In rare gustation dine we here tonight!
For you, my feast; for me, your pleasant sight!
And for them both, I raise my glass to cheer:
Let all that’s sober end before the year!
Let music, wine and wantonness prevail!
Let revelry erase the dry and stale!
And light your mortal youth that burns so strong,
For I, the God of Wine, who’s lived too long.
And when my followers stand - or rather, sprawl -
Across the landscape, shall the dreary fall!
And when my wine the final frown shall lift,
Then sprawled amidst the rest, I’ll share the gift!
Let wine make us wise, and feasting for all!
Till morning shall rise, or each of us fall!
Evil sobriety! It shall not last the night!
For I have found munitions, ample for the fight!
The vine divine, from whence the grapes of wine!
I tend its thirsts, and it doth water mine!
The beasties of the Earth and air,
I do invite to be my fare!
Rite Of Passage
_______________
I haste not
I fear not
in harmonious cries, I plead
where flight has called this mighty warrior
red paint upon my cheek
O' cleansing smoke of wild grass high
of resin and sacred bead
a vision has taken this warrior's cry
anon, to capture a dream
I crawl through gates to reach the ledge
where spirit and smoke arise
and pluck the painted Northern Flora
and gaze through Savanna's eyes
We shall all die
One day.
It is the way
Of this Universe.
We walk upon
The dirt of life and death.
We are but a speck
Of Cosmic dust
In comparison to the vastness
Of Space.
Our little orb appears to be unique.
The stars overwhelm the night sky
As I gaze
Into its sparkling darkness,
I can only wonder
At its brilliance,
And what could possibly
lie beyond . . .
a tender voice recites, muse’s lyrics flow
non-believers have poisoned Earth Mother's waterways
She unleashes winds blown hotter and dryer
perennial white blossoms swoon midst zephyrs
dangle from sterling chaste trees
twisted maple bark echo braids sacred hair unscathed
gold filters branches
thousand-year rooted Algonquin memories
elders and granddaughters amble amongst crackling twigs
streams pristine align to augur a promising path
within a bison pelt tepee awaits the knowledge keepers embrace
fire and smoke dense and opaque
evoking a bittersweet melancholy
broadleaves tremble breathe and sway
hymn chants of traditional wisdom expel
severed is the braid as is the child from the woman
her nascent efflorescence
transition is significant as we are wedded
and bound to nature’s perennial sentient
let the path before us grow wider and brighter for future generations
the plump raindrops fall
glad blooms drink their age-old wine
sunrise colors soon
Group 4
“The streams are in my veins”
quote from the sponsor
Guided
Through the ages
Endowing the future
An heir aroused by sage wisdom
Ancestral blood pumps and streams through my veins
A pulsating rhythm from the heart
through life’s restless currents,
A destiny
Guided
Date: August 5, 2022
For: Let your muse be inspired ~ R form poetry contest
Sponsored by: Constance LaFrance
Form: Rictameter
Syllables verified on howmanysyllables.com
Placed 2nd in contest
Rite of Passage
Ebon skin debutante
contemplating Spring’s arrival
counting blossom petals.
in graceful flight
they glide with ease
across a skyline
that’s doused with fire
a sacred rite
upon a breeze
sun sets divine
and wings soar higher
AP: 3rd place 2022, Honorable Mention 2023
Submitted on March 17, 2022 for contest A BRIAN STRAND 1091 sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 1ST
Posted on March 16, 2022
Bury the hurt
to get over the pain
As memory relines
with forgiveness again
Bury the past
for new light to break through
With darkness abandoned
—your spirit anew
(Las Vegas: January, 2022)
Spoiled soy burgers
and marshmallow spam
Find all the worms
in the uncured ham
Mustard stew a la mode
pistachio-flavored tongue of toad
Dandelion roots in stuffing of turkey
makes digestion extra-perky
Fancy diets? - Gain weight and kvetch
Eat this stuff! Shed pounds ~ just retch
Urnestly, I search for words
buried beneath the veneer.
The rite way to ashes and grief.
Contained in a purple jar,
her only tear— a hoarder's memory.
Death makes no sense, the
bed relied upon— a cramped space
in the dark, not at all
what I was expecting.
No marker with flowers.
Her jar’s become a place of “cheers.”
Dad’s tears plink into his afterglow martini.
10/15/2021
Gustavo’s Rite
He walked onto the harbor beach at sunset,
planting a small net on a pole like a guidon,
and setting soiled cloth bags around it.
Alone on the beach he began his dance.
Mismatched clothes flapping, he swayed,
then paced, then crouched to pat the sand
into a crescent, then stepped back and back,
dug sand by hand, finding black things
and tossing them into a jumbled pile .
He stepped easily, as if riding waves,
moving in erose shapes only he knew.
Then he gathered net and bags and left,
not glancing back at the cairn
of burnt wood and asphalt fragments.
All this I watched from a restaurant deck,
and had to ask the waiter about him.
“Gustavo,” he said, shrugging, “a local character.”
I nodded but kept silent, recalling that morning
walking another beach, trying to feel profound.
Easter's a surprise;
an explosion of life
That ripe roaring lustre
of fashion and rife
The whole tug tomato
of lavender light
And mole fevered digging
of Hanibal right
For children now zigging
and candy gnawed wiggling
That baskets of wicker
are rabbit bowed giving
And all for a circus
that children delight
When Easter is Peter
and candy his rite
kan you rite a poem with spelling misteakss?
I can try, butt it will not be easy of coarse.
To my died hair I take out my thinkers and rakes.
can we do this? I ask my brin. He is my diving force.
Better five up, he says. not amused. we Kan’t do it.
We never make any Mestakes. We are too kool.
But I am not a proginisticator so I try to think thru it.
Forgettting all that junk we learned in skooooooolllll.
Somewhere between ordinary and special.
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