Oases Poems

Desert

Lamentations alone cannot stop
the bleeding of the land at the ankles,
nor stop the tears of Deluge

Grief matters little in a prophesied
pogrom, for a general death is
not reckoned with evil —

And prophecies shall remain with rain
forty days and forty nights;

And the empty trenches of Desert
shall be filled, her sands mired
upon the gluey spittle of the rains;

Even oases shall puke their water
upon broken rocks —Desert treasures.

When the sun lies in witness to this
history, with ancestral brown drums
saluting yonder,
lamentations shall be futile.

Longing Faiths

Let our clear eyes gaze
at the rising moon on the
shores of the Sahara, let
the evening stars shine,
holding the skies in their
         cosmic magnet, let the
tides cease their aggression
within the ocean, like the
brutish pain we feel as
we welcome and embrace
the oases of our longing
         faiths, our kisses
flirting on the shores
of the ocean’s lips,
resolute in our struggle.
We are sandwiched between
the blades and mortars of
these plains, bludgeoned on
the banks and rivers of
these burning forests,
our peace stolen by
hate, so we spend
      these silver years in
agony, asking the same
questions our ancestors
asked: shall our hopes be
burnished and taken away on
the lost bays of these curving
currents determined to throw
us into the pits of the boiling
gutters, or shall our longing
        faiths, like stones, outlast
the flames of the forest fires?

The Sight of Your Lies

Lord knows the Devil
I encountered. Hidden
hypocrisy swayed naivety I
exuded. Smiling with grace but
crossing betrayal behind your
back while holding my hand with
the other. Delicate melodies of grace strumming
along inconspicuous quos while feeding 
me with Eden’s fruit hung in God’s hand. 
Mirages of desolated oases surrounded you, 
A pity fool I became at your wits playing
me instead. Awakened clarity
in one bite-filled rage,
thank you bold face
snake. Now, I live
my life in
gratitude.

OUR JOURNEY THROUGH THE GLITTERING SAND

We travel through the sand dunes,
And look for oases,
At nights we see the moon,
And in the day-time- Look for roses.

The weather so hot and cold,
With sand below glittering in the sun like Gold,
We feel the hot sunshine,
And for a drop of cool water-We pine!

Our camels look for a shelter,
And our skin sweat like being next to a heater,
Yet we carry hope and move on,
And that hope and our thirst to reach our goal makes all our pains gone.

Jesus Prepares For His Mission

Deserts, forests, oases, mountains, and valleys called him
The cliffs that touched the skies had mystic wisdom to impart.
Within the waters of the endless Spirit, he must swim.
He should, like the spring sun, shine with Abba's sparks in his heart.

Forty days and nights, he fasted and prayed, the scripture says.
Shouldn't seeds stay in the womb of the soil to be reborn?
The galaxy of Trinity must shred its holy rays.
Earth and sky must meet. Virtues, like flesh and blood, must be worn.

Did the temptation to work wonders for fame win his will?
Did he, like Israel, fail in his love for his father?
Could the urge to act against the scriptures evince its skill?
The furor over the evils, hence, he did not bother

To fulfill the worldly rites, he received John's baptism.
Who did realize, then, that he was beyond any ism?

The Silver Lining

In its thunderous voice, the sky spoke 
"Let the rains fall upon you" 
"Beware the hurricanes" ...the wind screamed 
Electricity filled the atmosphere
Gods raised their rods 
Forests trampled by mudslides 
Snow blanketed the plains, and... 
The deserts oases claimed to be real 
Then, 
Showing its face; the sun 
Spoke in warmth...
 "Life"
Let there be!

Yearning For Oases

Oh how I wish to be one with the wind in my hair, 
my floral dress flowing in the air. 
The soft ocean breeze hitting my face, 
and the delightful cadence of waves nothing would replace. 

The waters crash onto the quayside, 
as the ocean and sun would slowly collide. 
My mind and soul take in the beauty, 
carrying me away into a blissful reverie. 

The sky would form wondrous clouds full of colour, 
and I'd smile to myself as I think of this summer. 
Forever captivated by the world outside, 
while the moon will set on the other side. 

I dream to experience something just like this, 
I'd stay forever in this soulful abyss. 
I dream to find tranquility in exquisite places, 
whether it be an indoor inn or an outdoor oasis.

An Ode To Music

Music, Oh mysterious sprite!
Lift me to the seamless realms of delight.
Your ubiquitous presence I feel; 
In the hum of crickets, in the silence of the stars,
In the falling cataracts, in the running streams,
You are there in the roaring sea breakers,
And under the swift wings of the wind.

Come as subtle vibes to saturate my being,
Winding your way through every sinew.
Enfold me in your rapturous hold,
Raising my soul to the magic of rhapsody.
Paint intangible pictures in silence,
Creating a sensation beyond the reach of words.
Let my soul savor the taste of ecstasy,
Daubing myriad hues on all ugly stains.
Land me in the sequestered pools of oases,
As the blistering sands leave burns on my soul

Oh Music! Come and fill me.
Soak me from foot to crown,
Like a falling drizzle,
Like a caressing soft wind,
Like a marauding sensation.
Drown me in the subaqueous quietude of the sea,
Levitating me through ether,
And lifting me up onto the borders of heaven!

I Miss

In the midst of fiery crises
I miss cool, shady oases
O, Fountain, spring forth your fresh water
revive my land to evergreen

O, Abdim's storks, will you perch my neem?
O, white-feather, flaunting egrets
harbingers of rain,
and night croaking toads,
I've missed your glad tidings again

In the midst of hot desert dunes
I miss monsoons
and rows of sorghum
demarcated by a sorrel hedge

I miss evening drizzles
and their running clouds
nightly torrents 
and showers between sunshines

I Will Be Silent

For ‘Karim

“We used to have peace, but now we have only war.”—Halima

I will not speak of the dead
for that is another matter.
I will not speak of those 
driven out of their homes
to find shelter in a camp
fenced with strings.
I will not speak of those 
raped at dawn. Or of children
shot in the head.

I will not speak of them.

I will not speak of the woman,
round and heavy, like me,
who will give birth to a child she’ll be ashamed to name.
Neither will I speak of
a dozen other women, like her,
and a village which will beget bastards.
I will not speak of the slash—deep in my thigh,
made by a knife: a brand of ownership, 
the mark of a slave.

No; on such matters I’ll be silent.
Rather, I’ll speak of warm fires. Of oases, dates, 
and night songs.
I’ll speak of things that once were.

An Ode To Music

Music, Oh mysterious sprite!
Lift us to the seamless realms of delight
Your ubiquitous presence we feel; 
In the hum of crickets
In the silence of the stars
In the falling cataracts
In the running streams
You are there in the roaring sea breakers
And under the swift wings of the wind

Come as subtle vibes to saturate our being,
Winding your way through every sinew
Enfold us in your rapturous hold,
Raising our souls to the magic of rhapsody
Paint intangible pictures in silence,
Creating a sensation beyond the reach of words
Let our souls savor the taste of ecstasy,
Daubing myriad hues on all ugly stains
Land us in the sequestered pools of oases,
As the blistering sands leave burns on our souls

Oh Music! Come and fill me
Soak me from foot to crown
Like a falling drizzle
Like a caressing soft wind
Like a marauding sensation
Drown me
In the subaqueous quietude of the sea
Levitate me through ether
And lift me up onto the borders of heaven

Morning Songs-N

Masters of the sacredness of silence

O, morning, speak to me gently, silently, softly

Resurrect and relegate me to what lies ahead

Nothing stills me more than the early mornings

I pray, praise, read, and I am at ease and poise

"Now" is the secret weapon created by the mornings

Gifts of peace, protective shields provided to face the day

Sacred morning songs speak to me, saying, "Let there be light"

Oases of melodies in the quiet zone are heard by the inner ears

Nutrition-like qualities abound that build strong lives

God made the mornings for quiet experiences and meditation,

Separating the light from darkness and filtering our lives

11421PS

Isis Poem

Isis is a goddess of magic stars
shooting like diamonds shielding 
a childs dreams Patroness to nature
a defender of the dead timeless
giver of life garden of life
oases every stars a child every 
Constellation a shield men her 
warriors the sky a bed of hope 
a silken blanket nature her weapon
to wield.

sign Jona Love 

my isis poem written sept. 16th, 2015

Unexpected Gift -- Update

A horse and mule move through the heat and sun
Along the dry desert sands below the deep blue sky
Waiting and watching nearby on some cacti trees
Sit red-tailed hawks smaller birds and a elf owl
And close by in the heat wait mule deer and bighorn sheep
Willows and cottonwoods begin to appear in the sandy nurseries
For here in the desert — horses and  mules enter to dig wells
Dug by earth’s special creatures down to 6 feet deep
Groundwater for wildlife the bounty of nature’s engineers
Ancient times taught the horses, the mules to create the wells
Nature's gift, dear God mankind, we need to allow these creatures to be free



As described in a paper published April 29 in the journal Science, the animals use their hooves to dig more than six feet deep to reach groundwater for themselves, in turn creating oases that serve as a boon to wildlife

Saharan Tableau

North African sands
        torrid dunes expand
        moonlight has a tan
         fry an egg no pan
         oases are damned
         god forsaken land


Tableau - 6 Lines Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Joseph May
20/03/2021

• Short Oases Poems
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