Light years before
history began to take itself seriously
we commenced to spin our myths.
We carry these unread books,
to where this ancient world
has erupted from the molten
to solid ground. Enter this malleable
and imaginary planet
speaking of improbable odysseys
and sagas.
None may advance
unless the impossible be made possible.
imagine such,
and re-weave tapestries,
of an on-going mythology
from newfound visions.
I also convey this free-range poetry
as a gift to myself,
planting seeds of fable and fiction,
knowing that the unthinkable,
the inconceivable,
can, and will be born
into the willing womb of tomorrow.
If poetry channels our anger and sorrow
Who then will want to write it tomorrow
And will joy and contentment stifle its future?
And what will become of our stays and culture?
I say poetry has been victimized
Vilified, chastised, castigated and ostracized
Only perceived as a tool for struggle
Truths coded for smuggle
Yet poetry is just song void of tune
From the same rock hewn
For the lyrics that ride on the harmonies
Are sponsored by poetic abilities
Only poetry captures life’s odysseys
In whose form is crafted psalms and prophecies
If you want to know an expanse exceeding now
Poetry is the where and the how
Poetry in its recitation
May not cause rhythm and gyration
Care free melodies and chimes
That people seek in easy times
Until hard times force the weaning
Where people gain taste for meaning
A complementary aid for soul searching
To set the conscience forwardly marching
If poetry must fail in the market
Then it proves not to aim for your pocket
But a stinging dart to awaken your souls
When woes and lows purge all else from their roles
K. Muitherero
Rhymes in Nine 2 10-11-24 Rhymes checked with www.rhymezone Picture #4
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Fall Rhapsody
Fall rhapsody to BEGIN, TOLD IN scarlet tones,
A SERENADE for strings in a PARADE of russet GOLD hues -
A JUBILEE for acorns and for oaks in an autumn harvest JAMBOREE.
Maple LEAVES BLUSH in SHEAVES of firelight crimson choruses
Courtly LOVE sung like minuets OF twilight THRUSH vespers
MERRY harmonies of CRANBERRY aria odysseys.
Trees FESTOONED in UMBER pantaloons cast off MAROONED melodies
Twilight breezes FAN a cinnamon TAN pup in SLUMBER -
Orange opus CALLS when fall RECALLS harvest harmony.
Amorous Odyssey’s
We’re for each other
It’s plain to see
All our countless
Mutuality’s
Like locknecked swan’s
Swooning on a pond
We’ll sing together
As we float along
We’re for each other
That , there’s no doubt
We always know
Just what we’re talking about
We’re puzzle pieces
Not quite the same
But, us together
Make a burning flame
We’ll hold our hands
Then share our hearts
And keep it steady
While love lights a spark
We’ll be more epic
Than Love Story
Set our sights on
Amorous Odyssey’s
By: Bill MacEachern
October 19, 2022
Anecdotes all arousing my head
breathless begging to be your best
carefully caressing your caramel skin
ditching the deep ditches of dolor
enveloping the ever-present eerie aura
faithfully faking the smile on my face
glamorizing the greatness of giving
helping the halos of doubt in my head
idolizing your individuality and independence
joking about jumbled thoughts creating a jittery feeling
kites of your kindness kindling a wind
loving every little thing you do
memorizing the many lines on your memorable face
not caring about nefarious nettles that pierce me
ornating odysseys of our past
picturing a perfect picture of us play
questioning why I ever had quixotic questions
rising ricochets of rampant tears
setting sails of the ship of our love
touching thoughts twisting in the air
utilizing every unexpected moment we have together
vacillating the value of valor
wandering eyes over the warm waters of your eyes
xenial relationships and the feel of your xilinous skin
yearning for the youngblood of yesterday
zoning into zeniths of zeal
and our thoughts that were serious
turned life into acidity
but we're celebrating having survived
without tearing each other down too much
see, I allow myself to laugh at the televisions
as you solve cross puzzles
on this corner the milky way would be friendly
if we managed the odysseys correctly
maybe something dark is coming
mortal fleeing from the center of the universe
but we are ready the oracle said
because we have a surname hecatomb
Dynasties of greed and its economic policies,
political discourse and its perpetual odysseys.
Deficits through poor implementation,
voted promises and false trust revocation.
Borrowed capital and meeting their existing obligation,
taxes, high prices and corrupted penetration.
Violence done to keep the system to maintain,
multiplicity of ignorant ignorance polished vain.
Hidden figures with plausible deniability,
equal copious applied without responsibility.
Tightened belts and overdraft bestowed liberation,
practicing austerities in den prison damnation.
The ark of ignorance and its leaking admiration,
and the patriotic beasts lives by infatuation.
Government jobs that save the heart by devotion,
corrupted honor and its commotion.
The real austerity of integrity,
takes the spirit into liberating eternity.
Oregon's Octobers offer odysseys
of opulent orange orchards
opening on overjoyed oaks.
10/25/19
For 'Tautogram' contest
Sponsor: Eve Roper
1st Place
Oval lines of opaque light
Violet tracing the universe
Eons crossing; curving height
Magnetic Venus flares; coerce
Iridescent sisters of Mars
Aurora imbued divinity
Odysseys of unnamed stars
Falling to the end of infinity.
7/5/19
In times oft-forgotten great freight trains rolled through.
Each boxcar was tagged in a swashbuckling hue,
Flamboyantly hawking some stale, mawkish view.
Now all that remains is the desolate track.
Clickety-clack, clickety-clack:
Our eeriest memories’ ethereal track.
Those heart-pounding engines, in Santa Fe red!
Their sheer mass of metal would thrill me with dread.
With full sound and fury they powered and led,
Not seeing they followed that rigid steel track.
Clickety-clack, clickety-clack:
Time’s mindlessly marching, immovable track.
I wonder too often just where they’ve all gone.
What exploits or griefs will their odysseys spawn?
Then, hearing their whistle, I’m fearlessly drawn.
I shadow their ghosts up the unexplored track.
Clickety-clack, clickety-clack:
Our haziest days’ inevasible track.
2001 space odysseys
50th anniversary...
an anormal film
no hollywood fights
love triangles or monsters...
no thing as absurd
possible fiction
a reversed reality...
was worth a tear
all the worlds a stage
and we are but some actors...
reality silt
beaching…
the rhythmic waves
frothing to and from
carry middle passage echoes
of journeying odysseys
the setting sun severs
the umbilical link
between motherland
and her children in diaspora
reflecting grains of sand
catch crystallizing tears
of memories of faded shores
the bleeding breeze blows
sea seasoned whispers
flowing from lost voices
from sea to shining sea
we’ve been anchored
chained and auctioned
never can slavery be
a metaphor for memory
as waves dissipate
at the shores of time
no matter what beaches
we roam
the shores still sing songs
stealing home.
the rhythmic waves
frothing to and fro
carry Middle Passage echoes
of journeying odysseys
the setting sun severs
the umbilical link
between Motherland
and her children in diaspora
reflecting grains of sand
catch crystalizing tears
of memories of faded shores
the bleeding breeze blows
sea seasoned whispers
flowing from lost voices
from sea to shining sea
we’ve been anchored
chained and auctioned
never can slavery be
a metaphor for memory
as waves dissipate
at the shores of time
no matter what beaches
we roam
the shores still sing songs
stealing home.
When I’ve gone
to the place
where my fathers’
have gone before me
and the last tribute
has been paid to my memory,
may my singing words
crack the silence with clanging echoes.
May the clanging echoes
excite starving eyes
and taut wrinkled eardrums—
both to awareness—
guiding them
to actions of liberation
yet to come.
May clanging echoes
wake-up sleeping souls suffering
uncertainties of tyrannical rule,
slobbering from political absurdities,
drooling from mouths of misguided evil
diagnostic odysseys—peddling false hope
to precariously lost wanderers.
May my clanging echoes echo ringing
bells of freedom that can’t be unrung:
“Oh death where is thy sting?”
“Oh grave, where is thy victory?”
Poets will die;
but the ringing chords
of their words will live long lives:
Echoing clanging echoes…
We want to enrich
its atmosphere by planting trees
and anything that has
roots. We also want to pump
some of our oxygen into its
thin sheet of air.
We want to bring zoos
and cattle ranches on the red planet.
We want to build homes
and real estates for rich folks
who can afford space
odysseys.
We want another life
on Mars, before we destroy
our Earth with pollution
and wars....
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