Mighty Mercury
Alert then aloof, snuggly warm then colder
His rangy legs spring to hitch a ride on our shoulder
Lifting our hearts to elation
He’s our portable vacation
We cherish Mercury more each day we grow older
Contemplative bliss communes with the serene,
into the spirit of the placid marine crystalized in my mind.
As the sun’s reflection spreads glitter upon its open sea,
throngs milling to the melodious tunes of the guitar.
Strumming troubadour, slim and rangy toe headed youth
grins modestly as his tip jar fills welcoming spared bills
And to the sounds of the seagulls
gleeful squawk, soaring through the azure.
Beyond the pier the magician plies his trade,
tricks which awe and stun
the enthusiastic crowds gathered about.
And what lovely crowds willing, mellifluous, madrigal,
thoughtful, kind, and respectful.
Smiles abound as though the world conspires for a pleasant mood.
I inhale the familiar primordial sea air’s briny scent.
I take pause to ponder gazing out onto the vast ocean’s expanse.
How much longer can I bare this aching fulfillment
as I anxiously transpose these images and feelings
into meriting words.
Dare you not cross the path
of a Snarly Yow. The rangy hills
are its home from home.
It prefers to roam on groggy foggy nights
to galumph upon the unsuspecting
to drool over its dire and deadly deeds
chewing over motley meaty morsels
for breakfast dinner or supper;
it’s not particular.
Golden waves sway in a strange sky to create a new shade.
With bare feet, cross a shroud's path, but no one is aware.
Summer starts as scarlet hues salute a mottled promenade.
This image has gold sparkle and blue padded birds there.
Written: August 14, 2021
Defiant are shards of dirt which particle apart
Never to know their neighbouring flakes,
Not integrating, no squish of accompanyment
Forlorn separates which support not life, nothing
Beneath rangy weeds, breeze blows loose granules
Shifted without resistance,
foreign adjacent land is theirs temporarily
Only for necessity, proximity is parallel, merge free
Neediness discarded, only Heaven can help dead dirt
Because the moments spent observing a scrappy tree
Beside withering leaves has hard expanding pears
Held by delving stem, fed, assisted, nutrient found
Show me expired soil needs nourishment
Requires deeply dug roots, intrusion, rooster boost
Sand blown syndrome suppresses realisation
Instinct drives attempt to be cleansed and extend
23rd January
This dirt hurts
The light chiffon veneers of winter's face
Slow-deliquesce as rangy shadows wane
Soft gossamer as whitened Guipure lace
Melts running to the rills ... with April's rain.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Quat-Ro Your Four Line" Poetry Cpntest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "April 2019 Premier 7, Up To A Max Of 5 Lines" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
* This is a "Rithimus Divisa", taken from the poem "The Surge, Life", written on March 17, 2019 *
the light chiffon veneers of winter's face
slow-deliquesce as rangy shadows wane
soft gossamer as whitened Guipure lace
melts running to the rills with April's rain
a dulcet strain of spring tide on the wing
each songbird chants a serenade to woo
the passions that a warmer air can bring
and nature's resurrection thru-and-thru
a world of monochrome now comes alive
so blossoming with promise and with life
the world of bursting color now to thrive
all water, land and air with movement rife
now mystery and romance start their call
for spring is summer's harbinger ... of all.
~ 5th Place ~ in the "April 2019 Premiere 6, Up To A Max Of 14 Lines" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Spring Sonnet" Poetry Contest, John Hamilton, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 4th Place ~ in the "Spring Is In The Air" Poetry Contest, Emile Pinet, Judge & Sponsor.
(I'd Pay a Million)
He's an ordinary gray, long and lean,
relieved by ashen whiskers and chin.
A perfect white 'V' marks his breast
and one snowy paw mocks the rest.
What is he worth to this old friend
when dozens can be had of his kind?
Some are more worthy of love and trust
and others are spared his hoary crust.
But daily I treasure his sweet purr
and gently stroke his ordinary fur.
I rest my eyes on his rangy form
and rue the day when he'll be gone.
Why wake when first takes fade to night
Why wake when days evade your plight
Don’t ask to rule when thrones you lost apply,
To things you wish, keenly brewing bright
Don’t say you know
when the sun’s last chance arrives
Arrange your passions however you wish
And twist your eyes when they bewitch
Don’t ask of men to fashion a new breed
…the thought, of course, relies on me
Don’t look again
as I slip and slip
In fact your rangy words subscribe
to bottled pride repacked and retooled inside
To every hint of light this way derived
the prospect of insightful sparks you blight
Don’t send me a word
if my memories from your words may die
Don’t sign a cloud with brownish words of clay
A cloud is seen worldly through light and rays
Your words for clouds could thus retain
a will to cast all light aside and rain
Don’t cry for two
when clouds rephrase your words and fade
Don’t tell the truth
that saintly words of love unsaid remain
There’s a legacy inside him,
As he sits upon his steed;
His heart is filled with honesty,
Not perjury or greed;
He rides the same old range,
That his father rode before;
And it’s been that way for forever,
A hundred years or more;
Pushin’ cattle, brandin’ calves,
That is a cowboy’s life;
Someday he may settle down,
And make some girl his wife;
He’s spent so many lonely nights,
Sleeping under the stars,
He hasn’t got a tattoo,
What he has are battle scars;
There’s a rip across his stomach,
From a rangy longhorn steer;
And even though it hurt like hell,
He never shed a tear;
He always outs on a brave face,
Emotions locked inside;
And for his cowboy heritage,
He feels only pride.
The late afternoon casts a shadow upon the rangy summer grass
While they pick busily on weeds and seeds
Passing along is the season that moves so fast
It must be an oasis of great height to them
When they bend into the great green abyss
So sweet, they are jumping from stem to stem
If life was so simple as this, find your food then rest
Rest yes, rest upon your limb
And there you chirp so brown and trimly dressed
Patience and I are but a guest
While the warm days are at their abbreviated test
No, neither a moment, nor a second in nature is wasted at best
For change is inevitability
So I shall greet the new light
And watch as the sparrow adjusts in their tranquility
I wonder if we'll find each other at the 100th story of the cylinder
And play through the glass walls.
'Kayla's laugh is so distinctive.'
In my eyes sHe was like superman.
Finally I said my goodbyes
And walked away,
So much the better for it.
She really could fly.
I knew because I saw everything;
The sunsong spilled into the hood of her jacket, No, wait,
Her sunbrown hair flew like a song...
Then Hero was just in a strong rangy gray t-shirt
And big brown eyes.
And I envieD her so much.
I don't know what the song meant
But in the end the notes were softly saying
'She was my rock,
She was my safety.'
A tall man waited,
His woman was gone.
She had a travellers itch,
The need to move,
She never settled down.
Working hard,
she was a true cowgirl
Worth the wait he always said.
She hit town after town, lived in her truck
He waited, kept the house at home.
One day she came,
She looked at him,
and then she knew.
He said your traveling days are over,
Your workin time is done.
No matter how many hours you log,
how far you go,
the work is never done.
So come stay with me,
Be my partner
My best freind.
She smiled and said ok.
Her workin days were over,
she missed the time of
Open feilds, and rangy cattle,
The smell of a brandin fire.
But She'd not trade in a single day
With that man she'd loved.
They had a home, a baby,
A couple real good dogs.
She loved him, and he loved her,
And a home they'd finally made.
And he said she was worth the wait,
And she said she'd found what she'd been searching for.
Up in the pinion covered highlands,
I came upon a wild horse band.
I counted six rangy horses, grazing there,
including the Stallion and the lead mare.
It was truly a range cowboy's delight.
there were four bays, a roan and one mostly white.
The muscled stallion stood watchful up on a rise,
and followed my every move with his eyes.
Then the stallion somehow signaled the lead mare,
in a language only wild horses can share.
She led her charges up a winding trail,
and her movement broke my hypnotic spell.
I admired their surefootedness and their survival skills,
as they quickly ascended the rocky hills.
The Stallion was last, bringing up the rear,
It was self preservation, not nervous fear.
it was awe inspiring as I watched them flee,
but a melancholy wistfulness came over me.
The Mustang, like the cowboy,symbol of the west,
drifted into the sunset, and went over the crest.