Long Swamplands Poems
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Reminisce
Oh, to go back to the Woodlands.
To the woods that I love so.
That sheltered my first great sorrow.
In that shadowy long ago.
Oh, to go back to the swamplands,
Where the gentle breezes blow.
And the dark waters hide the catfish;
In a place the raccoons know.
I want to go home to a quiet place;
To a soft and gentle breeze.
Where the dew shines just like diamonds,
On tall magnolia trees.
Where the Whip-o-will sings in the morning;
And the honeysuckle grows on the vine.
To kind old Mother Nature,
I took my restless mind.
The quietness of the forest;
Soothed my troubled brain.
I found solace in my sorrow;
In the cool silent rain.
Oh to go back in my sorrow;
To the balm of yesterday.
Where I found sweet peace and comfort;
Alone in the woods to pray.
Feeling within consciousness contraction
We recognise its origin as fear
Arising from desire borne stagnation
Fearful to lose illusions we hold dear
Ghosts of our mind grips us thus in terror
Avalanche of arrows feeble form spears
Fear type any, it grows like a creeper
If unchecked, envelopes us in darkness
Permeating our form like a cancer
How may we then, liberate consciousness?
What may we do, to rekindle our joy?
Beseeches thus hermit in earnestness
Attachment to objects, an ego ploy
Miring our attention in swamplands deep
Hypnotic stupor has us therein buoyed
To transcend our fear, the climb is not steep
We just let go of fleeting illusion
Plunging into the void, in one swift leap!
We are free, upon vaporisation
In but not of this world of forms fleeting
Flowing nonchalantly in elation
We disappear, there is no more fearing
What is, is a bliss mist, celebrating!
28-November-2020
(syllabic Terza Rima)
THE MEDICINE MAN
When I was a girl,
We lived way out back,
In the swamplands where life,
Was hard but no lack,
Of love and good humor,
And inventive fun,
We were tired but happy,
When day was done.
One evening my uncles,
Were chasing me,
In a game of tag,
Near a big Oak tree.
I couldn't see,
The tree in the dark,
So I hit it full bore,
And there made my mark.
I was down for the count,
Out like a light,
They took me to Grandpa,
Who, seeing my plight,
Set to work right away,
To bring me around.
He reset my nose,
Made sure I was sound.
My face was a horror,
A regular mask,
But with his tender care,
I was soon the same lass.
He made poultice, used herbs,
To take down the swelling,
Relieving my pain,
And discomfort quelling.
He was quiet and gentle,
And didn't say much,
But he knew a lot,
And he had the touch.
He doctored our family,
He doctored our friends,
And many an animal,
He came to tend.
He was just an old Indian,
But I never forgot,
The things that he did,
Proved he knew a lot.
He lived his life quiet,
The best that he could,
And he did his best,
To live like he should.
He never stole,
Wasn't given to drink,
Said too much booze,
Made it too hard to think.
Didn't hold much store,
In money or fame,
But he knew the importance,
Of a good family name.
What others think,
He said with a grin,
Depends much on you,
So try not to sin.
He taught by example,
And he taught us a lot,
And the things that he taught us,
I never forgot.
Judy Ball
For Tell Me A Story Contest by Debbie Guzzi
Having recognised we’re not body-mind,
stuporous awareness yet drags us down,
so though we know the truth, we remain blind
and in dark swamplands of fear and doubt drown.
Each offered experience wanes with time,
unless reinforced again and again,
so attuning our heart to bliss beat’s chime,
in vibrant silence, fears to rest are lain.
The master appears and then disappears
but our heart always knows that he is close,
since our destiny God Himself so steers,
so in childlike trust, we wait in repose.
Here now in this life, we’ll reclaim soul’s light,
garnering with God’s grace, spherical sight.
The Great Sahara desert as large as the continental United States
a deadly vast searing wasteland of sand dunes mountain high
The expansive buckle of the world's desert belt void of color
dotted by scarce oases of what once was.
Twenty thousand years ago with just a wobble of the earth's axis
monsoon rains seasonally showered the Sahara plains
Feeding waterways of rivers and mega fresh water lakes
abundance of sea creatures thrive
Green Sahara was alive.
Witness from cave paintings of a world the winds of sands
erased.A world of green savannas full of animals to hunt
and herd. Elephants, giraffes, gazelles, ostriches and lions too.
People in villages fished and swam the mighty lakes.
Beware of hippos , crocodiles and turtles that bite
Fossils of shell fish tell the tales of a lush time long ago.
Cattle and goats domesticated, crops grew and ripen
in fertle soil. Was this the Garden of Eden now guarded
by deadly heat and buried by time and shifting sands.
Swamplands and rainforest stretched through North
Africa. Life was good and plentiful for our ancient
ancestors.
Even whale bones bare witness to a time of a
great sea. Of bays and lagoons and shores
of beaches tropical in air. A different time
blown away by dry winds and buried beneath the sands
Green Sahara will return again
Like clockwork the pendulum of wet to dry
happens every twenty thousand years
We are in the fifth millennium of a dry spell
Within fifteen thousand years a tilt
a wobble of the earth's axis and
Green Sahara begins again.
circles within circles
harmony of sticks and stones and gems
his foundation flows
around my ankles
flooding ‘tween the trees
baubles of aquamarine
circles within circles
harmony of sticks and stones and gems
paradise soaked with many suns
storehouse of spinnerets
orange, yellow, blues
shining, twinkling, twirling
those leggy-legs
brown and skinny twigs
in swamplands of serenity
soaking up the sea and sun
circles within circles
harmony of sticks and stones and gems
my mind in wonder -
ivory pearls, like roots,
surrender to the soil of wafting sea
my pinwheel irises whirl
swoosh in waters?
climb vainglorious bark?
play with the suns?
the artist tempts me with his brush
circles within circles
harmony of sticks and stones and gems
8/17/2021
"The sounds of Earth is the music of my soul."
Narcissus woos a butterfly; waves strong,
Genteel stages filled pages; memoirs sound,
Earth graces life faces, pleased heaven bound,
Wrens and bluejays consonance their birdsong.
Lively swamplands prep and hopped air aloft,
Rising field beds here bells spread Heather mound,
Climbed rose still impose fragrance all around,
Dragon fly whiz bye, hunt or naught so oft,
Dogs yapping; cats hissing; a bit delayed,
Gardenia's much scents nice touch unwound,
Wintry Holly, cool Heartsease, best are found,
Ants are sprinting up an anthill; dismayed,
Mountain rams straddle rock hills, not fall down,
Forget Me Nots in flower pots, e'er crowned,
Baby Breaths pleased nearby Sweet Peas, basks ground,
Beavers build damns, scrams, otters like a clown,
Eagles and hawks birds like rocks, circling sky,
Morning Glories backed stories bloom foreground,
Lilacs possess purple hilltop spellbound,
Antelopes will elope grass field is nigh,
The desert, plains, steppes, mountains, and jungles,
Lily pad ponds, chartreuse fronds, all year round,
Daffodils glow star; crowd-pleaser astound,
Rural, suburbs, cities, the Earth humbles.
2022 August 07
*2nd Place*
Let Your Muse Be Inspired - R Form
~~Constance La France: Judged 2022 September 01
*Enclosed Rhyme