Steppes Poems

I'll follow you

The train fled through forlorn forests
Emerging on the stormy steppes
It crossed the raging ravine waters
Up the rugged crags it crept.

I was on that midnight journey  
Seeking you to join your cause  
I felt your honor and your yearning  
Your defiance of unjust laws

(chorus)
Your example was the spark  
And as long as you stay true  
The torch will light up in the dark  
And I'll follow you

Through the shadows of the city  
I searched each alley, every street  
Whispers told of your bravery  
How you stood, did not retreat

Near dawn, I finally found you  
Eyes aflame with steadfast fire  
You said, "The old ways can yet renew"  
"To real freedom we shall aspire."

(chorus)
Your example was the spark  
And as long as you stay true  
The flames will rise within the dark  
And I'll follow you

(bridge)
We'll gather the despairing souls  
Ignite the hope that once was lost  
We'll strive to reach our righteous goals  
No matter what the cost

We'll cut the tentacles of the beast
We'll tear the web that entangles all
See the silver sunlight in the east
They will rise, hear freedom's call.

Swarming Highland

Written: November 06, 2023
            ___________________________________________

A swarm of herring gulls amassed
Nexus Nautilus nabbed by zealous winds,
whitening the black soil
we hold spears in our hands.
blood-stained thorns on the side
sullen squawks a skirmishing sporophyte,
dubious, grayish rumors must be buried
drave in a drizzle, drape to deities.

Installation of sentry fences
Sisyphean stones
anchor down using seal and string
flaws in the swings used by blacksmiths
Unborn burning bullion bludgeon
Savage sunless swords embryonic
Edgeless, with no reflections.

Each peak over the Edenic Steppes is sprayed,
using torn paper candles as bait
climbing scaffolds with lumber rungs
pounding of leather-heavy boots
darkened, grimacing features
Flocks failing feathers or flight.

Our hold slips on windswept
Windswept updrafts carry us away
as offspring of the royal family.

Fifth Avenue

From steppes remote
    luxurious mink coats
  Fine leather boots
    tailored suits

  Fancy shoppes
    five-star hotels
  Back of splashy nightclubs
    exclusive brothels

  Rolls-Royces
    and Bentleys
  S-t-r-e-t-c-h ... L-i-m-o-u-s-i-n-e-s
    cafes serving the finest cuisine

  Wide-eyed with wonder
    passersby gape
  Dreams of Fifth Avenue 
    from tottering fire escapes

Vanilla Grace

A spirited moon skipped and skid
across the silent snowy steppes
as a pale sun sidled and slid. 

Her passionate sensuous steps
softly seduced the stars to shine
across the silent snowy steppes.

I beseeched the night to be mine,
singing a sentimental song,
softly seduced the stars to shine.

The Milky Way formed a sarong
surrounding me with deep desire,  
singing a sentimental song.

I followed lustily in dire
need of fragrant vanilla grace,
surrounding me with deep desire.

The mystical night chided me,
a spirited moon skipped and skid.
Her radiance had blinded me
as a pale sun sidled and slid.

Blow Winds Blow

Blow, Winds, Blow


Blow, winds, from the 
thick, suffocating heat
of the steamy tropics,
from the arid deserts
of the high plateaus
and frigid steppes of Asia.

Blow from the eastern seas
and the western oceans
across the weeping rivers
and jagged mountains.
Ripening seeds of change
search to find a home.

Howl, Winds, howl!
Find your way through
the cracks of open minds
and plant your seeds.
Then whisper, whisper
them into the ears of those
who need listen and hear.

Blow them like cinders
into eyes to make them
aware so they process  
truth as it struggles
to drive its roots down deep.
Blow, Winds, blow
far away and wide
into hearts and minds.

Let the good seeds take root
to burst up through
the mud and mire to
grow straight and strong,
to multiply and proliferate,
choking out the roots
of weedy lies so we can
once again breathe free.

Syzygy

"Syzygy"

Behind the wet dunes
fringed with seagrass
a blood crescent 
kisses the forehead 
of dreamer traversed
twin aeon syzygy 
barefeet the velvet 
sophia imprints
softly speak 
like words seen
dancing across
the place between 
heaven and earth
mapping deviations
non-standard
calibrating alignment
played forward through 
unchartered jaded
emerald forests
where the satin skin 
becomes sparkling
crystalline it shatters 
like a shell disgarded, then
the body of no substance
becomes transparent 
enveloped in rapturous 
Devabani heralding
commands cast 
from divine throats
lutes and sitars
whirling nightingales
dervishes wingspanned 
accompany angelic legions
the journey melts into
deep blue mysterious oceans
easily walked, hypnotic the 
transparent beckoning,
this is the way come,
come, come closer
closer, come forward,
on higher Elysian steppes
the bride smiles
an unspoken secret
and turns

the eyes are 
twin windows 
like doorways

opening 
swallowing 

(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)

Thrive Joy Tajitu

Tao clears mind myriad
                Hears gurgled stream trickle
                Rejuvenating ease of river 
                Impels an outlook simple
                Verdant steppes imperial
                Embrace ouroboros cycle


                Joined tail to mouth control
                Overcomes chaotic combat
                Yin Yan hug in completeness
                 

                Temple of self empty vessel
                Approaches each hour in Wu Wei
                Jaws of serpent ensure return
                Iteration eats its tail
                Tadpole twirled stronghold     
                Unhurried harmonious spiral 
        




                February finding out

Wind Is Pounding In My Heart

'wind is pounding in my heart'

It tears across the steppes and plain, it guides my mind and eases pain
Whithin the yurt, upon the road, it whets my mind; eases the loads
I've rode it's Breast ten thousand times,' with banner high the yak tails nine
Its of my blood, throughout my race, we hold it near'in flood; or trace
It's face is clear,, it's embrace strong, we sing it's praise riding along
The clatter of the ponys hooves, not loved by those who dwell neath rooves.!
The pallid sallow, wall surrounded.. And when we start they'll be astounded..'
We ride hard two days and nights, to charge and wheel; and ever strike.'
To clear a space, where yurts can be; then to move in travel free
To wake to different scenes around, to venture quickly into feotid towns
To take a bargain, to strike a deal; to return to the fire, and let sleep steal
And in this act, renew our mettle, to grasp each  chance with finest fettle.

'For the contest of Constance Lafrance'
'Be inspired by your muse'
Written 17 8 2022

High Desert Scene

Rolling hills dim in the distance
Beneath low-hovering mists,
While an occasional stand of pines
Punctuates the shallow canyon rim,
The steppes to the summit appear
Like wrinkles carved into the face
Long ago, the sharp outcropping defines
A deep crevice plunging sharply
Toward the foreground in shadows,
Vanishing into imagined darkness.

written August 10, 2021
(inspired by the scenic view on a
screen-saver, location unknown)

Glacial

GLACIAL
Scent of lilies. 
His pain over, mine just begun.
I caressed those hands, gifted, loving.
Kissed his waxen brow.

A blink away from the dying sun,
the ignition key trembled.
I half-expected to waken, 
clasped in his arms. Soothed 
back to life, on the mourning  air. 

Our silent house stood strong, 
and healthy,
ticking away lonely hours and empty nights.
While I flinched from the glacial steppes,
of our marital bed.


DECIMA WRAXALL

He Dreams

He dreams of the carousel at the park
Excitement stirs, as only friend, First Bloom
Released like he, gambols on the boardwalk
Arabian, garden wild, hooves steel dark

Marvelous pals sport at sea and embark 
Surmount rings of parents, music, and reins
Unlimited awe in each nightly lark
Pony’s spin Earth’s sphere, owing Rory’s smirk

Under foot worries sleep, light pleasures spark
Cloud steppes guide this parade of pageantry
Rivers down, ribbon’d mares unfurl from work
Jaunty hymns spiraling, a ceaseless cirque.

4.6.2020

Star Maps of the Steppes

Drumming songs of the night fire tribe,
     Warrior dancing spirit parts,
          Tongues of the prairie songs stars guide,
Drumming songs of the night fire tribe,
               Deep shadows of the hawkeye charts,
          The wolf scent smokes of the peace pipe,
Drumming songs of the night fire tribe,
     Warrior dancing spirit parts.


Date: 08/25/2019

Pastures Green

the glebe
the veldt
         the steppes
         the glens-
the dells
     filled
     with
     sedge
and
   vetch
     pebbles
      sand
and
   tufts
      of 
       grass
catch
the
wind:
     the salt air
succours
thirsty
poppies
   so fair

The Dilettante Diaries: Finding Lost Keys On the Steppes of White Ivory

The Dilettante Diaries: "Finding Lost Keys on the Steppes of White Ivory"
 

 
Where do you place your hands
When the sands of time 
Slip through the 4th
and like reading braille
you silently derail 
to touch burning
black keys
on white ivory
you go about 
removing cold hands 
from the warm pockets 
of trapped complacency
looking for 
double sixes
roll the dice
tumble the love cup 
upside down
soft-sucked
sugar cube
black tea leaves
soak up your
bespoke wet dream
slam danced 
you're romanced
up against graffiti
walls, you
take a chance on 
shadow dancing 
with another hand
tired of shuffling decks
cutting cards with  
Half-hitched knots
and sinking boats 
that pass for 
tiger sharks
playing for 
white ivory
on the cool
Siberian Steppes of 
silent aching skin 
shimmering
secrets sans
translucency
and buzzing bees 
burning 
stings
the wanting 
humming silently
secrets and
all those
lost black burning keys
within … 


(Lovejoy-Burton/October 2018)

Poppies Among the Crosses

Fields of France are filled with blood-red poppies
Where also bloom the lily-white crosses:
Each buried youth a seed, now bursting forth 
Into a stark white cruciform flower:
Row upon row, rank after serried rank,
A spiky grid overlying acre 
After acre in silent panoply,
Swan-mute as stillborns, yet shrieking their pain.
A century has failed to lay their griefs.

But such gardens aren’t anywise unique.
On every continent, in every age,
The fields are sown:  and so among the trees
And forests, steppes and prairies, cities
And wastelands, the precious seed is planted,
The harvest bitter in its barrenness.
Instead of poppies, palms or rank lianes,
Brush or tundra, timber, sedge or seaweed
Grow where crosses never got to flower:
Even those gaunt reminders are missing
To give their witness to the seed thus sown,
The sacrifice and sacred blood there spent. 

And so it goes: so it’s been since people
First appeared. And will go on: tomorrow
And the day after, still the sowing will 
Continue. Perhaps someday our wisdom 
And compassion may grow enough to wean
Us of this savage, mindless husbandry:
Today, it seems a thousand years away.

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