Long Stragglers Poems
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First frost has come overnight, and the quaking aspens have blanketed the hills with brilliant splashes of amber. Even the ruts in the driveway, are beautifully trimmed in rime, glistening in the touch of sunlight that has just now fondled the horizon. Finn,..our golden lab, struggles to get up on his feet this morning, to be let out. He limps a bit stiffly, then hesitates, reluctant to step out into a chilly dawn. It's the first time I have noticed how rudely is a gray veil clouding those wise, brown eyes. Finally, he ventures outside, walking gingerly, under a sky, jaggedly streaked with purple. The morning air is persuading the cold breath of winter soon to follow. Mourning doves are slowly disappearing, although two familiar stragglers, like old friends, are sitting high upon the shed roof, watching the leaves tumble like golden gems to the earth....and keeping watch, like soldiers, at their post. And Finn forgets his discomfort, for just one moment, and runs for a closer look. He jumps, barks, and they fly off into the sunrise. There is an odd feeling in today's somber light, which seems to turn the page of another season.
a tail thumps the door
as I reach for the leash...
we wait for the sun
_________________________________________________________________
For Contest Sponsored By Broken Wings 9/20/13
On a walk companioned by my Muse along the sylvan meadows
We wandered away to delightful realms in unclouded ambience
Don’t know how long I rambled warming my fancies in sunset fires
Must be for long, all lights were out, the quiet hamlet lay bathed in sleep
Above me, stood the starry firmament and the half hidden moon
Could see the vast plains stretching before me in moonlight, bare
My heart was flooded with joy, my fancies took to wings
Got drowned in Nature’s serene calm, my spirit lost in drunken ecstasy
In the gentle blowing breeze, the leaves twittered and murmured
All else was quiet and nothing disturbed the serenity of the night
But soon I knew the East wind strengthening around into a gale
And across the moon I could see stragglers of clouds moving past
I sat on a rock, lost, so lost staring into the clear night sky
Wondering how the celestial joy, made manifest by the twinkling stars
My thoughts began floating like a ship over the briny waters
And my temporal settings faded away like a cloud in the horizon
From the nearby woods, I heard the song of a lone night bird
In rising cadence, alone and aloud it fell on my rapturous ears
Was it a nightingale that poured forth that dewy delight?
Was it the same song, Keats heard long ago cascading from the woods?
With my Muse in this unearthly hour let me sit awhile in this solitary bower
To my paper, let my fancies in unbroken crystal streams flow
Wonder if I can rightly recreate the image that my thoughts enfold
How I wish, I could like Coleridge, build a pleasure dome in mid air!
First posted on Nov.28. 2021
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile.6.Poetry Contest
Sponsor:Mark Toney
Darkness coiled in the depths of the night.
Where shadows try to hide from your view.
The moon is a mirror reaching for the light.
Rattling on the doors grappling with the dew.
Cigarette rims on window ledges stub out edges.
The marred ghosts of fear misty file foul pass.
The well-known places on wrinkle old folks faces.
When your mind sees and grieves with the ashes.
Moister paint the shadow of your face in the sky.
And night continues impenetrable at a lively pace.
Unawares of the rage consigned conspicuous cry.
This hoary claim might charm all the living race.
Perils bring the way that rides the waves of death.
Turned all ends of pleasure into a darker season.
Freely flying thin into the dying fading breath.
Risky living dreaming of another set of reasons.
Deadly steer rides the night with spavined grey.
Journeying without remorse to throw the woes.
And try to catch a glimpse of the fleeting day.
That wishes to defeat time with all their prowess.
Darkness running along far flung into the night.
Black clouds filled the whole dome of the sky.
Grasp muffle decaying voices along the street.
Water nectar rain, wash, rinse, and balm the eye.
The Voltaire of space stars on a voyage in the clouds
Rival unquiet air shivers with unheeding tremor.
The changed atmosphere invites sleep into the crowds.
Binaries cover the city to make stragglers scatter.
The long night closes with a kiss in the frost.
Pale and fear as dear vintage sauvignon saint.
When the drink is in the wit, we see the rein of cost.
That holds the kingly feast of a mysterious variant.
From the porter’s view drink, is a jewel of the night.
Each keeps its way separate in the flames of desire.
And oozes away in the morning behind the sunlight.
In greater sanctity with dreadful eyes smiling in a fire.
When the dust of morning rises in the grassy skies.
The glint in your eyes, you dare not raise too high.
And risk the manor for how your honor applies.
When your mind likely knows, it holds a deeper sigh.
Darkness falls
Here & everywhere –
Night falls
Bats & owls rule in the darkness;
When will dawn be born?
When will Soja-man count
Counting the myriad of his booties
On the wounds of my Africa?
When darkness falls over mother earth,
Night dims the face of Niger;
Then, hiding fishes emerge,
Countless, as they are, singing
And dancing on the face of Niger
Drumming to the shores
Befriending night & our Niger,
Celebrating the fisherman’s exit
Like a funeral ceremony;
As darkness falls on the region
A stone thrown into the deep ocean
Each clans-man clamours for an idle bed,
Like stragglers fleeing from battlefront,
Every property is left unguarded
To the custody of night
To those possessive arms of darkness,
Then, night sits over the clan like a chief!
Night falls over Africa,
No moon is visible here
Not even a fading star where we lie down;
But, what happened to her bright moon?
Would the sun notice to shine
Over her soil soiled with her own blood?
Here, Soja-man plants his huge feet,
The boot-feet sink the sand of the soft earth;
And leaning on a staff of the silent gun
He bestrides, possessing all the clan
Like an agent of night –
But, when will he count his booties
With all those wounds of new Africa?
Now, he comes here
Wearing a garment of many colours,
Are you Mr. President?
Aren’t you Miss Contract?
Then, Mrs. Administrator?
O, my mistake? Dr. of Law, the Judge?
If none, you are all of the above!
Soja-man, a ruler to be defended,
A servant to be served by all –
Brother, he’s Prof. Contradiction!
Everywhere night persists;
When will day break?
When will the sun smile at my Niger
Soja-man reigns in the darkness;
He eats up each nation
Boring into nature’s treasures
Like ants boring into dry woods;
Yet, ants don’t eat the raw flesh of brother-ants!
Poor warrior! rude ant!
Pretending in a modern benevolence –
Na power dey hungry am!
Wetin you mean, Soja-man?
Na you birthright to rule?
Yes! to rule by boot & bullet?
Darkness falls
Bats & owls rule in the darkness;
When will dawn be born?
Would fishermen ever come to the shore
Of new Africa springing?
The morning has started with a trace of a dew
An ascent through the tussock ignites the new day
Trailing huntaways eager to work on the ewes
Awaited shrill whistles loose the dogs on their prey.
A new shepherd surveys as proceedings unfold
Sinewy figures employing hill sticks with care.
Spectacular vistas with a dawn of pure gold
Formidable mountains looking solemn and bare.
Below a glass lake reflects sharp rugged peaks
A boat carves the water, slicing the image in half.
Sounds of dogs barking as sheep break from a creek
White ribbons slowly form in planned choreograph.
Shepherds whistles are mingled with thousands of bleats
Descending sheep merging to form an earth cloud.
Above dust and steam rise, as if to compete
Wisps of white rolling as matagouri stands proud.
A fantail flits on the first hints of the breeze
While a waxeye settles amid two twists of barb wire.
As sheep reach a plateau, the expanse seems to tease
Though allured, dogs restore order on sheep that inquire.
Searching mouths hastily nibble tests of fresh grass
Stragglers are hastened by gleeful dogs and their bark
Looking back up the hill the commotion has passed
Hawks floating on thermals within a large arc.
Mid morning arrives as the sheep enter the yards
Dogs climbing in troughs and having rest in the sun
The new shepherd knows this is his time to safeguard
His future life on the land has now just begun.
**If I haven't quite portrayed the
picture properly this may help.
http://www.photomack.co.nz/farming
Graceful predator perched on the precipice of woe
Your satin crown, ebony feathers cannot camouflage mision of misery you'll sow
Your balmy wings caress as dark shadows grow
You sharpen your talons lethal grasp your helpless prey to show
But only quicken the hearts of foragers nestled below
Shrill call does not alarm wary prey; only emboldened, novel defenses bestow
Slower prey their extended units disband; bountiful feast now in escrow
Stealthy ears pick up the feigned, stressful calls of dispossessed lying low
The harried remnant recedes into veiled canopy with their cargo
Confident dive bomber, you plunge into the shielded canopy mayhem to strew
Only to have pleated wings torn by thistle, thorn guarding the undertow
Injured, but deadly weapons your armada still doth tow
With sharp beak you shred the stragglers who venture into twilight's afterglow
With bristling talons you scratch and claw causing stiffened backs to bow
But their desire to live trumps marauding havoc laid in stow
Shorn of limb but not of hope, scurrying from nest to nest to and fro
Storm clouds gather over Dover cliffs; thunderous chorus from nest doth bellow
On the sparring range, a docile, prevailing wind no longer doth blow
Wearied from long chase, depleted eagle from bleeding strand doth go
(or, "Your Old Stomping Ground")
There’s a secretary that I know
whose husband recently died
But life somehow continues as before
She has to keep replicating the myth
that everything’s all right –
A savant of the copy machines
A mannequin in a megastore
There’s a child that I know
who goes to school with bruises
Just a shell of a thing bearing signs
of a nightly artillery attack
When did we start sending
our kids to the frontlines,
And when in the name of Christ
are we calling them back?
You just pretend
Things aren’t crazy
The bandleader’s not deaf
And the King is not a clown
So you defend
The last vestiges of confidence
And stick your flag in the last square
Of your old stomping ground
There’s a family that I know
they only speak in whispers
Afraid to raise their voices
for fear of an alcoholic’s rage
I wonder how they’ll fare
twenty years from now:
Will they ever rise up from their manacles
or their transparent cage?
And there’s a young man that I know
Has his whole life ahead of him
Still stuck on the diving board
over a pool of unemployment
Just wait a while, just wade awhile
Cling to your inflated promises
While you’re stuck in this limbo, might as well
Drown in your enjoyments
You just pretend
It’s getting late now
And the party’s letting out
The stragglers and the drunkards head
for another port of call.
Yet suspect the hosts, the powers that be,
in their senility, misplaced our keys
So we derelicts wander directionless
Like half-ghosts bumping into walls
But we just pretend…
January 24th, 2023 Hair washing heralds huge happening
Hark….the herald angels sing, and twitter
for mass communication
mediums stop the presses
when I, a regular schlemiel
take shampoo to mine matted mass mop
(no less than once a week)
of straggly follicles, and commence
to dispense with the heady eco system
viz rare crop of flora and fauna
(some rank as endangered species)
rub and band together
to scratch envy of
flaky key neigh bring ponytails
and create quite an niche,
and where also can be found
lousy knit wit vendors ready to scalp
and give shaft to razor sharp purveyors,
who mane lee scout out available
head and shoulder room to nap
without a stir, tub bed down
(praying Holy Scott no wash out
nor Harris mint occurs),
or burrow vis a vis,
where subcutaneous porous droplet size
watership down pieces
of prime residence found
counting one mister comb lee
bald bold faced realtor
amidst competing rival
bulb buss Edward scissorhands
(with knot to heavy a price toupee)
affianced to rapunzel,
whom he sheared split ends
as her barber of civil,
one dapper dander ruff dude to offer
lice cent shuss insects a tonsured
cut above other stylish habitués
preferring to fraternize,
glad-hand, and hobnob
amidst a cluster of big wigs
housed by yours truly - Samson
in gleaming puffy pompadour
pads tightly secured
with the best dreadlocks,
which harum-scarum
green barrettes serve
as first line of rinse able defense
IdentityGuard (with franchisee
Bob O Link averse to split hairs, but fierce
as a Mohawk and ring leader
to protect any curl of mine)
waving away intruders,
who if insist tubby persistent
and tangle with fate
cannot expect camaraderie
from buzz cutting crew i.e. the fuzz
to give expletive filled lathering,
severe shame poo wing subjugation
plus an up braiding experience),
and teach stragglers
they will suffer
a real perm in hint bang up job
if they brazenly brush
against brylcreem of the crop
rooted as rightful heirs
(hairs) of tousled doo mane,
thus concludes my tail.
Postscript: Yours truly
an aging long haired
seventh generation pencil neck geek
finds ultra joy when
volunteering for kitchen duty,
hence imagine the hypothetical picture
portraying Geico caveman
mimicking pseudo dawn of humanity.
She said some words and blackbirds cawed
As she stirred her cauldron to a goblin's applaud
Her nose was crooked, her skin was green
As her cackles echoed on Halloween
The Halloween night was filled with gloom
As she patrolled the skies on her trusty broom
She was looking for stragglers, those who lagged behind
Then she'd swoop down and catch them, their fate unkind
The first one she brought back began to scream
But this only made the old hag's eyes gleam
She waved her hand to and fro
And turned him into a crow!
Then off again on her broom she flew
As her cauldron bubbled with a fearsome brew
She saw another straggler dawdling by a gate
She swooped down swiftly to seal his fate
All her victims would scream and scream
Wishing and hoping they were in a dream
10-11-2024
It's the first snowfall of the year
And it takes me back....
I remember the first time I rode her in the snow,
So afraid she'd slip.
She didn't want to go out
But we both needed some fresh air and exercise.
Her ears laid flat when she saw the saddle.
She was not impressed.
I think she had hoped I was just bringing a treat.
The snow wasn't deep.
A few wayward snowflakes, stragglers,
Were still falling.
So I saddled her and off we went.
Avoiding paved roads
Where she would be more likely to slip.
We stayed to the dirt road running past the house
And a few familiar trails.
I believe she aimed for low hanging boughs.
I was covered in snow in the first twenty minutes.
My punishment for this silly idea, I guess.
Soon her ears picked up and her step became more sprightly.
She, too, was getting into the spirit of it.
Only an hour, then back to the barn.
No falls, a couple minor slides in footing
Which she handled like a pro.
There I brushed her down
And she attacked apples with a renewed appetite.
The next day the rain washed it all away,
Except for the memory.....
it remains.