the top of this lonely butte on the other side of the river, and dashes into the basin of the waterfall;
some of them fall rapidly into the steep ravine with heartrending cries
some of them drift like slow moving time in deep sorrow
some of them descend to the rocks of level stratum one by one
singing a funeral dirge.
The spirit of Illini drifting along the river
carrying so many sad stories touches the tourists’
heart; stepping on the site of the tragedy
makes tears stand to casual sightseers;
the grief-stricken stories raise the ripples in the river
and leaves a lingering imagery in the eyes and ears of the travelers
From East to west enslaved in chains
To work the fields, make tracks for trains
They sang their song antiphonally
To dull their day, hide misery
Those blues notes hit in wailing tone
And words about the heavenly home
Their doleful sounds had paved the way
To blues and jazz in later day
Rhythms and chords became complex
Joplin’s ragtime was a great success
For well practiced piano on old upright
Those old time rags are still a delight
New Orleans was where it began
In ghettos for blacks with time on their hands
From morning to night they developed their skills
On trumpets, sax, it staved off their ills
Mastering their instruments with deft virtuosity
Jazzy riffs marked by smart improvisatory
The Mississipi paddle boats chugged their way
Aboard, the sounds of jazz in full sway
Entertaining, with a sense of pride
Scat singing, cross rhythms, boogie and stride
And took their art to far off places
Strutting their stuff, no airs and graces
White bands were now beginning to swing
Inclusion slowly becoming the thing
With time to go, but heading that way
In church, brilliant gospel helped them to pray
Spirituals continued to highlight their plight
Fair treatment becoming within their sight
Jazz continues to wow one and all
In different forms to really enthrall
Miles Davis and Matt Dennis both just the same
With jazz in mind, they played the same game
Blues and jazz have impacted new sounds
As popular as ever its music abounds
We knaves had orders both explicit and dumb:
Scare the blazes out of a management bum.
Thunderstorm weather rocked wide Prince William Sound,
Feisty gales pouring rain all around.
My partner and I took our overseer
In a tiny smoker craft quite rough to steer.
Motoring south, mighty gusts drove us to shore
We staved off sandstone rocks with long wooden oars.
Back to the channel against gusts we did plow.
Our passenger sat white-knuckled in the bow.
We rounded the curve of our wind whipped north shore
To enter Danger Island Strait's tidal bore.
Roller coaster billows rose twenty feet high
Then dropped into wallows roofed only by sky
At bottom our boat swirled among kelp and rocks
Our passenger appeared as a stunned ox.
Through the passage stood our island’s south cliff face
Pacific waves raged, clawing cliffs to deface.
Our passenger’s eyes set to leap into space,
My partner asked about a smooth landing place.
Sad faced I said, “High tide is still hours away
No place for our boat above the surf today.”
Our passengers’ face seemed as if borax bleached
Praying our tiny craft was soon to be beached.
We rocked and rolled daring Danger Island’s sway
Then motored up our channel, heading camp’s way
We fought the frenzied wind and staved off the rocks
Our management friend quietly clutched his socks.
Nodding, we grinned sideways as if to gloat
As we bailed our boat simply to stay afloat.
But when ornery orcas bumped our frail boat
One gave us the eye; we croaked cries from tight throats.
Our urban client raced to the cook tent door.
While we pulled our craft above the tidal bore.
When we got to the tent for our rum and tea
Our client had downed high proof rums one, two, three.
Luanda 1975
It was a fraught time in Luanda, the rebel army (freedom fighters)
was closing in on Luanda, leaving civilians exposed
to rape, murder and pillage.
The Portuguese army had dastardly skulked away and
General Spinola was in Lisbon playing politics
Colonialism was over, but there was fear of its ending
when hatred had to be sated.
Among the white population, there was a fatalistic mien
drowning their fear like the sinking Titanic, loud music, booze
and dancing, everything to live a little longer.
Then came the Germans (foreign legion) took charge
staved off the incoming, undisciplined riff-raff army
long enough for people to get on ships and planes to get
the hell out; as for the Germans found their way out to
South Africa.
The aftermath:
When hatred of the colonials subsided, the new Angola
found they needed the know-how of the settlers they
were invited back.
Today, thousands of Portuguese live to thrive in harmony
with the black population,
Did you ever in your burdened heart ever ask God why?
Could a good and compassionate God ever create a hell?
An abode for fallen angels, Demons and lost souls to dwell?
May people have walked away from you. I know I used to be
numbered among the scorners and unbelievers.
Why would God allow mere people to endure both the
tribulation and great tribulation after the rapture of
his bride the church? I know I used to be among them
I would criticize both you and church attending Christians.
Those creatures and people who did want to follow you.
Certainly would not be any happier living among you!
Why did a loving God create the White Throne Judgement
and the Lake of Fire? Those angelic and demonic beings
who rebelled against you. Those people who refused to
call upon you. Have a final destination. They will have
sent themselves there.
In the last days all who call upon the name
of the Lord will be staved! I am one who
has called upon his name, have you?
You are a God of love but also a God of wrath
and judgement. May we be accounted worthy
to stand before you on the Day of the Lord!
Love in Christ Jesus!
Roxanne Lea Dubarry
Roxy Lea 1954
Roxy 1954/ October Country
May 23, 2020