Long Wending Poems
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In Memoriam Quietly Always Close
Are they whispers, then, settling
So gently upon that slightest breeze wending
Over the granite crosses and statues of cradling angels,
Which stand in their long cemetary rows?
Stating each name of the one passed on with
There-on etched, too, the noting of time alive
And telling of the beloved, who hum there their slow laments;
Who send up colorful balloons to celebrate their love and
Take far their silent greetings in the sky.
Are they lullaby heartsongs, which
Rise on sprigs of heaven-bound light,
So tunefully sweet for love’s addressed, aided
By a league of angellic composers
In their lyrical rounds from above our earthly sphere?
Are these the places of our hushed sympathies?
The places we lay over our dear ones
All the broken pieces of the grieving heart’s still longing
To stay in some way forever near, and, so, we linger thoughtfully
Criss-crossing the undulating final verdigris
Landscape, which embraces the last remains ~
Resting on in heaven’s wait for that further journey going on.
Are these faint mists surrounding
So many hours of our own remaining days —
Which are spent summoning back the stories, the touches,
The eyes that happily cast their glance into our own —
Not truly our tears
Being turned to magnifying memories,
Prayerfully appearing with each
Dusk’s close of day and placid rise of the radiant moon?
Do see that the soundless falling is our aching?
Is a furor — burst of pure, white snow:
A flash of a blizzard, looking nearly weightless,
Landing in silence, but
Incongruously, falling heavily down, into those forming crystalline layers
To dress a seeming lace-like çover over all the stone markers
With a luminous beauty, revealing a metaphor, ineffable
~ Blessed markers of life itself set here before us
Within reach of meeting the Divine.
—————————————————————————————-
(c) sally young eslinger 6/5/2023
(Written for Jennifer Wilson & Maggie Hopkins in loving
Memory of James Hopkins, spouse, father, & friend) Also written with the inspiring power of images of the 9,000 marking gravestone crosses in Normandy, France, and sights of Arlington Cemetary, Washington, D.C.
Written to unaccompanied cello Suite 1 in G major, perfomer Yo Yo Ma
Thanks be to God…
In Dickensian time
Upon sunset hour
Overshadowing Thames
Is London Tower
Blackened cobble streets
Shimmer in the rain
Big Ben at Westminster
Chimes an eight bells refrain
At Euston Station
A passenger alights
On Platform 3
And enters the caff
for a nice cup of tea
At the local tavern
Behind steamy windows
The opportunists sit
Gleaning local gossip
Ever watchful to ensnare
Any hapless stranger
come wandering there
Covent Garden
still well lit
As lamplighters
carry out their remit
Striding with ladders
about old London town
With a cheery wave
and a purposeful frown
Patrolling policemen
in forbidding places
Echoing footfalls
as boots make paces
A courting couple shelters
under the arches
Oblivious to passerby's
and dray cart horses
A hackney driver cracks his whip
As high stepping hooves
on cobbles clip
From Westminster
stove pipe hatted M.P.s from
parliament sitting
enter a members club
to continue their
political discourses
unremitting
Mudlark urchins ankle deep
in moonshine glow
watch chugging steam boats
along the Thames flow
Billingsgate Market's
straw boated and
stripe aproned men
are found sluicing
with brooms in hand
the blood drenched ground
Along the West End thoroughfares
Come wealthy patrons
in open carriages with lantern flares
wearing evening attire
Bejewelled ladies in fanciful frocks
And around bare shoulders
Stoles of mink and silver fox
They ascend the red carpeted stairs
And look towards the royal box
A pretty young street seller
of violets and roses
with straw basket on hip
proffers up the scented poses
A peasouper fog blankets from
Thames to chimney tops
As a trader hooks his shutters down
Outside his haberdashery shop
Across London Bridge the East End rabble
Trail homeward to Hackney, Bethnal Green
and Whitechapel
From an open pub door
streams a music hall tune
played on an accordion
in a crowded tap room
Wending amongst the walkers
in the Strand
run beggarly children
with outstretched hand.
And......
Charles Dickens
walks the streets
at night
taking note
of every sight.
This is a true story- no names have been changed to protect the idiot........
Nb- * - a car bonnet is a hood in the United states.
** - censored.
On my way back from the pub
(since real ale is my passion)
slowly wending my way home
in a wibbly-wobbly fashion
in the road sat something small-
I almost passed it by,
camouflaged in darkness
by a cloudy moonless sky.
I could tell it was a Hedgehog
simply by it's silhouette,
and if it didn't move real soon
would get squashed flat, I'll bet.
Just then a hundred yards away
a pair of lights appeared
heading our way at a pace
exactly as I'd feared.
Instinct kicked in, and out I leapt
to the middle of the road
waving my arms frantically as
I switched to 'Hero' mode.
He hit the brakes just feet away
and wound his window down
"get out the way, you Prat!" he yelled
but I just pointed down, and said
"Hedgehog!!" (which he couldn't see,
his bonnet* was in the way),
"Just hang on while I shift it, mate"
was all that I could say.
So, bending down to rescue it
still sat between my feet
my heart sank as I focussed in
then finally missed a beat.
The Hedgehog I had risked my life
to save it by removing
was, in fact, from off a washing machine
a piece of rubber tubing.
Not wishing too look foolish
I just hid it with my sleeves
and slowly walked off to the kerb,
the car began to leave.
Angrily into the air I kicked the pipe before me,
a big mistake- in his rear view mirror
the car driver he saw me,
and hit the brakes, then jumped out yelling
( I remember, although quite plastered)
"That's cruelty to an animal! Come here, you heartless person** !
In hot pursuit back up the road
he came- the chase was on,
I wasn't going to hang about, in seconds I was gone,
vaulting over garden walls and dodging through the gates
then out of breath I hid myself, till he had gone, I'd wait.
Mud splattered with my trousers torn I reached home, panic over,
the ordeal I'd just been through was a great way to get sober.
So next time wildlife is in peril, maybe I won't hurry,
I'll carry on and stagger home-
let Mother Nature worry.
Waterfalls here and there sprout (A)
From the bottom of the mountain (B)
Monkeys and apes are gamboling (C)
Comfortably, somewhere on the leafy soil (D)
On trees top, snacking from the wild fruit (A)
Gathered, seemed as they had a summit (A)
Somewhere wavering on the tree (E)
I were alone blatantly beside the pond (F)
On the body of the botched trunk (G)
Which were beside the spring water (H)
That flew rhythmically in the middle of the forestry (E)
Wending, looking good bye me and the place peacefully ( E)
The nugget, pebble, and the sand was seen ( I)
In the pure water lazed beneath the bottom ( J)
Little fishes were swimming dreading nothing a hook (K)
And I were not a cruel boy to show them a slash of bread (L)
To trick and eat them for my hunger and fun ( I)
Nature was delicious by itself why i did them stun (I)
I had no girlfriend but I were loved a blossomed lass (M)
She was my high school grade mate, so beautiful (N)
A shy, not seen when she talk and play (O)
With boys like me and teenagers (P)
A virgin of the south Ethiopian of that epoch’s class (M)
I were dreaming here beyond my memory mass (M)
Alemseged’s Alphabetical Rhyming Scheme style
Oh, my boyhood love had an agony of sagacity (Q)
Wishing greedily day and night losing many sleeps (R)
Being frail to say I love you snatched the aplomb (S)
Observing in heart and mind surrendered without fighting (T)
A different perspective on a dimension of beauty (Q)
A yearning of having her, an itching of victory (Q)
My childhood village, the forest, the mount, the cliff (U)
The two lakes, Abaya and Chammo, God’s bridge ( V)
They couldn’t told me how to get the bloomed aroma (W)
They couldn’t helped me how to say I love you (X)
But they whispered the song through wind that riff (U)
By Knowing my secrets, searched from my heart’s shelf (U)
Where are you now the un kissed flower of the ere (Y)
The bud and bold, the desired scent as the Mexican dahlia (Z)
I think now, the time is go on you were my potent age flare (Y)
You are my boyhood nostalgia, as of a shadow of acacia (Z)
May 29,2021
A barred spiral galaxy in the Giraffe
has one of the arms curled in front of its core
where dust laden lanes in the grouping outpour
as Hubble has shown it for earthlings’ behalf.
Some sort of encounter perhaps came along
for bent NGC Two One Four Six once took,
which lent it that loopy anomalous look,
engendering forces colossally strong.
So lively in midwifing star births is it
that this galaxy earned the term starburst kind
like clusters of blooms Mother Nature designed
in tropical gardens terrene to visit
or namely the clerodendrum called starburst
which effloresces in a canopy bright
as do starburst galaxies at cosmic height
with budding sidereal young being nursed.
The galaxy’s less large than Milky Way’s size
just slightly, they say, to astronomers’ eyes,
with starry creation in lavish supplies
thus adding to worlds in stelliferous skies.
What habitants will these celestials see fit
to bring to fruition as creatures, to wit,
allow them to flourish as features permit
then blossom as lifeforms evolved bit by bit?
About eighty thousand light-years end to end
it lies ninety million light-years from our place,
this mortal abode of humanity’s race
that’s wending its oft wayward way round the bend,
or so it seems, though there are stargazer dreams
as reveries reaching existence’s plane
whence deeper dimensions of being may reign
embracing the whole of reality’s streams
in sensory oneness with all great and small,
beyond unenlightenment’s treacherous thrall,
a doomed irredeemable fate to forestall
which sadly might ever more likely befall.
We dwell in a realm where delusions benight,
enraptured in spell making wrong appear right
with vision too blurry to notice our plight.
Such times find it vital to seek out the light.
~ Harley White
* * * * * * * * *
Info ~ NGC 2146, a starburst galaxy in Camelopardalis (Anne’s Astronomy News)…
May sunshine and scattered showers
Countdown days and sleepless hours
Village maidens creep from their bowers
Meet amongst the meadow flowers
In a circle they skip and dance
Whilst chanting their love one's name
Enticing as moths to a flame
Each to another and all the same
Jethro, Saul, Piers and Lance.
As storm clouds darkened the blue sky
Each maiden emitted a sigh
Happily with vocals on high
hurried home, to wait bye and bye
Fair Suzette wished to be Piers wife
He waited for the day's sunset
to spread it's golden riverlet
For Piers was in love with Suzette
Dame Fortune had smiled on his life
Piers was due an inheritance
Came by way of a recompense
Family feuds were once intense
Thankfully all now make good sense
The moon lightened his way ahead
He walked then rested for awhile
Reading her note he did smile
Then hurried on over the style
Spurred on by love he quickly tread
Bleating sheep barring his way along
Moved aside as he sang love song
Twas her his heart did belong
He hoped her heart was just as strong
Thoughts of meeting made his heart thud
To rendevous she had agreed
The marshy fen and the tall green reed
Bogged down his progress to impede
He soldiered on caked in the mud
As overhead storm clouds passed
Sinking, helpless, he stared aghast
ankles, then knees he was stuck fast
Frantic, his eyes about him cast
Wind caught words blown far away
Then came a glowing lantern flame
Wending a pathway to her swain
For her his fear he overcame
He lowered his head and then did pray
He heard wild ponies stampeding
Then towards Piers they then did swing
He searched his pockets for some string
Lassoing one did upwards spring
Oh joy he thought my lucky day.
He gained control with frantic haste
Then across the fen he did race
To lift Suzette to his embrace.
They married and named their child May
Just one more duty to perform...
The moon is full and navel orange on this hot August night. The crickets and tree frogs have just begun their sublime serenade. In the distance, the steady clickety, clickety, click of a train wending it's way along the track soothes my nerves and before long I am lost in reflection of my recent past-
At forty-five my life was idyllic. The perfect wife, three awesome kids and a steady, stable career with the United States Marine Corps. I was living the American dream in all its pampered glory. That is, until I met her
Half my age with devil-green eyes that lasered straight through my ribcage and into my heart, catching me quite off guard. Soon, our weekend affairs were filled with expensive dining, alcohol and cocaine-laced nights of revelry followed by the kind of sex you'd die for. How could I resist? How could any man of flesh? She was a sorceress sent by Satan himself to seduce and entrap my very soul. All she asked was that I leave my world behind - the wife, the kids, everything and everyone that ever meant anything to me. Leave it all for her. In return - a life of hedonistic pleasures beyond my imagination. Adrenalin rushed through my veins causing my heart to explode and my brain to overload. I promised her everything. I would lie for her, cheat for her, steal for her, even murder for her. I placed my bet, sealed the deal. The game was full on.
Six months later she dumped me for a stockbroker.
I am left with nothing
Suddenly, the cry of a wolf howling in the distance snaps me out of my trance. That is my cue. I know what must be done. Here, deep in the Appalachian mountains, no one will find me. In reality, no one will bother searching.
Just one last duty to perform
A magic mirror told the queen that Snow White was the fairest in the land!
This put Her Majesty in a terrible snit and to the woods she had her banned!
She hired a hit man to have Snow White slain but he'd have none of that!
He let her go and she trudged along a path and came upon this run-down flat.
She rapped upon the door and hearing no answer stealthily crept inside.
Snow White had never seen such clutter - such a mess she could not abide!
She grabbed a broom, mop and pail and began to swab and dust and sweep.
Weary from her labors she climbed the stairs, found a bed and fell asleep!
The unlikely denizens of the little shack worked in the local diamond mine.
'Twas a 'Grimm' looking lot wending their way home through towering pine.
Dopey the younger, Doc the intellectual, Bashful, he with the coy pose,
Drousy Sleepy, crabby Grumpy, pudgy Happy and Sneezy with finger to his nose!
The little munchkins arrived home to find this beautiful creature in their bed!
She awoke rubbing sleep from her eyes, stared in disbelief and nearly fled!
Eventually, Snow White became a mother figure to that chaotic, motley crew!
She tucked them in bed, cooked their grub and settled beefs when fisticuffs flew!
Each morn the dorks shouldered tools heading for the pit to earn their dough,
Singing a quaint song they made famous, "Hi ho! Hi ho! Its off to work we go!"
Mister Disney made this classic film in 1937 when I was but a mere child!
Even today in my dotage, watching it with my grandkids, I'm still beguiled!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Tied for First Place in Linda Marie's "Disney" Contest - August 2011
Behold the pulchritude overhead exalts to about a spread.
It is o full swift which greatly outstrips thunder and gale added,
Yet ocular to sigh from more than a score of hillocks afar.
It is yet not as harefooted as my head can proceed thinking,
Wending in raining sands anyway in the world; I am, warping.
Eclipsing, rising flowering is stalking to a lightning hark.
Fit ratherish hebetates the wit seeing the fleeting on-dit.
Wights excitedly get unaware and err without a merit.
Thunderstorm is a marvel, a thrill, and opposite to a pit.
To expand the concept in top glass, I can only compound it
To a bit, as Oak's nether jut loud rackets; I lief bracket it
To daunted lit fibrils in an electric, animated chit.
Grandiosity and haste of german "Blitz" allure me pretty,
Puffing sinew of great intensity as exit gratefully.
No wonder Homer, a sage, enkindled Zeus with it slatefully.
Withal, Gandalf scragged up a demon by a bolt, hit it fatefully.
I fumble in night to kiss spits heard in my inner olio.
To fancy, a mountain of clouds on the stratosphere sits and flows.
Ergo, zenith and nadir fascinate each other, pitch and tow.
Lightning is jars of macedoines of grits afloat as dominoes.
A scad of millesimals in a galaxy: shrunk, shot, and blows.
Such dragons breathe snows wee of infinitesimal ratio,
So snows sock the gullible cherub in me so as hue arrows.
A bolt o real as it speeds, is so so vivid; No nod, it glows.
A man tranquil in a head, able or wicked, it's good to know,
Mental heaven to if it is full facile to trow; Thor follows.
Form:
A thread ...
ties me to the Infinite
a tendril of sonorous joy, expressed
weaves the depth of my marrow
to all that is and was and shall be and shan't ...
O - sing, my soul, of all that I am - sing of what I can't be!
A breath ...
holds my melody of being
spirit coursings beyond the capability of sensate expression
swell from the reaches of my heart
to find their diaphanous wings upon the maelstroms ...
O - sing, my soul, of all that I feel - sing of a bounding love!
A scream ...
rooted in dulcet dreams
rhythmic and dolorous and dark, of the night
dances, lilting, to bind the wounds of that greater expanse
to shed in music what I fear most ...
O - sing, my soul, of all that hides - sing of my shaded sins!
A song ...
sews my innermost to the day
a choral conjugation of my bones and the breadth of heaven
the seed of expression, harmonious ... wending
to enjoin this sparrow's strain ... with the All ...
O - sing, my soul, of all myst'ries to find - sing of a life at end!
O - sing!
~ 7th Place ~ in the "Your Best Free Verse That You Wrote" Poetry Contest, Chantelle Anne Cooke, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Your best free Verse 2020" Poetry Contest, John Hamilton, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "A Poem Honoring Spirituality" Poetry Contest, Caren Krutsinger, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Strand Choice X, Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Sing It" Poetry Contest, Nina Parmenter, Judge & Sponsor.