Here within the haunting howls
of a wild west wind
I savor the island’s isolation
its barren, rocky crags
its undulating seas below.
The deep blue ocean expands outward
where whitecaps whip frantically
while the beady eyes of seabirds
peer out from their stony perches.
Stoic sentries of the sea
pelicans and seagulls flock
along the rugged shoreline
purposefully perched in rows
or drafting wind currents in flight.
Still other seabirds skim silently
above the silky waves
great hunters of fish, ever searching
their feathery wings are spread wide
as if to capture the ocean itself.
A timeless rhythm prevails here
as effortless as breathing pure salt air
a place where land and sea convene
a place where seabirds reign
as vigilant watchers
within the endless cycle of life.
YELLOW
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Yellow stars are quickly receding, as I’ve always known they would.
Yellow is the sun touching the eastern sky adding color to the neighborhood.
Yellow is the warmth of mellow sunshine, mid woodland songs and cries.
Yellow is the egg yolk and buttery toast I eat on the porch watching butterflies.
Yellow is the morning of marigolds and sun, watching as the magenta finally fades.
Yellow is the frenzied canary who sits upon my rooftop and stays.
Yellow are the wheat fields underneath transparent, cerulean skies.
Yellow are the gigantic sunflowers standing at attention, vigilant sentries with black eyes.
Yellow are those scented hours, wishing they would never end,
Yellow is the beauty of seasonal colors upon which I’ve learnt to depend.
Yellow are nature’s melodies played on a loop celebrating the rising sun.
Yellow is this memorable day of days with its treasured life hardly begun.
VIGILANTES
The elder trees stretch skyward in a lace of silent bark. Wands of rising branches become dancing silhouettes in the pale moonlight. The wind dies, and the limbs cease their movement. Then, like sentries they stand perfectly still, silencing the clocks.
trees their vigil keep
whisper secrets to the wind
moonlight filters down
The grief I feel is of another kind
Sweeter than holy water
A deeper breath than moorland air to find
The black of midnight, not—
Of monstrous seas, but—
Of restful night, donated cloak
From a kindly gentleman to wear
Wrapped in coolest starlight, safe
Astride a destrier — galloping to water
Molted feather — fortuitously found
New flight, gentle wind in gossamer sail.
Creeping tendrils — nettles wind around
Sentries of roses — silken petal rounds
Shower the lily casket — topped by pearly crown.
I know my grief is not the universal kind
But something softer than the norm
Welcome as a friend, I usher in my grief
And death, his brother, dressed in angel white
Scythe to call its sleepers — lowered in greeting bow.
Farewell, Annie
Newcomer to the under-realm.
With no card of sympathy
Or hearse to see you off
In lonely grief you leave your final hurt.
But, relief of death follows me, ebony puppy
Nipping at my heels, my little black dog
Helps my heart to heal.
Humanity suffers, totalitarianism reigns,
Vanity crushes our personal gains,
Mankind is weeping and working as slaves,
Those who refuse are remembered in graves.
This is the fate of the people who cry,
How do they rate if they do or they die?
How do you choose what to do with your life?
Most people can't who succumb to the strife.
What does it take to be free of it all?
How do you win or be ready to fall?
What do you do when you don't have a gun?
Where do you flee if there's nowhere to run?
We've got the numbers to do as we must,
Even though people are lacking in trust,
Who do you turn to and when should you speak?
What do you hide or be ready to leak?
Suddenly angels appear in their strength,
Prayers of the righteous are answered at length,
People are saved by the sentries of good,
Mankind is spared when we do as we should.
If you asked I would tell you of my secrets
Soft furry things that comfort weary souls
Harsh thorns rebuffing prying doubts
Stoic sentries peering through stone eyes
Cold lips that scorn the warmth of love
Soft thoughts that dare not venture far
Whispered witticisms wielded as a sword
Secrets locked within the edge of tears unshed
Languishing in the loneliness of now
Fearful of the shadows of a distant then
Unable to admit they have but one longing
And that – to shout my secrets to the wind
John G. Lawless
©3/29/24
Freshly liberated from an overgrown bushy trail,
I saw myself skimming waist-deep in Lavender,
Sentries to the rear, Hollyhocks, and Foxgloves,
Bougainvillea to the left and, to the right of me,
Chose a meadow of Prairie Smoke and Daisies,
Held at a water lily pond airs Rainbow butterfly.
Beth And Happiness
*
Beth lay in her bed
Waiting for a good night
Sleep to begin.
*
Her adorable feline
Guardians Sophie and Kisa
Her endearing canine
Guardian Meika
They are with Beth keeping watch
Sleeping comfortably
*
She gently strokes their fur
Whispers good night
And closes her eyes.
*
In the twilight of her life
Blessed with the
Unconditional Love around her
Beth welcomes a good night's sleep.
*
In the morning
She awakes
To an empty bed.
*
Her guardians
Have abandoned her
For the food
They know is to come.
*
Beth is all smiles
As she makes her way
To the kitchen
To feed her ever-faithful sentries.
*
She sits and watches
So content are they.
And with them
Beth is delighted and grateful
To start another day.
*
crystal, clear, blue skies
grace ermine laden birch trees…
silent, bowed sentries
Some birds are sentries to the sky
others are earth or water bound
some bumble about the lifeless rye
others are cherubs of the clouds-
Some are regal and soundless
others tend to echo from the grate
dictating to others how to sing
while cawing and poaching eggs-
Some build nests of grass or leaf
sacrifice everything for their babies
some birds just play a mating game
then just as quickly up and leave-
I'm convinced most birds are heaven scented.
they uplift and enrich our lives
some are but rhinestone buzzards
plucking others until they're blinded-
Most fliers are garnish for the ages
some live to crap on liberty's bust
a few are fated for mental cages
birds are a lot like us-
As night descends, the heavens celebrate,
The birth of stars
Through the tossing trees,
They send down their toothless smiles
The Moon too smiles with glee,
Like a pleased mother.
The Earth in darkness,
Looking at the illumined sky,
Follows suit and lights up
Street lamps open their eyes,
Flooding the cobalt streets.
Neon bulbs blink from hidden homes
Car lights dazzle like lightning
Glow worms, like night sentries,
Parade round with mini torches
The roads ring with the sound of returning feet
Fairies roam round for their nightly gambols
Day laborers coil lazily to rest
Letting their barbed distractions melt slowly away
The dead in their sepulchers sleep peaceful!
Among the muted murmurs,
The cicadas’ sounds alone swell.
This is the time for life and strife
To lay their heads pillowed for serene sleep
Under the blanket of a dim lit night!
Nov.15. 2022
~ Placed First~
Beauty of Night Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Sotto Poet
towering cliffs dark
carved sculptures frozen in time~
the unpaid sentries
When night descends,
The heavens celebrate,
The birth of stars
Through the tossing trees,
They send down their toothless smiles
The Moon too smiles with glee,
Like a pleased mother.
The Earth in darkness,
Looking at the illumined sky,
Follows suit and lights up
Street lamps open their eyes,
Flooding the cobalt streets.
Neon bulbs blink,
From hidden homes
Car lights dazzle,
Like lightning
Glow worms, like night sentries,
Parade round with mini torches
The roads ring with the sound
Of returning feet
Night prowlers come out
To prey upon innocents
Fairies roam round
For their nightly gambols
Day laborers
Coil lazily to rest
Letting their barbed distractions
Melt slowly away
The dead in their sepulchers
Sleep dreamless!
Among the muted murmurs,
The cicadas’ sounds alone swell.
This is the time for
Life and strife
To lay their heads pillowed
For restful silence
And serene sleep
Under the blanket
Of a dim lit night!
Placed First
A Brian Strand Libre Verse Poetry Contest
Putin's just started World War Three
though if anyone had thought to ask me
You could see it coming back in 2008
when he rolled over Georgia, then sat back to wait
And the world stamped and shouted
before leaving the poor Georgians to fate
When Putin's little green men invaded Crimea
six years later, you got the idea
Now part of Russia, Crimeans are glad
to travel freely to Moscow and Petrograd *
As for Ukraine, Putin's stepped up his game
invaded with tanks and missiles, fire and flame
What's next are the Baltics and probably Poland
That's when World War Three will really get rollin'
Meanwhile, China's got Taiwan in her sights
She's stripped citizens there of all civil rights
To halt the war, what will Biden and Harris do
Will sanctions save even one life ~ let alone two?
_____________________________________________
*Petrograd is the former name of what is now the city
of Stalingrad... Crimeans no longer have to bribe Russian
sentries at border crossings just to enter the country.
(On this last night insomnia did not allow me to sleep. The recurring image of the stone giants contained in Milton's poetry assaulted my mind. The way I found to 'take revenge' was to honor him with this poem).
again a broken night...
dawn of poisonous delusions
eyes that refuse rest
trying to keep fixed on something terse
body that denies brain command
maybe it's some kind of modern curse
something that prevents sleep from coming
as if there was a threshold
of old rocky sentries
equal to those created by Milton Hankins
in 'Old Sentry Standing Guard'
menacingly posted
between the concrete of wakefulness
and the dream and its shards
not sleeping would be wanting to tie life
and not let it grow old?
this is the meaning of the craft of writing
this is the power a poet can have
enable the creation of the imagery and the unreal
with such a strong force
able to turn the verb into truth
able to build a new reality
or find the fountain of eternal youth
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