Long Windy Poems
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Harsh coldness
Thawing retreat;
Life in upswing
New arrival
Spring sapling;
Promise in motion
Birdsong
Windy echoes;
First day of spring
Emerging beauty,
Cold winter gone;
Spring rapture
Sunshine spreads
Trees sprouting
New leaves
Glimpse here
Unfurling saplings;
Spring awakening
On the edge
Spring protrudes;
Cold winter decline
Dawn sings
New sunrise;
Turning a page
Coldness receding
Sparkling sunshine;
Spring's first fling
New day
Spring clean;
New leaves sprout
Joy in spring rain --
Bursting buds,
Zest awakens
Leon Enriquez
21 Mar 2014
Singapore
Redding Poem 4
“Flying Down Interstate 5”
We departed Redding at 3:45,
In the dead of an October night.
Those tumultuous streets were morgues then,
As we raced to the deserted Interstate 5,
Zooming across the snoozing Sacramento River,
Going at a constant speed of 85,
Passing the snoring cities of Red Bluff, Chico and Yuba City,
Slicing through the darkness of early morning,
With the tule fog scratching over the countryside,
Shrouding the distant lights like blinders on a roan.
One city after another, my speeding treads arriving
In dark sleepy Sacramento in two hours.
With the sun not waking yet, but stirring,
The internal beast passed Stockton as a blur in time,
With other speeding drivers merging onboard,
As insistent captains of their own landlocked ships.
Then looming before us, the San Joaquin canvass;
A devouring flatness five hundred miles long,
Of faraway farmlands sleeping overtime,
The majestic surreal banality of Central California,
Magnetizing us, hypnotizing us to the hastening flow,
Of southern currents and windy traipsings;
This caravan of one, this golden fueled protrusion,
Of the nomadic heartbeat; the inertly-moving soul search;
This final journey to the rapids of my youth,
Where undead ghost boys still climb the rebar rungs,
Atop the old tower on the water’s edge,
Still spit into the blue, slow-paced river below.
It was windy rainy a cold November night
As I walked alone the downtown streets
As I had done a million times before
Loneliness my ever faithful companion
Through inviting windows cozy and romantic
I’d see couples patronize chic restaurants
With much intrigue I loved to wonder
Under those golden lights and warm décor
If one day maybe it would be my turn
If one day love would be within my grasp
As tangible as a hand reaching out for a caress
And spontaneous as a stolen kiss before dessert
How I envied their smiles and laughter
When they leaned in closely for a whisper
It sometimes took my breath away
I in the dark on the outside looking in
Fantasizing that I’d someday navigate through a portal
And suddenly step into a metamorphosed revelation
This craving had to be more than a simple idle fixation
Surely my heart could not go on this way
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
GOODBYE WINTER
For winter, time is almost up
I take a sip from my coffee cup
The grass has grown very long
Neglecting it for weeks turned out so wrong
Mowing the grass is definitely a plan
And eventually it will look spick and span
Or I could just call a lawnmower man
I’ll hand over the responsibility
Then I can relax and have a shandy
Half lemonade and half beer, that’s how you make it
There’s no need to stir or shake it
I’m happy spring is almost here
It is my favourite time of year
Spring is the time for planting and sowing
Time to watch the vegies growing
All the flowers start blooming too
Spring is the time for everything new
All of the sights and sounds it brings
The sun is shining and the birds will sing.
I fell asleep outside,
on Lisa’s windy, 50th floor terrace.
It was indulgent, sensual
and lethargic - it crushed.
I forgot the time.
The sunset was intense,
a violent shock of color,
like an existential smack in the face.
I felt a lot of joy.
I’m feeling optimistic.
We leave for New Haven tomorrow.
I believe in the future.
Leeza popped her head out of the glass doors,
she was wearing a small, pale, skin bikini,
“Wanna go to the (indoor basement) pool?”
I stretched like a cat, “Sure,” I purred.
.
.
a song for this:
Hit My Heart by BOY
Relax by Vacations
.
.
Our cast:
Leeza, my roommate Lisa’s 14-year-old skinny, redheaded beauty of a little sister.
Lisa, one of my Yale roommates whose parents live in a Central Park South, Manhattan Highrise
Beautiful day, rainy, cloudy, cold, and a bit windy
Just walking between the graves, my witnesses
Alone, of course. To be. Best. One way. Element
Loved this place. Here, everyone is loved. Home
The last home. On Earth. In this world. A church
No. The church is gone. Walk. It’s a funeral garden.
A living death garden. Pure happiness. Down love
– Forgotten love? – Asked Satan. – Love? And you?
– Suspended. The love. I am a victim. No love here
– You are my follower. – Said Satan. – Loved one
– No love here. I am poor at that. – Ice world, land
– That’s the way, the beginning. – Encouraged Satan
– Way of the beginning. Hmm. I am in hell. Mine
– You are lucky, your hell is a castle. – Said Satan
– Castle? – I was amazed. – Yes. – Answered Satan
– Yes, it is that. Sure. Exciting your world. From yours
– From my life? A dirty curtain was drawn behind me. – I
– That curtain is your wings. You are flying. – Satan
– I am suffering. My times are grey. And so dark. – I
– Follow your path. It is not easy. I know. But help. – Satan
– How? With my memories and mental poisons? – I
– The way is given. Yours. From me. Just walk. – Satan
– Every walk in the forest is just emptiness for me. – I
– That emptiness is the space of your new life. – Satan
– Missing the love. A woman. Can we go together? – I
– Good question. The answer is no. Can not come together,
stay alone, your home is full of new homes. – Satan
– Thank you for your kind answers, dear Satan. – I
– You are welcome. And here. – Satan.
– It was so instructive. – I
– We continue in the next poem. – Satan
School was out for the summer,
and the summer heat was beaming.
The children were playing, getting wet
and cool by the blasting fire hydrants.
Even in a thriving metropolis such as Chicago,
'The innocence' was dropping like rain on the pavement
in the summer of 70.
In spite of a few negative experiences in The Windy City,
it's hard to compete with The Brookfield Zoo, The Museum
of Science and Industry, or The Buckingham Fountain.
All things being equal, from my perspective, the atmosphere was innocent and tame.
Perhaps it was me, 'walking on cloud 9' or 'hooked on a feeling'. Or was it both, because I had just met a girl in the summer of '70
who swept me off my feet? That explains why I was on a cloud?
It must have been in July of '70 when I first met her
and on June 17, 1972, we said, "I do". I tell you,
those two words still ring strong and true, as we
anticipate celebrating 50 years of marriage
in the summer 0f 2022.
041322PS
“Eternity rushes on time’s river
Uprooting all human things
Drowning them all in oblivion
Nations, Kingdoms, Kings
Should some matter still survive
Among the pipes and lyre,
Like everything alive,
It meets its fate,
Landing on eternity’s plate”
Gavrila Derzhavin (1743-1816) (modified)
Wind, breath of Aeolius flowing down
Over the Etruscan hills from Mt. Cronos
We are filled with morning’s air of spring
As we sit, my dog and I on the wall
In front of the kitchen garden
Protecting the narcissi bending in your breath.
O windy spirit
Whose breath streams out from
The zenith of ceaseless time
Carry us in your arms
Over these hills wrapped in your eternal flow
The stars are watching so too the starlings.
Arise, we start a walk down the grassy fields
Crushing the dewy morning’s growth under foot.
And all our little world stretches out wide below
As our gaze grabs hold of the open view
A verdant green going down into an emerald sea
Where saints have walked for an eternity
The old dry brittle couple who walks the town
And hills each day to keep death at bay pass by
Asking the dog’s name because their memory was passing too
It seemed they wanted to know the name of the poet I was reading
The Russian, you dear Osip, you who died in prison
But even that prison has passed away by now
A stone farmhouse is collapsing crumbling into its destiny of dust
On worn roadside noisy and unrepaired we watch the traffic passing
And shun the barking of dogs from car’s open windows
Back up the slope we tread on a well-worn goat-paths
But all the goats and sheep today have long moved on
A small house with one room looks down upon the hills
Stopping here I plan a place for me, where I shall have some peace
Peace passing slowly towards the sea before I too flow into eternity
By then the old couple will be long gone
The starlings, sheep and goats, the traffic and the narcissi too.
Only the sea and sun, the stars and wind will remain to outlast everything passing today
For the throat of time will have swallowed them all in an oblivion of fate and memory.
All this I know yet in its face I am as indifferent as the Wind.
Master Brown you have let me down
And yourself too
Please explain in simple terms why once again
I have not yet received homework from you
Not that this surprises me it seems a general rule
Have you some objection to doing lessons after school?
Master Brown looked up at his teacher with a cheeky grin
The picture of innocence, devoid of any sin
He was a little character, personality plus
He didn't fight or quarrel or make any fuss
With one eye on his teacher the other looking at the yard
He wanted to go out and play
So had to think extremely hard
I couldn't do my homework because
I haven't got my book
You may not believe me, sir
I know who took my homework book
The teacher prepared himself for another tale of woe
He knew there was no limitation on where Master Brown's
Imagination could go
As I sat down to start my homework
I began to feel hot
When I looked out of the window
I got an enormous shock
I heard wings flapping and something aflame
The heat cracked the window
And in the monster came
It looked like a winged dinosaur
I didn't know it's name
It was boiling hot and windy
I was in a dreadful state
This creature swooped on my desk
And ate
My homework
Master Brown finished with a huge sigh
He had convinced himself his tale was true
And not a lie
His teacher had listened, it was a whopper for sure
He gave Master Brown a lecture and more
Extra homework
That would keep him busy for a while
And then he asked Master Brown if he thought the creature
Could have been a Pterodactyl
1 February 2021
FROSTY
By
Kevin L Fairbrother
A Stock Horse… High Country Bred
Dark Palomino with white patches on his body and head
A solid well-muscled body and sturdy big boned legs
With strong shoulders and a massive muscled rear end
…
Sure footed FROSTY would go anywhere
A gallop on the marshes through creeks and river beds
Up and down steep and rocky hills, through thick bush and scrub
Nothing would impede his progress, he never gave up
…
He would carry heavy loads of Kangaroo and Deer
A friend to so many on the regular weekend hunt
Not fazed, never flinch when the guns went off
Work all day in the bush from dawn to dusk
…
Working with the dogs to gather sheep from the hills and plains
His rider sitting comfortable and on a loose rein
Picking his way around the fallen timber and rocky scree
Nothing would stop him no need of spur or whip
Stock horse competitions he would excel and prove his worth
Trail riding he was hard to beat in manners and stamina
DUSTY was loved by all who had the chance to meet him
His reputation admired and known by country and city people alike
…
But on a cold windy winters, morning, FROSTY was startled
Rising from the rough and ragged ground where he lay
His leg got caught, snapped his shoulder, struggling to get up
A sad time next morning when he was found, there was no hope
…
FROSTY was put down
Buried on the wind swept plains where he was born
And close to another legend of the High Country
His Mom
…
Such a legend FROSTY was gone before his time
But he will be remembered for his nature and strength
For on the high country his memory lives amongst so many
And round the camp fires FROSTY story will be told
Penned on the 23/01/15