where
the egrets
perch
where
the petrels
nest
the
kestrels
screech
wrens
peep
above
the creek
which
wends
then ends
where
the speckled
perch teem
and
dew
bedews
the ferns
a fp inspiration verse
Mariners in our wanderlust,
We sail beyond the horizon’s curve.
Fearful, we dare the briny deep
Out of faith in the dreams we serve.
Rough-hewn by years of knots and coils,
Our hands hoist up the canvass sails,
In the ways that the ancients toiled,
To cross the many-fathomed deep.
The muted moaning of the masts;
The pitch and the roll and the yaw
Of wooden hulls upon the deep;
The wondrous fear of freedom’s call.
Daredevil dolphins rise and roll,
As fleets of flying fish fin by
Pursued by patrols of petrels
Winging o’er foam and stinging spray.
We plough the mirrored Milky Way,
Bright on the obsidian main,
As pale phosphorescent plankton
Stream by beneath the midnight moon.
Monsters revel in the tempests,
Risen from out the great abyss.
They lurk in misty fjords, off port,
Glowering in the wine-dark sea.
The heartbeats of our bodies blend
The ancient rhythms of our cells
With the rising, falling rhythms
With the siren rhythms of the sea.
Mariners in our wanderlust,
We behave like a swarm of bees,
Spreading the pollen of culture
To the four antipodes.
I've felt Daren's absence for years,
a most unforgettable memory:
someone who was very close to me.
The long roaring ships cut
through the bubbling and whizzing waves,
and disappeared into the glimmering sea
while dusk obfuscated its brilliance;
unrest was a feeling of anxiety and fright:
how did a young soldier cope with the distance
when shivers brought shadows into his night?
Many noons I sat by this shore
bringing to life images of two buddies so youthful,
we hung out letting our spirits put on wings...
before seagulls would stifle our thrilled voices;
their shrills became much louder and more frightful,
awakening the clustered petrels!
I anxiously wait for the return of the ships,
too dreary is the soundless harbor;
I will greet the returning soldiers
who carry with them the horrors of the war!
Birdwatcher
This passionate, keen Ornithologist,
Is an interest, I profoundly pursue.
With the upmost of dedication,
To Black Tern & Long Billed Curlew.
Never a Twitcher, or just an obsession,
Binoculars on hand to observe.
Redstart & Greenfinch, also Reed Bunting,
Come into focus on a birdlife reserve.
Warblers & Wagtails, singing all day,
Sounding so sweet in the garden.
Robin & Chiffchaff scurry around,
That’s my bug meal, if you pardon.
Black Tailed Godwit & Purple Sandpiper,
Great Skuas & Dunlin share low tide.
Petrels & Fulmars, big Herring Seagull,
All I can name from a secluded bird hide
THE SNOW and coarse wind both plunge down over oceans
Unbound and unmeasured by obstinate sailors
Who drift while confronting ungrappled emotions
Like obdurate petrels and stoical whalers.
Imprisoned ashore on a cliff is the mourner
Whose wings have been severed by devious captors;
He peers through the mist as he hides in his corner:
How blithe is Life’s book, but how sad is his chapter!
Condemned to uncover eternity’s cryptic
And coveted secrets, he ponders the vastness
Of solitude cloaking a recondite, mystic
Philosophy hidden with infinite deftness.
The high-soaring tower which serves as his prison
Stands firm by the mountains’ impassable summits;
Escape though he might, how unfit is this season
Of menacing gales where the precipice plummets!
Beset by despair is this desolate being
Who once wished to flee his old life’s empty guises;
How downcast was he to find out, upon fleeing,
That loneness and death were his only surprises!
Find my poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com
Dozing petrels with soft plumage
drunken with sage,
don't bite on bark
when voices don't hark!
Earlier you soared over a plain
greeting a swain
with eyes so sad...
you made him glad!
Dozing petrels, don't fear wolves' cries...
dancing fireflies
will bring moonlight
with some starlight!
The American eagles left their warm nests
before snow fell on the evergreen pines and spruces,
so did the ravens, grackles and petrels...
hidden among the white mountains, the river still flows.
So peaceful, so cold is this winter afternoon,
no other sound but the waters babbling on rocks,
flowing into the wide valley below without a tune...
two months ago, the placid lake swarmed with ducks.
Footprints are visible into the frozen snow that no one loves...
who would venture in this life-threatening wilderness?
Could it be a grizzling gone astray, or searching for his cubs?
Leave it to the imagination, or simply take a guess!
So peaceful, so cold is this winter afternoon,
and the more I look, the less I think of danger...
I would love to get out and discover it like the slow-moving raccoon
seeking food until he shivers and decides to turn back with anger.
STORM CLOUDS
Storm clouds gathering again from the Pacific
Over this graveyard and its winged totems,
Cedar stories rich in legends, these items
--- Of far-off people, Shamans, and soaring spirits prolific.
--- Of the sea Indians - salmon fishermen - now absent
From the Weywakum cabins at the choppy anchorage, *
Facing the ragged edge of the Inside Passage *
With its grey waves and treacherous current.
Graveyards always feel shivery and cold,
But these souls are sealed at peace from storms.
My eyes begin to brim as I read the stones
Marking the changing currents of life age-old.
The chill wind pierces my jacket, waters my eyes.
Gathering in the darkling day without any dawn,
Storm petrels from far Quatsino Sound blown *
Into the ragged edges of grey clouds in the wintry skies.
………………………..................................................................…
NOTE
*Weywakum Indians, Inside Passage, Quatsino Sound are all
well-known local people and places around Campbell River, B C
…………………………………………………………………………………………….
Written by Sydney Peck 13th August 2011,
For Francine Roberts’ Contest “Totems in the Darkening Sky”
May your only wish be...
rosy sunsets with chimes
that welcome the smiles
of those seeking serenity!
May your day never end,
and if it does: be gratefully glad;
look above...there's nothing but Heaven,
as those orange and red colors blend again!
The parting petrels have swift wings,
and emitting their last shrill: they let Nature repose;
oh, just one wish can bring new dreams...
as the harmonious song of the robins seems to pause!
Scarlet sage' path...
feet rambling about the hill
of a quite woodland
with Carolina willows
and southern magnolias.
Lanky short-leaf pines
shade the milk-pea verdant shrubs;
petrels watch the swift,
mottled squirrels climb black oaks
while a cavalcade stirs them.
Hyacinths in bloom
have a stronger, sweeter scent
than the white jasmines...
is fragrance a flower's gift
to all lovers strolling by?
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