Long Unflagging Poems
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Mute
but immutable.
Unmoving, unmoveable;
timeless, yet tireless.
Solitary stalwart sentinel
surveils undulating horizon.
Aberrant, achromatic clouds
pock-mark the skies, as distant
rumblings herald his adversary's
latest gambit in their age-old conflict.
The wrath of a thousand crashing,
clashing, thrashing fists batter
against the beleaguered sentry.
Ceaselessly, remorselessly,
the maelstrom assails him.
But the foundations are firm and
noble gatekeeper stands steadfast.
Single-minded of purpose, placid
custodian morphs into combatant as
his luminous, voluminous blade carves
luminescent arcs through chthonic cloak.
Tenebrous tendrils wither and dissipate,
impotent under intense lambent onslaught.
His victory is only fleeting, as vanquished
foes are summarily supplanted by more of
their ilk in a seemingly continual surge.
Again and again, over and over, tormentor
presses the attack, exploiting any weakness.
Over and over, again and again, valiant warden
repels the barrage and despatches his enemies.
And so the pattern repeats endlessly, unabated,
as these eternal opponents jostle for position
in a perpetual cycle of aggression and defence.
Until eventually, finally, ultimately, the stale-mate
is broken; when Tempest's tantrum is tamed and
Blizzard's battalions have been banished, all is calm.
Tranquillity is able to reassert herself and order has
finally been restored; at least for the foreseeable future.
Obligations fulfilled, the triumphant Guardian can now rest.
Until the need arises again, until he's called upon once more,
he will wait patiently, watch diligently, in unflagging vigilance.
Forever resolute, a beacon of sanctuary, a symbol of hope, his is a
thankless task, but the Protector of Mariners will always be needed.
-----------------------------------
(C) John C Michaels, 27 July 2017
For Eve Roper's "Lighthouse" Contest.
(1st Place)
À propos preponderant passion penning poems...
posited puzzling apt aperçu...
While pondering particular
theme to address
amidst tangled wide, whirled
webbed mental skein
today November third
two thousand twenty two,
unexpected Möbius strip
tease conundrum unforeseen,
yet as avid aspiring wordsmith
only now I became keen,
which unflagging vexillological,
theoretical, rhetorical, philosophical...
narratological, linguistical, judgmatical
historical, fantastical, didactical,
and bibliographical predicament
may not suddenly find me
flush with green
i.e. profuse legal tender,
but merely thought provoking
puzzlement addresses following quandary
stuck within gray matter of pate
impossible mission to differentiate
jagged fine line between
passion and obsession
case in point strong
affinity to write of late,
cuz yours truly susceptible
toward compulsion that doth not abate,
and mind boggling to wed healthy
love of language analogous as mate
nsync with psychological trait,
viz excessive compulsion
diagnosed years gone
by courtesy professional
mental health specialists, did annotate,
and I admit behavior impossible to satiate,
thus generating aforementioned query
how does one (me) segregate
productive interest versus excessive,
née fanatical all consuming -
affinity towards English language
I loopily, quirkily verily narrate
oft times burning midnight oil
(albeit figuratively alluded
to wicked mister Arson Wells) witness
as logophile doth painstakingly toil
bajillion cerebral threads to uncoil,
whereby utilizing figurative tweezers
uprooting, untangling rhyme I embroil
(even using Scooby Doo conditioner)
metaphorically beneath mine royal
hirsute (Scottish) matted topsoil
ultimately bringing in top gun
uncannily resembling gargoyle
shape shifting between
comical characters such as
Popeye and Beetle Bailey
at lightspeed as if
greased with Olive Oyl
so watch out Bluto,
get ready for turmoil!
We’re all so young even the ‘old hands’
Can’t imagine a time with no rope in their hand
It’s riding with heart and unflagging spirit revealed
That’s a fitting description of what’s usually concealed
The dream most have had since they were born
Is riding horses and bulls without scorn
It’s about the ride that 8 seconds of time
That lead you to a place uniquely sublime
Riding whatever it don’t really matter
As long as your heart, family and thoughts aren’t scattered
Whether the big show or not you really don’t mind
You’d ride a milk cow if she’d fly out the gate so inclined
And if you ride for money and fame
No matter the draw you look for no blame
Cause even though bones and tendons are broken
Or you’re deemed old and your thirtieth year is unspoken
It’s the heart that prevails when the body can’t follow
For that 8 second ride that can make you feel hollow
And someday when heart and mind don’t yearn for the ride
And it’s time to reflect and stand off to the side
Life doesn’t end and there’s still plenty to do
Cause there’s always a new rider that wants to be you
And they may need a hand and inspiration or two
And a true cowboy’s heart returns the gift given you
Unceasingly there is evil and malice in this world,
Waiting for the perfect chance to betray and corrupt.
Even in golden days, when all dwell in happiness and light
Will there be denizens of the night and of deep dark places
Where light is shunned and hope goes to suffer a torturous demise.
But as long as evil broods and waits in contempt of all,
So will there be champions of good and pioneers of virtue,
Seeking out the cruel shadows of the night and besieging their foul strongholds.
For in the days of darkness when hope has failed all,
And dread lords stand tall and pool their might
To spoil the land with filth and decay,
So will stand bastions of valor who defend the helpless,
And maintain unflagging morals in the face of wrath and despair.
Strides along the lonely road fearlessly
the foredoomed lily groans with pain needlessly.
We gaze at the dazzling
sunshine unremittingly.
We pour the unflagging
idea of bliss unhesitatingly.
To our claim he relinquished
by our prospect is relished.
The unflinching dove sings
His starlit heart never stings.
Our heedless world a main, long-lived agony
hopes for the generation of being sunny.
What'll Do to You?
Choices, forks in the less traveled road,
Fighting for ideals abroad,
Boldly opposing status quo,
Sweating, planting, straining hoe,
Beads run down brow trading,
A drift downstream for upstream wading,
Blisters arise, bruises blue imbue,
Reaching deeper to sacrifice true,
Unflagging spirits fight the fight,
'Til something elusive is gained,
Now, vision of progress gets strained,
It's one thing to strive,
Quite different to arrive,
How to keep alive the earned?
Dreams differ stark as the real is learned,
Maybe chains were shattered,
Freedom was what mattered,
Bothersome question: What'll it do to you?
What'll it do to others? Will we rue?
Has our overcoming ruined our nerve?
Growing fat derailed principles once to serve?
Answers can be: the journey's the destination!
Navigating treacherous rivers needs hesitation!
Quivering may be the lip, but don't give up the ship!
Shoulder each challenge, don't let the flag dip,
Satchel Paige: Never look back, They might be gaining on you!
Donning sable spots on buff hearts:
With all the resolve an’ brutality
They pursue their prey;
Stopping at nothing but the
Quarry’s final gasp for a breath
They’re the pillaging African wild dogs:
So unflagging in the heart an’ rigid on feet
The ultimate hecklers of
He who stitches for others,
The one who gets lost on the way
They’re the invincible African wild dogs:
In deadly packs an’ persistent in manner
They grip their prey an’ rip it apart -
Preferring the budding an’ the hapless
That’s how they are; ferocious!
The resolute African wild dogs:
Heartless an’ inexorable, though
Oft their kill in no time they devour whole
Or a hunk excruciatingly torn off alive
Such ruthlessly merciless, so they are!
The cold-heart’d African wild dogs:
A time pinn’d down with an ample boulder
Or other piece with an equally sound weight
For now, the frenzy snappings an’ snarling
Render fleeting peace in the mottled hearts of theirs
Devouring an’ feasting like they do
On the now putrefying sworn enemy!
Piecing together Harris/ Kuritsky tattered family tree
(Betsy Ross would beam at unflagging effort)
Ah, here all along yours truly
thought himself an abductee,
and/or zoologically
linkedin with chimpanzee,
hence imagine my disappointment
flipping laminated pages ye
ja undertook undoubtedly
painstaking effort,
plus wireless subcommittee
stitched together plain to see
helpful input thank you Amelie,
plus unnamed, undaunted,
and informed cousins
contributing to digging
into archives to help free
some unanswered nagging questions
only to generate others re:
garding ahem little feet
legs skinny as spaghetti
this haint no phallus si¿
lodged within me
noggin, which effort crudely
analogous fitting
prosthetic to amputee,
who understandably loosing limb,
would find her/him
screaming like banshee,
which one with diminished hearing
might sound like
suite (sweet) firebird stung
explaining flight of bumblebee
nonetheless, the bundled, compiled,
and detailed genealogy
courtesy eldest sister prithee
perhaps inspire "FAKE"
trumpeted voluminous tome twee
starring pooch donning
windblown heir spade fur -
or sporting canine toupee
with apt title regarding petsmart
bonafide muttering dog gone pedigree
hump backed es
in heat making whoopie
would become best selling fiction,
whereby Hollywood
might come calling
of course anonymous
actors/actresses,
or training one or another Arctic monkey,
where production costs
totally tubular less money
versus famous Homo
thespians portraying
long gone i.e. bissell mishuga
characterizing deceased exhumed
(figuratively) ghosts
might be (like...y'know...really) eerie
yet, a possible windfall
after signed contract
once all parties privy
to dramatize ancestors
unilaterally abide and agree
this unsolicited barkback feedback
countless many shindigs
witnessed predictable
yours truly absentee
soul (and sole) brother pulling
no shows claiming lame excuse
ah betcha I inherited emotional uncoupling
generations ago dirt poor peon,
perhaps unwitting creator
of peanut butter and jelly.
Fervent rainbows vow to deck
a gloomy, woeful moon
with merriness and blissfulness.
Whispered dreams of virtue
triumph over a murky ,
desultory brook.
The serene , meandrous
butterfly is rocked by
an ephemeral , passing
chimera.
An angelic ,tranquilized petal
resides in the realm of
melodious ,
gracefulness.
Whispers of lovely rose
dwell in a tempestuous,
ardent sea.
The symphonic melody
of an unchanging
stork's felicity
overshadows the unflagging
hawk's power.
Delightful sunbeams echo
the unafraid, doughty breath
of a sedate chrysanthemum.
.
"Serene is the green of the sculptured knotty pine, arms uniquely reach and none the same, with woody scent of heaven." Quote by poet
Knotty pine enfold in the sate gold sun
stands stunning in an arboreal view.
Bound by forever changing blend pale blue
pure air of homespun charm, unflagging none.
Upon the pine needle and pine-cones
carpet, dappled shade awakes most active
nature, from blackest more lord attractive
noble to the whitest of daylight tones.
Rhythmic chants echo veiled in sound and light.
Steps over roots and limbs nature does put
and silent subtle shifts that are afoot.
The howl's that calls of invite at twilight.
Yielding nostalgic sylvan scenery
natural quotient colour greenery.