O' Strawberry Moon
Magnanimous beatitude and abundance boon
A beautiful glint off still waters
A shining hope for sons and daughters
Close and low you hang in a summer sky
With nightjars, fireflies, and nighthawks mystically flying by
Your warm, golden, reddish calmness looms
Man expresses gratitude for another sweet strawberry moon
The sky canvas seems glittery.
Hiding a divine mystery
The red moon’s rays glow like ruby,
Sapphire stars shine so silvery.
Swift's shadows sing the sun's send-off.
Each shade shows nature's mastery.
Midst black-sheep clouds are a taut trough.
Sapphire stars shine so silvery.
Nighthawks and Nightjars perform plays.
Sky sails on stream periphery.
Hills and vales are in a grey haze
Sapphire stars shine so silvery.
The sky canvas seems glittery.
Sapphire stars shine so silvery.
his distant still palette
of ambient light
painted the silence
of hawks in the night
catching a sadness
that hides in plain sight
in an air of detachment
that hints at their plight.
Hopper and his hand
Showing us what
Coffee consumption
looks like, at 3am...
With a war waging on…
His stroke mastered the
Indemnity
Of the slurp,
The underlying principle
Of 24/7
Strangers screaming in silence
And soldiers savaged only hours
ahead
The lights of Gotham out,
The painting’s hollow illumination
As if it was all happening
between patron and comrade
server and those serving
The rest of the world asleep,
probably never wanting to rise
again
And those awake, just wanting a refill.
These woods once rich with leaves,
brushed kiss from the wind then stolen by thieves
now latent boughs by snow.
Its touch glistening glow
melt tears, I think I know to watch allurement
flow its caress weaves.
Sun makes its way across
the sky sinks out of reach and wins the toss.
A peace in the wood walls,
stunning, once the night falls,
nocturnal creature calls.
Different kinds of loveliness emboss.
Dazzling glow, eyes of light,
a sea of darkness, stars winking good night
while nature falls asleep,
and nighthawks rise to peep.
Cold threaded fingers keep
on snowy evening walk, no one in sight.
Snowflakes resume to flow,
these woods within our grasp such wealth of snow.
The only sound's, the graze
of chilled wind wounds and raise
the fall of flakes that lays.
On a snowy evening walk tempting so.
12/25/2017
I couldn't help you,
crying in your shadows,
I couldn't reach you,
walled in distant canyons,
nighthawks soar in grey moonlight,
eyeless blind to inner sight,
I couldn't hear you,
shouts lost in wind,
I couldn't see you,
swallowed by faceless crowds,
can love be there for hearts alone,
soft music drown that desperate moan?
I will wait here,
silent on our hill,
I will hope here,
face turned up and to the west,
if courage pays the mortal's toll,
will fates reward the patient soul?
Ah, faith! Golly gosh, life in the city!
Hustle and bustle n' a big metro wander
Exhaustion, life, anger and pretty gritty
Misty, grimy lights loudly grab a beggar
The sidewalk shops like a cold surround
Hot action, big ole' vanilla sidewalks
Graffiti walls, in dab color bound
Hot streets quietly grab nighthawks
Where is the sunny cloud vapors?
In downtown burg retreats
Out above on dark street skyscrapers
Crestin' over in mean dark streets
U' gotta love corner words
Chatter, rattle, natter, prattle
People jabber like yakkety-yak birds
Cigarettes gab under dark doorway shadow
Gazing in windows calmly at low down
In dusty, dry walk-in cafes
Grimy flowers grab at dead grass mown
Fish eyeing brutal building facades, near dead eye alleyways
Oh, noise!
Man like a machine
Never like a jackhammer that annoys
The faceless toiler that is mean and lean
Horn noise, action, in a 'crown vic'
Cabbies scowering for revenues
While crashing, dashing in street quick
O' life in bright light big city blues
Within the blah blah blah, heart of the city
You can endure all that jazz you wish it to be
Read with image at my blog: purelandsutras.wordpress.com
Night’s shadow lours upon the world
And the streets are silent like the
Netherworld—without a single
Morning soul to be seen or heard.
But amidst the dimness is a lone
Lit nest serving toffee flavored coffee,
And as the jukebox sings “Do I Worry” ,
Wistful nighthawks gather to ponder
From midnight to twilight, minding
Only their lonely aloof thoughts,
And to be adrift in surreal reverie,
During this moonlit lull when the
Sun shines bright but in dreamworld.
Note: Do I Worry is an Ink Spots song.
Poem released into Public Domain
You could see the lone figure in the pale, fading light,
Bedding down the doggies for a restful night.
He had been in the saddle since early morn',
Now feeling the aches of the drive that made him feel "worn".
The three other horses he had taken from the remuda that day,
Were now being tied and fed, as they whinnied and neighed.
"Woh, cattle...Woh, cattle", he sang softly to the steers,
Another six weeks on the trail and he would be filling his night with beers.
When the herd was quiet, the first 'Nighthawks' came,
He sighed with relief, as he tugged on the reins.
In just a few minutes he was putting his saddle and bedroll aright,
the grub made...biscuits, beans, and salt pork for tonight.
Then he unbuckled his gunbelt and laid down in his place,
Knowing full well, he'd be up before dawn to relieve the man on the trace.
It was hard work but he loved it, or so he said,
More of the Chisolm waited for them up ahead.
Yet it was the cows, the horses, the danger, and freedom he dared,
And those few other comrades whose journey he shared.
Yes, it was this "Cowboy Life" full of its highs and lows,
It was all that he needed, and was the life he chose.
Betwixt an echo the night tide dawns
As the nighthawks crow hushed serenades
From behind many a veiled barricades
Swayed I am as wicked symphonies spawn
Unannounced temptation had visited
When a Syrian beauty caught my eye
From the base of my breath faltered a sigh
Upon my senses addiction riveted
Vibrant she gleamed an aria of colour
Crafty she bewildered a sea of men
Blinded by lust distraught they descended
To the cadence of perplexity they wuthered
Between her thighs they tasted of yen
As to prominence she transcended
With children in tow
on winter’s heels set off to
follow fine artists
Lovingly lost in copper,
canvas, bright color
framboise, tanager, yarrow
Picasso, Beckmann, Klimt
Woman with a Hat, Nighthawks
haunting, surreal …
Writing, painting, tones
sculpting, gazing, trudging on
weary, fulfilled, homeward bound …
I wasn't completely sure who I just was, so
I counted off three-chimes of the bell in the
clock tower.... I'm out late.... Nighthawks swoop
and Crickets hush their tensile ratchet, until I
pass by.
He pushed by me, cutting me off, as I pointed
towards the Hotel on the hill.... he could stay
there, but I would need to remain alert, focused
on matters close by..... like, why is pink my
favorite color? .... and, why are Dutch People
in art, always painted blue?
Doesn't seem fair... with no expectations, rewards,
or pressure, would humans naturally be of a giving
nature? ...... or selfish?
What twist of fate has befallen us?
When nighthawks no longer soar by day --
Ritualistic measures of time usurps moonlight
Where then shall I see upon my love’s face ~
A smile that would light the ancient Nile
Oh to feel the warmth of his sweet embrace
Dusk be not in such foul temperament..
Let pace of dawn be slow to arise
As it steals the warmth of our embrace
Oh twilight stars of night twinkle, now
As, the nighthawk, pleasures ebony soul
For that simple delight, I’d walk the naked miles…
Saddened is this heart when we must part
Let the setting of the sun come soon
Then we shall soar once more ‘neath lover’s moon
The watchman comes nigh, careful now
we must depart this gentleness – Remember,
For that simple pleasure, I’d walk the naked miles…
Embryos sing saddle-sore sonatas, beneath
the despot eaves of chromium skies, reflecting
black light down upon the harbours where
ambition claws the air and slowly dies; and
nighthawks scream a siren song of sadness, for
all the lovers lost and ripped apart, their
entrails steaming, scattered and decaying, cryogenic
memories still the beating heart.
Somewhere in a paean of pain and passion, eyes
upturned in sockets sear the night, telescope
and zoom into the heavens, ruptured
vessels crack the milky white; for
all the golden graces of the goddess, stealing
and absorbing love and soul, hoarding
with her sadist smiles of sorrow, reaps
the diamond, reimburses coal.
On the moon my blood drips sour and savage, fills
the craters and the fossil seas, scars
the surface dust like crazy paving, packs
the vacuum deserts with disease; on
the moon my blood is frozen solid, crystallising,
still as tombstone script, cold,
implacably cast as death's dominion, to
love no more, enamelled bathtub crypt.
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