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 . . .
“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.
Somewhere between ordinary and special.
He salutes the mountains Tehachapi to the west
San Gabriel and San Bernardino to the south
This is his rite of passage
His coming of age
How he’s yearned
For his spiritual journey
To become a man
Thirsting to prove his bravery
Alone he wanders the barren Mojave
Facing the elements
And challenges head on
Datura in hand for nights of visions
To forge his unique one-on-one bond
With the universe and its mysteries
Bam bam bam echoes of drumming
Till the spirits of his ancestors
The lingering chants of Navaho
Guide him to the oasis of manhood
AP: Honorable Mention 2020, Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on October 22, 2018 for contest MID OCTOBER 2018 sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 1ST
and October 1, 2018 for contest I WANDER THE DESERT ALONE sponsored by EDWARD IBEH
Yes, I love you child
more than you'll ever know
Although you don't understand me right now
because you're only one-year-old
Rest assured,
rest assured
Yes, I love you dear
more than you could possibly know
Even though you're smarter than me
when I was ten-years-old
Keep your heart,
keep it pure
Yes, I love you daughter
in every way you now know
Because your love has surpassed mine
now that you're twenty-years-old
Always believe
love endures
Dedicated to my beloved daughter Sade
The paradox of metaphysical conceit
optimism from the divine,finite to
infinite,two sides of vanity as eathly time
passes.Touch and taste the tender the
vulnerable time of careless youth,this
product of the moment..
elusive yet larger than life.
Hear me recite from my 4000+ PS anthology on youtube under my pen name ichthyschiro..
catch my short forms @strandpoet on twitter
read my Christian&Poetry kindle guides on amazon
We seem to have it all
As we want for nothing
In the darkness of the womb
We are evicted into the light
Sadness, then happiness
Unaware of the looming doom
We seem to have it all-
Sadness, then happiness
Cloudy-vorfreude abloom
We hustle, we jump huddles
We cry, we hate, while loving
Then the reaper to the tomb
Last Rite of Passage
(for Elizabeth) 30th January 03:11am
Through towering colonnades of stars
She rises with the daybreak's fire,
As angels strum on lute and lyre
And frost sparkles like fractured glass;
And when dark clouds have filled your eyes
Pray do not yield to let them cry;
For she is where the white doves fly
Amid the glades of Paradise.
There was insurgency-
in white night.
Moon will stay to witness
the murder
of a golden leaf.
What was the promise of a ripe
language ? The yellow thrust ?
Keeping a date with death was not all important.
There were
lots of poems to be underlined,
preened and straightened. The dirt had
accumulated. A metaphor
will remove the stains.
Any confession will
take away the mystry. Who killed
the nothing ?
Unrelenting
the apples were crashing.
Satish Verma
i journey chasing
imaginary wisps, in
reality bound.
I taught my son to shave today
Whiskers only he can see
The reflection in the mirror was
A yesteryear one of me
So serious and timidly
Careful with every move
He rinsed away the remaining suds
And again his face was smooth
I taught my son to shave today
With a solidly steady hand
He walked in my bathroom a little boy
And walked out a proud young man
mountain of esteem
low valley of perceptions
platonic plateau
Rite Of Passage
*
My Walk to Remember
My father takes my hand,
tucks it in the crook of his arm
and smiles at me as we walk through
the old pasture that has been transformed
into an outdoor chapel
Tears roll down his face
with each paced step we take,
towards the alter, the pastor
And the hopeful face of my
of my husband to be
His grip tightens on my hand
as the congregation stands
and all eyes turn towards our progression
as the clouds give way to the
warming April sun.
I recall the pungent, smoky scent of
the tanned buckskins we wore,
see the blue cone of the tepee with
lodge poles reaching towards the pale blue sky
the red and white bunting my sister
so carefully wrapped around the fence posts
My Beloved’s eyes shining with
promise, hope and love
and the Indian flute music that
drifted on the tangy spring air
marking my rite of passage from
Daughter to Wife.
Related Poems