The children came late, at the end
among the bodies, naked, stripped
the corpses starting to distend
with gaping wounds where swords had ripped
and hacked to recognitions fall.
Their foes had taken life and gold;
the wives to stricken poor to pall
these men whose lives were dearly sold.
The children came, as did the rats,
the cawing crows, the hungry dogs,
the ever-present feral cats,
and fat pink grunting, rutting hogs.
They came to scavenge what was left
upon this greenfield butcher's block
and what they took was not the theft
it is those who lead should be in dock.
Being a mother is easily, the toughest job in the world -
Although it oscillates from "delightful", to "exhausting" to "thankless",
It is at most times, a demanding and overwhelming one.
Motherhood's main requirements are patience and love
Along with the ability to teach, discern, protect and nurture.
It needs a lot of resolve, to look into those pleading, mischievous eyes,
And decide when to give and when to stop -
How much to indulge, how much to restrict.
Rewards and recognitions depend on your perspective -
The feel of being wanted, the allocation of more work
And the hugs and kisses - these usually top the list.
The nature of work may change with time,
But the adventure never fizzles out -
It is forever, an eventful journey of learnings, joy and regrets.
It's only a mother who can swing beautifully -
From the joy of watching the child grow and spread their wings,
To the throes of getting detached from them.
Only a mother can process the mixed emotions -
From the heady rush of revelling in the child's joys,
To making sacrifices of her own desires and sometimes, health.
The enchantment of the jasmine’s flickering candle doth burn,
On the broad, antique desk, poems she created in quick turns.
While her mind with brightness, filled with equanimty did churn.
Recalling recognitions with joy over happy centuries she did learn.
Smiling over her ‘Summa Cum Laude’, so rightly, was her proud earn. ‘
Her parents, schooling, churching with love, she had this night,discerned!
~POEM 1~
10/11/2024
RECOGNITIONS
simple
memoranda
of
an
appreciation
of
the
acknowledged
single mindedness
so
evident
in
self conscious
realizations
& detailed
exressions
of
understanding
eyecatching
motifs
disintegrate
elegant
vulnerable
&
numerous
sensitive
substitutes
the
influential
comment
to
illuminate
a
reposte
yet
so
inadequate
Islands in the Stream
Islands linked together like forged argent charms,
In straights of silent, surging currents,
Where Watchtowers of Fresnel lens sound fog sirens
Where sacred shoals harbor shame forgiven;
Lightships built high on cribs and Keys of truth finally seen
As bright argand lamps on chariot wheels send out beacons,
To signal sightless ships with broken masts and rudders
Through whirlpools of turbulent canals and gushing straights,
To find serene deep-water ports in chains of channeled islands.
Yet, these no islands only mountaintops of maturity climbed
From submerged land coupled at a thousand leagues
Beneath the tidal moon enchantment;
Restoring milestone harbors of illumination
Words lit by isophase candle lamps inside carved prisms
Expanding light waves of thought - recognitions of new plateaus
Topping astragals of aerobeacons with untasted adventures
Into enlightenments leaving behind each newly explored isle -
New christened tall ships navigate siren’s lure in uncharted streams.
9-20-21
Contest: Islands in the Stream
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Attention!! About Face!! Salute!! AT EASE!!
These are the commands the soldiers from
The Lord's military force hear when they make it
To Heaven's gate after Judgment and recognitions
Have taken place and they have gotten their star filled crowns.
Then these soldiers throw these crowns at the feet of Jesus and worship.
Then they are told they ain't gotta fight no more (for now anyway) and are
Given new tasks that them happy and cause all Heaven to rejoice.
Best part no more worries of earth; no more sickness, no more worries about war, poverty, bills, preparing for what has already taken place-the end of life.
So right now we are hearing Forward March!! but at the end of life if we keep living in the Lord's will we'll hear Salute!! and AT EASE!!
For all that it is worth was contained in a single droplet of thought
in symbiotic deliverance
shall pass perhaps unnoticed by a billion suns
or find it’s way in chaotic course
discover the enchanted spells of Icarus
And in form so complex present itself
Centuries coalesce into a single moment
the precariousness of miracles
only await for recognitions nascence
what other supplicants breath so endeavors
in exultation of a universe
And in form so beauteous reveal itself
It is but a living thing
so of molded intricacies ever described in geometries
to distinguish the passages of galaxies
the potential heartbeats of a billion witnesses
stand upon the precipice a precarious miracle it is
And in form so singular only perfection could have created it
For all that it is worth was contained in a single droplet of thought
Reward
To live in the misery of the past unable to let go
of childhood’s unhappiness but let it fester and
grow till adult life becomes unbearable, demands
of recognitions and compensations, because their
suffering must be taken up polished and with time
a jewel to show the world. This you owe us and we
deserve what you give us, although it will never be
enough even when the gem drowns in blood by those
who got in the way of the righteous path.
Never forgive or forget, let hatred be your leading star.
The image in my mirror,
(Some loving mother’s son),
Has no identity,
No name from anyone.
Mottled thoughts surround me
Each one a treasure trove
Living there as episodes
My past has lived and wove.
A woman in my doorway
Asks: “How you feelin’, Dad?”
But I cannot recognize
This wandering maenad.
Things appear before me
Throughout my normal day
But recognitions of what they are
Alzheimer’s stole away.
I can’t feel the sorrow,
The loss nor the disdain
Within a face before me
Upon which displays pain.
I’m filled with love and longing
Which I want to shine on through …
But, I can find no one I know
To whom I can give it to.
He was born in Yonkers, just north of New York City.
This man grew up to be funny and witty.
While working in a luncheonette owned by his family,
with the art of patois, Sid displayed proficiency.
As a funny comedian, he made his presence felt.
Sid got his start in upstate New York in the Borscht Belt.
As a saxophonist, his first job was at the Vacationland.
He became an influential member of the hotel’s band.
With the late Imogene Coca, he was a television pioneer.
On Broadway and in movies, Sid would also appear.
However, alcohol and barbiturates nearly destroyed his career.
A recovery brought him back into entertainment’s sphere.
Over the years, many awards and recognitions came his way.
At the age of ninety-one, Sid Caesar passed away.
RIP Sid Caesar
(1922-2014)
I thank both wikipedia.org online encyclopedia and variety.com for information
I obtained to write this poem.
Kim had funny hair when we were in second grade.
She made bad grades and sometimes got paddled
for being late to school too many times.
She wasn't good at jumprope
she was the last picked for any team.
She wasn't someone got paid attention to,
by those of us that got paid attention to.
Kim was white.
Latoya was dark skinned, flamboyant and poor.
During recess, some of us were hanging by our knees from the chinning bar.
Latoya decided to join in.
She never had before, but she
had some athletic ability
felt an urge to show off.
Yep, she hung there exposing her poverty through
the holes in her underwear
because she trusted our urging her to participate
to be sincere recognitions of her
talents.
They weren't.
We made fun of her
in cruel ways
we were seven or eight years old.
Kim, dear Kim, gently approached Latoya and said,
“Come with me, they are being mean to you.”
I learned kindness from Kim.
What Comes To Mind
Busy work, not idle time,
no real thinking, blank and sublime.
Rake the grass, feel the breeze.
Sweep the walk of crispy leaves.
Washing dishes, pay no mind.
And soon the thoughts appear
I find.
Concepts flow poetically,
old ideas in simplicity.
Obvious recognitions;
never gave thought.
Now become a page of notes.
Emotions flit, flashback scenes
conclusions escaped until now.
Amazing how when mind’s turned off
natural pleasures fill its space.
Flowing thoughts
becoming words.
Things I’ve said
but never heard.
So pen in hand
I write and say
The things I busy worked away.
Vincent Van Gogh
By Dane Smith-Johnsen
Passion tormenting.
Acceptance? Unholy flaw.
Vibrant colors capturing,
All alone he saw.
Beyond starry skies at night,
Honored by his vibrant brush.
Cypress glory, bright,
Embedded images hushed.
Country houses, peasants, cows,
Smitten. His soul crushed.
Chestnut trees. And coleus.
Perfected by sorrows eyes.
Lilac bushes. Irises.
Still Van Gogh's soul cries.
Orchards' blossoms, olive trees,
Fields. Bottles. Hats. Books. And Seas.
Still-lives. Harvests. Groves.
Then, to the asylum led.
Protected from hurtful flows.
Eyes absorbing strife-
Gripping anticipations.
Frantic energetic strokes,
Garden. Creations.
Pondering at his easel.
Paint, brushes and canvas hoped.
Life moaned in his face.
Endless striving. His mind seized.
Competition wore him down.
Peer recognitions.
Pained. Rejected. Feeling naught.
Oh, “Sunflowers in a Vase”,
By death fame was bought.
"Self-Portrait In Front Of The Easel"
To view, use the link below.
http://globalwholesaleart.com/selfportrait-front-easel-p-6458.html
This poem was written for Abe Lopez's Van Gogh contest
Past transgressions and future recognitions,
but a path only i walk.
Trying to find the problem at the core.
Heart rate rises and accelerates to undesirable speeds.
Frustration running through.
Blind by the thoughts of happiness,
even though none will come true.
Ascending down from worlds unknown.
No mere mortal able to withstand the insanity.
Dangerous paths lie before me,
but only one meant to be taken.
And its a path i must tread alone.
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