Long Winding Poems
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Welcome to my peach pity party
It’s my own fault it’s started
Without music I so lavender love
I find my pen more and piano not enough
I have ambitions and I notice now
That time is ticking winding down
I’m sure to die poor and unknown
I’m ok with that but dreams are blown
Dreams of leaving earth better than it was
Dreams of leaving inheritance and love
Dreams of not dying alone at home
Dreams of never being weak but strong
I don’t wear Cpap so I’m doomed
Lupus in remission but could anytime bloom
I have overcome some dilemmas thankfully
But God still put impossible dreams in me
Why so that I strive despite my hard head
Writing my dreams that I will never live
In a way I have because you read my lines
When a poetic thought starts in my mind
So pity party you are here with me
Embracing my poems and deferred dreams
I’m no longer a girl with the canvas sky
But a mature woman who uses ink to fly
Beyond the escarpment of love a 2nd hand rose thrives, trying not to die
the gardens are pregnant in bloom as Mei in her China gown asks why
the authentic sun shines both to burn the winding paths of languid lies
and to non-discriminate the swell of her pearls, this is her Dynasty cry
Stunning gardens giving birth, young brides and padded stoic grooms
happy gregarious music plays a Guangling melody of old while she enchants
the whispering winds, she tries not to think of her future as the hour slips
Typhoon Marge 1973, a wedding picture framed in white taken by the lot
but on this previous day not a stroke of wind not an ounce of water to mar
the union of two souls, beyond the crystal ball gazes of two young lovers
the sea is still untouched, no rain induced landslides yet, no slope terrain
A flood of emotions isolate Mei, the coastal flood fill her lungs
she is a deluge before a torrent of people who watch in quiet consent
This ceremonial ritual quadrant union breaks, as she makes her escape
no pre-arranged singling spot, just a rolling sea and the rise of her breast
sucking in air she runs, runs, runs, and runs, away from him .
The mind has
its own bleak landscapes
that freeze the will,
confine the soul
to an inner space
no larger than the self.
I know such worlds
of ice - dark ones
that press against
the window and give
no light. I am familiar
with the howl
of its bitter winds
that pick at every crack
as if trying to get in.
I have felt
its icy grip tighten
almost to the point
where I could not
draw a breath.
I know too
of other places
in the mind, deeper ones
that plumb almost
to its source
and summon landscapes
of an inner calm where
there are trees,
wide undulating plains
and rivers winding
their glistening way
to the sea. Landscapes
that are drawn
from the sacred,
composed of poetry
and prayer and carry
the faint recollections
of a somewhere
not far and yet,
a lifetime away.
“Childhood hides in the niche of mind with fossilized fantasy”-
By Poet
The yonder blue hills from the hazy horizon
cascaded gently down the alluring landscape,
carving the contours of the charming hamlet,
where my endearing home was once cradled.
The pristine panorama of climbing clouds slid silently
across the curved canvas of the cerulean sky,
where my childhood joy soared to a great height
with the colorful paper airplanes I loved to fly.
The wide-winged paper planes spun and soared high
in uncharted winding flight with the birds in the sky.
As they nose-dived to the ground in a faraway field,
I jumped in delight with the arms thrown up.
On these planes I flew in dream to the distant land
with the exploring mind filled with teenage hallucination.
The planes disappeared in obscurity with the tide of time,
but in hours of reverie they fly the childhood to me.
On some sunny days in the scented air of spring,
I still fly fancy paper airplanes in the bright blue sky,
and before the sun sets at the end of my time,
I try in visualization to reach the dreamland I haven’t found.
I marvel at my whimsy aviation skill not yet lost,
and wish I could fly in fantasy my life on these planes,
as I did with my imagination in my childhood.
I’d never let the child hidden within leave me ever.
My thoughts let go of a thousand memories,
like faces, dates, times and places;
yet, I can easily recall each and every detail,
on the day of your funeral.
In the middle of a snow storm I followed,
the wind blowing back my long hair;
we meandered down a winding cold path,
the wind pausing in the trees.
Snowflakes fell on me from the tangled branches,
falling like weeping tears cascading down;
I am lost in this forever, ever memory-
today the snow drifts in the cemetery.
and a headstone is buried deep in the pure white,
with one engraved word revealed;
in this pristine lonely winter wonderland,
only one word can be seen- Mother.
_________________________________
September 24, 2014
Poetry/Verse/One Word
Copyright Protected, ID 18-1067-461-01
All Rights Reserved.
Contest - Early October 2018, Standard
Sponsor- Brian Strand
First Place
Having, with hope and faith, overcome
past moonless night-like trials and tribulations,
I meet today's sunshine-ones with Gilead's balm;
Be aware that each living day and night has its race,
and there is no need to jump the gun in disqualification;
for it's not about coming in first place, but finishing the race:-
Indeed, it's all about an old Japanese proverb's awareness:
"don't worry about being slow; worry about standing still";
for each challenge is about crossing over the finish line:-
We will always have trials and tribulations; even when liberated;
thus let us ever take heart in overcoming and fearing nothing,
seeking strengthening by the ever present hand of God's love:-
In the race of life, it's not so much about the dreamer, but the dream;
for along the trial and tribulation track, the dreamer may suffer and fall,
but the divine will have the dream's baton pass on towards the finish line:-
As Blk Bok and Langston long ago immortally pended,
the hustle and bustle of today, is as real as it has ever been;
life remains to crystal stairway, but an ever winding staircase:-
And in every winding staircase, around each and every turn,
we encounter new unexpected challenges starring us in the face;
thus, with Jacob-like hope and faith, we must track life's staircase:-
Listen, when the treacherous mountainous staircase of life challenges you,
poke toes of hope, heels of strength, and with tongue of faith, yell loudly
"get the hell out of my way, I'm on a God's finish-line-track; coming in first!"
with muted senses, searching so as not find
shuffling our feet as, as all our precious clocks un-
winding and wily, what be your business here?
if not to remind me of who I am..., and then
and there to disappear, and then
and there to disappear
guarded ignorance, wonder doesn't have a name
curtsy t' indiff'rence as nights follow days again
no time for distance, let me ring a bell in your ear
all out of patience, turn another page..., and then
and there to disappear, and then
and there to disappear
all these demands, this fuss for affection
who needs love when we've got protection? and then
and there to disappear, and then
and there to disappear
In towns where Basic fantasy makes a frown
Nature has turned Completely upside down.
And day tours emigrate to the Cambrian shore
Onboard, the rivers boats from Windermere
moving between hills and trees, miles from home
where the boughs of orchard greens are overgrown.
From distance views are the dreams first caught,
But by wagon roads are the scenic marvels wrought.
Steep is the pass across from Eskdale to Hardknott.
The architect must create when the odds are Great.
And stand resolute by luck, for success, failure, or fate
Keep the faith Lyvennet flows alone to catch the bait.
In Crake valley the vision of dreams is made known
On Penrith curb they drove all the way back home.
from the distillation realm, everything looks foreign,
Solemn and determined, invoke quiet a snarling spell
Being the adventurer rage driving furiously out of hell,
With Lakeland Muse, ambush by cars on top of a hill.
Framed flaws lay beneath the religious camouflage
Shadows meandering when winding lanes diverge,
An envious world moonlight enriched into a mirage.
Out from the woods, alpacas and feral cats emerge.
Pale and pickled at the grunting grumbling core.
In lush Whitehaven vale oblivious of a full-scale war
Continued tours like silhouette building dunes
In embroidery gardens, beautiful flowers bloom.
Bumblebees, wasps, and flies have wooed and won,
The old man ‘Lakeland’, seated on its penitent throne
Crocked steam from Ulverston rises on the pond.
Another day meets the Crinkle Craggs of Lakeland.
If I were to stray from the straight road,
meander along twisted olden paths
let me not see an ordered place
like some new grown garden
designed by some modern nursery
to whom you must pay a hefty price.
Give me the lonely winding trails
lined with hard square granite
which farmers use for rubble walls,
that in turn give some shelter
to the prolific cape sorrel
swaying their yellowish flowers
with light sea gentle breezes
that fill the air with misty sea breeze
and manure maturing in the sunny rays.
A sudden bend might reveal
the reddish volcanic scoria
so oft used in Christmas cribs.
Afar dogs bark and jump with glee
at birds that occasionally fly low,
while the stately old palms
stand like a rock at some juncture
in this heavenly bliss.
At last a wooden bench I'll find
not far from carob trees.
There I will rest alone at peace
as far away as possible from it all.
the cemetery is still this Autumn day
as rain falls like kisses of love on my cheeks
to mingle with my tears . . .
memories have shook the ocean of my sleep
so, I have come to this stone garden
that is beautiful and forlorn
all is leaf-strewn with hundreds of hues
as I walk the winding path . . .
I am sinking into the atmosphere (into a trance)
the day old flower I carry is wilted
and I touch it's still smooth decaying petals
why must it die so quickly . . .
like my child who did not even gasp one breath
oh, I am lost in a sea of headstones
_________________________
November 1, 2020
Poetry/Free Verse/stone garden
Copyright Protected, ID 11-1317-390-01
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Contsance La France
Submitted into the Standard contest, Podium Placing Promise (2)
sponsor, Brian Strand, Judged, 12/31/20
First Place