After thirty-three years of unexplained happenings in her house Gina was standing at her window in her flat. She saw a byzantine soldier run from her house. She was startled, he was running from her door, down the stairs and down into the street. She was confused. She could hear him “it’s done, its over” what did he mean by that. Confused she sat down and could see the hex print vanish from her hand and knew was it him that was marauding her all these years. But... it’s over now, he left or was it the beginning. She could hear see a shadow and voices all those years blaming her for petty things she had done as a child. She couldn’t explain, someone close had paid him in the dark to cause distress in her life for all these years. "Who could it be… he always said it was my sister, mom and dad", all three of them, some sort of revenge as they already were in the dark and had to pay rent to get out, but infighting started and there was no control over them. “It’s time to pay he always said…
This little fleeting fleck of time we share
Suspended breath caught in frosty air
The Morning Glory trumpets the dawn
But withers and wilts by late afternoon
And we too are but a sigh of a moment
Lost in the passing wind sojourned
A momentary glint in Nature’s eye
We carry our burden of ephemerality
Like a Mayfly circling its solitary day
We flutter and flap between birth and
Death our little gains and tiny failures
Buried in the deep earth of nothingness.
Round and round the seasons blink
See the corn turn gold from green
Touch the silent river eddies
Twisting down to the brawling sea
The surging marauding bully surf
Molesting the stubborn granite rock
These primordial foes will never chime
Trapped between lightening and thunder
Their tussle is the earth’s oldest paradigm
And we in our little moment stand small
On the shifting sands all our endeavours
Are dissolved by the folding waves of time.
Gone are the great cats and bears
Gone are the terrifying snakes and boars
Gone are the ravaging marauding hoards
And in their place spiteful neighbors
Stir up their troubles
In their desire to be right and righteous
Blissful in their ignorance
That they are none other
Than the other they despise.
(3/2/26)
For Many years unable to identify
this haunting whoo whoo sound
Could it be an insect or a bird up in the trees
An amphibian by the creek perhaps ?
or something, else not identified, rising from the ground
The hoot was mostly early morning but sometimes through the night
unable to get vision of this creature
perhaps through camouflage it kept itself from sight
The mystery, finally it was solved
in the middle of the day
When the haunting hoot erupted,
not too far away
In desperation as a result of an attack by a marauding crow
the sound was emanating from a desperate immature creature
A frog? no not really but part of the name,
of a bird, that's how it does feature
In appearance it much resembles some owls
Its called a Tawny "FROGmouth"
a name with several vowels
A few metres from our house there are up to four
perched upon the same branch roosting
and sleeping through the day
They are nocturnal feeders, intermittently the branch is vacant
as they opt to stay away
Lirena was a songbird born of yore
Who dearly loved her husband everyday;
She sings her songs of contentment no more.
An adversary’s troops ransacked the shore,
A ruthless marauding they did display;
Lirena was a songbird born of yore.
Her loving husband whom she did adore
Abducted mercilessly from the fray;
She sings her songs of victory no more.
She trailed the captor’s ship on raft with oar,
Enduring stormy gales and restless waves;
Lirena was a songbird born of yore.
Making landfall, sprinting upshore,
In tearful attempt to plead and persuade,
She sung her people’s secret song of yore.
But the Adversary had no remorse,
Her beloved was already in decay.
Lirena is a songbird of long forgotten lore;
She sings her songs of compunction forevermore.
marauding foxes
mutilating fruit
minutemen mischief-makers
marching upon us
pick our pockets
laugh at our loss
“No mangoes for sale”
maimed, mangled, mashed
sweetness shamed
to death
ants and gnats feasting
off illicit mango chutney
sly scamps
evade
like Bolt-pace
their intake
of fruit sugars
insufficient for catching
robust diabetes
enfeebling the fiends
abducting limbs, or a pedactyl
soulful eyes stare with jeers
sailing
mimicking
bold breezes
through the trees
as I could never
in the canopy of my Caribbean youth
under mother's God-eye
girls outclimbed me
wearing puffy petticoats
and cumbersome cornrows
to perpetrate petite thefts
of mangoes
Living in an unwanted world
Tossed to and fro
With heavy breeze breezing
All hope seems lost
Lost in the midst of ravaging storm
Tossing East and North.
Caught amidst the combat of immorality
Weary and scary
Sharpened edges rust,
Once honored chastened.
Caught in the midst of thorns
Egg meant to meet with fragility chastened.
Marauding and parading
No light,no route, no Zeus.
Bright lightening fades,
yellow sun turned dark
Light to the path turn outcast
The cared for left
Leaving the light to fend for himself.
Is the light meant to fuel itself ?
How then shall it bear forth light ?
When day break,night cometh not ?
When night comes with darkness being the author of the day,
Vanishes, ashamed,is an outcast light summoned?
How be it the light comes up
When not fuelled?
Light cometh up but shines not .
When treated right,
Light shines and darkness vanishes
When there is alternative to light,
Is the light not ashamed?
Nothing replaces light for ever.
Even nature cometh and vanishes.
Then,shall light be appreciated but gone.
Of what gain shall it be for both creature?
He Has only Just Begun
He has only just begun creating new days
whether inside hours
or by the river that flows from the throne of the Lamb.
He has only just started planning for fresh sunsets
in loving hues never witnessed
on Heavenly streets or asphalt highways.
He has only just started rolling out plans
for forests and fields
savoring teas brewed from leaves with healing for the nations.
He has only just designed new mansions
by still waters
in hearts that live beyond marauding midnights.
He has only just begun to give birth
from the eternal womb
for such a time as this.
He has only just begun a new work
in you and me
that the carpenter completes and finishes.
.
me
mine
my marauding monz
mostly
morningz
maybe midnights
mm
Soft sands caress my feet, a comforting touch,
The waves crash ashore, in ways I love so much,
Washing my footprints away, leaving no trace.
The beach cleanses its face with its embrace.
As the waves run out they trace a veil of lace
Respecting the grace of this sacred space.
The home of mater mare, where all life began
Within the warm primordial soup sea scan.
Children build castles with buckets and spades,
Lovers stroll along, hand in hand, playing charades,
The gulls pitter patter, squabbling and cawing
Pecking up morels and scraps, with their marauding.
The seashore beach is a place of solitude and peace
Where all your toils and troubles, for a time, cease.
-------------
19 May 2023
For: Sonnet Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Sotto Poet
-------------
Makha' woblu your strength I find
Wit e' spreads her arrows of light to find our way
From the marauding darkness. I pray humbly and kind
For feather and fawn to softly rest on the hearts of our oya'te
Beware! Blota'hunka has sent his ravens to ravage and malign
So that Ozuye swallows the night in dreams that fear and betray
May 8, 2023
Bite Size Contest no.63 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Line Gauthier
Lakota translation:
Makha' woblu - wolf
wit e' - moon
Oya'te' - tribe, people
Blota'hunka - war chief
Ozuye - war or conflict
Voices no longer talk but yell.
Angry legions, carrying banners
along burning streets,
have infiltrated the Temple quiet
with the unholy noise of hell.
Rage has been elevated
to the status of virtue,
division into a hymn.
Soon, fiery eyed militia,
banging their drums,
will be knocking on your door
to present a warrant
to enter your head.
Find a hatch somewhere
into the still
of an inner space
and escape, safe
from the marauding mob
tearing silence apart,
laying waste the State
in the name
of their rowdy god.
i suppose they will all
be soon to depart
the danish girl
has removed her top
the germans will soon follow suit
the french girl
will arrive soon minus everything
there goes the male tourist
down the beach
time to stroll, exercise
amidst the breasts residing on the sand
isn't it funny
tables emptied of annoying badinage
i owe so many clear views
of Mexican beaches to Europe
but the sad aspect
is that amidst
all of this tropical beauty
the male tourist is unable
to rise above the preoccupation
of viewing breasts
myself, i prefer legs
they represent a short blip
a blink of the eye
to the pelicans coasting upon
the wave generated wind
the sky filled with marauding
magnificent frigates
surfers hanging in for the wave
where they balance in nature
on a ride into shore
where some will banter me for a poem
i reply, your eyes (fill in color)
are birds who steal my thoughts
my breath, my heart
go away now
and it ain't look at that ass
it is a callipygous goddess
yes i wrote short love poems for them
and bettered their vocabulary
San Blas 92
An affectatious arsonist announced,
“Big buildings’ burning brilliance brightens best!”
casually cites conflagration counts,
darkly deals destruction, designer-dressed.
Extinguishing each edifice enflamed,
first-rate forensic findings frequent failed.
Grievous, grim goings, ‘geniously gamed;
Hurried happenings, hastily high-tailed.
Incendiary incidents ignite
jewel-filled junkets, jazzed jalopy jaunts.
Kindling’s kittling kiss: knave’s known kryptonite,
Lapping, leaping licks, luscious, lit lavants.
Madness! Marauding mercilessly more,
Nefarious, nursing next novel noir.
—————
kittle - birth, excitement
lavant - old English, stream
She stood by the waters
Draining blood to hungry mosquitoes
And she wept...
For her beauty had been swept away
Swept by the marauding monsters who
Called her a sausage for hounds.
By these waters...
She saw men drag her
Away to snatch her innocence
And she came back altered
Far beyond recognition.
And a Lily stood outstandingly
To remind her there was still light
No need to despair
Bulls are still there
But who knows,
Maybe a call for a night may also deprive her
From her patch if affection.
Maybe her only solace...
Is to return
To the river
To smell the lilies.
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