What are you doing here, Crane?
In the mountains with your long legs and backwards knees?
Your head bobbing forward with each step,
we’re not used to birds like you.
The magpie is watching too,
before he goes on with his morning tea.
Thanks for coming
but I hope you can find your way home.
standing on one leg
the crane trusts in good fortune ---
fate of fish fizzles
Oh Uganda—
The crane with wings
Spread them wide and fly
Let the wind sing.
Let that shield and spear shine
For you dwell in a land so divine.
With love you all are bound
Let your light be fine.
Shine, oh Uganda, shine
For now is the time
To polish your spear
And get your shield to shine.
From the bustling streets of Kampala
To the far ends of the savannah
Let your rich culture light the way
Shine, oh Uganda, shine.
As apes that muddled the streams rather than quenching their thirst
Pharisees went to the temple for mischief; not to pray.
Like death-stalker scorpions, in stinging, they were well-versed
In the man with a drooped hand, the predators found their prey.
Compassion, like nectar from the herb, dripped from Jesus.
He saw the withered-handed, by psychic worries, stranded
Empowered by the heavens, to reform the egregious
To him, to stretch his hand, he compassionately commanded
The hypocrites, as though the crane that found a fish, arose
They brought the Sabbath laws that stood always with them, like guards.
They shot allegations at Jesus like brutish arrows.
With a sun-lit smile, he looked at them with loving regards
Do not clog the flow of the streams of love of the divine.
Isn't abundance of love, the divinity's design?
Across the river there’s a crane
That’s 30 stories high,
The operator like
A Lego man up in the sky.
As loads are lifted in the air
And gently set in place,
I wish that I could clearly see
That operator’s face.
I know I would be terrified
But likely, he is not.
I cannot fathom how he even
Reached that sky-high spot.
Yet he is up there, hard at work
While safely down below,
I gaze at the construction site
And watch the building grow.
Stars tumble from shattered edges
Charter in the sounds of daybreak
The other side of the planet
Leave this river after a few drinks
A man's teary eyes
Aiming for the bright lights of the metropolis
It can be seen in the distance
The crane let out a screech
Repairing the ripped sky
Written: March 21, 2023
Heaven awaits me below the story ,
With that gasp ,this is the last breath of the man.
Wrapped up ,there is my last ride .
The world has been painful ,
And restless.
Unforgiving with lessons .
For these are the last words ,
From waisted tears and a broken lover .
Whose few wishes were achieved at his lower .
I led my deeds like a Raven undercover ,
Now the moment of truth awaits in the midhour .
To all of you, whom you are feeling dried ,
Prior to my empty pledges ,
Be freed from the rage you kept for me .
Never will you see my smiles ,
I have reached the bottom phase ,
A moment to draw memory lane .
He who with the crane ,
Has decided my fate .
Adjourned ,closed is my case .
I'd like to step back in time a bit
And mention the dinosaur.
He lived two hundred million years
And then was seen no more.
The dino's demise is a mystery
That's hashed and often rehashed here.
One fav'rite hypothesis seems to be
That a giant asteroid crashed here.
Argued by clerics, and scientists,
And other great men of distinction,
Some clearly deluded,
Yet none has concluded
What actually caused the extinction.
What really occurred
Lies somewhere obscured
Amongst all those theories and guesses.
Some still do remain, though,
Like the crane and komodo,
And a number of interstate truck-stop waitresses.
An energetic wedge of blue cranes doing mating dances
entered into Little Bear’s dream state without warning
Are they my totem? My spiritual advisors? My power animals?
He believed in such things, being Navaho.
He asked the revered shaman for advice
The crane will bring you luck and fortune
You will succeed where others have failed.
Keep him; he will teach you to prioritize.
The blue crane specifically will bring you peace.
Teach you to meditate, and be mindful.
You will better listen to the universe.
She is always speaking.
Little Bear had always been cheerful,
But this dream uplifted his heart.
Made him incredibly joyful.
He was a changed brave.
I am one of the oldest trees around.
My roots grow aggressively and deep in the ground.
I am a sycamore, most regal and proud.
My branches so high I can touch a cloud.
I'm usually found near wetlands and streams.
My thirst is unquenchable, or so it may seem.
I've weathered many seasons, endured the test of time,
but recently my roots grew into your sewer lines.
I witnessed the crane pulling up on our street, now bringing me down
will be a true feat.
I'm now shackled in ropes which I find quite appalling,
the whining chain saws, my branches now gnawing.
The solemn neighbors gather in the side yard.
My trunk succumbs and hits the ground hard.
My aging stump is all I'll convey as my decimators
climb in their trucks and drive away.
The sun is smiling through the falling rain
Sending sweet rays through the crystal drops,
While at pond’s edge stands a stately crane
Unmoved until the steady downpour stops,
Once again he gorges on sweet goldfish fare
Venturing near the reeded edge and shallow,
When the crane has finished feasting there
Takes his rapid flight toward yonder rainbow.
The sun still smiles at Mother Nature’s way--
The falling rain, the rainbow, the stately crane
Even the fated, golden swimmer had its day,
Beneath the plops of the gentle falling rain.
We are all part of the grand Almighty’s plan
Never to be separated—nature from man.
FIRST PLACE WINNER
Brian Strand's "All Yours" Contest
written June 22, 2021
The pine tree stands straight in the clouds,
For it is ashamed of any curves and bends.
Various wild vines do not concede defeat,
They cling and climb to the top to compete.
Autumn flowers are in bright purple and red,
Charming and beautiful like brocades spread.
Neither humble nor pushy the pine stays calm
And let the sunbeams poke through its palm.
Seeing that the cypress spits out seeds to imitate
And the crane humbly shrinks its neck to vacate,
The pines are anything but splendid eye-catcher
Can it deserve "the three friends in a cold winter"?
The tortoise and the crane both enjoy longevity,
But their appearances are of different variety.
They both are wise and have the same ends,
Despite different shapes they become friends.
The crane has a dream of soaring into the sky,
While a comfortable life the tortoise does deny.
Thus they each bite one end of a bamboo stick.
The crane flies with the tortoise to clouds thick.
But it cautions the tortoise and says “Silence,
Otherwise you may fall to the ground at once.”
(tran.)
You walk by a plot in a cemetery
You hear a knock, it makes you hairy
Call the crane experts
Help you dig the dirt
Probably just a recently deceased's fairy
High above gray Manhattan’s marge,
‘Midst toothsome towers in the sky,
A construction crane there looms large,
Dwarfing the crowds of passersby.
A new building grows, rising high,
Clouding another patch of sky.
A tower for trade will arrive
Where businesses may fail or thrive.
An unsung Mohawk warrior,
And an iron-ribbed Spartan crane,
Raising stanchions; bolting girders,
Work in harmony on the frame.
Clutching the cables of the crane,
Beam rider goes where most aren’t fain;
Riding angled steel slabs, held tight,
High aloft, nearly out of sight.
In their union, we may marvel:
From out of an architect’s dreams,
Row by row; level by level,
They unfold a right-angled frame.
And when the beam rider has gone,
Who will recall his days bygone?
For those who make real others’ dreams,
That is the way it goes, it seems.
I am a crow.
And I refused to eat the flesh.
I am a dissident
And now my feathers
Will never be black again.
I am a crow.
And I have left the evil mark.
I am no longer close to all that's dark
And now my friends
Will never be near again.
Alas, I am a crow.
And I have flown away to a warmer place.
I am looked upon with all's disgrace
And now my songs
Will never be lost again.
Woe, I am a crow.
And a creature of light has encountered me.
I am breathing in its purity
And now my suffocation
Will surely find me again.
I am a crow.
And this creature stands above my head.
I am only knowing of all that's dead
And yet it still gives me gaze
Will I ever be truly "crow" again?
I am a crow?
And this one yearns for my soul.
I am clothed in the fragments that would keep me from whole
And now I'm painted white.
Will I never know what I am again?
I am a crane.
And I refused to eat the flesh.
I am a dissident
And now my feathers
Will never be black again.
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