This summer found men mortal
I’ll miss the better nature you find at the beach,
but goodness isn’t always a physical thing.
In the scene wherein we played,
—earlier this summer—
the sky was an azured theatre of taming heat
all colours seemingly washed too bright
and true to the ramping prophecies of science,
vital waterways shrank, and forests burned
with the devil’s own violence
Equal scales weigh though
both on the world’s beauty
and the miracles of men
though one’s a lower brand of perfection.
I know things of relative value when I see them, hold
and feel them, like the indisputable metric of gold
While nature has sand and majestic suns,
men, as sovereign masters of base elements
invented air conditioning, and Fruity Pebbles.
Should summer be invited back next year?
.
.
A song for this
the boys are back in town by thin lizzy
Such a spiteful petulant bloated fake
Waterways’ names aren’t for you to take
With hubris your guide
Set your golf clubs aside
And go jump in your rechristened lake!
Waterways, the eyes
Raining from the clouds above
No more holding back.
Cruising sails flutter, wind nearly calm, seas of glass reflecting dark Skys filled with scattered pearls.
A gentle breeze fills the empty space like a Wisper in the mist.
Unbound river now bound like waterways rising to the heavens.
Still the Sails flutter softer them a heartbeat guiding the vessel through this Mythical world.
Reading a bedtime story
to my great-grand child
Now and then the gods look out for you,
At least that’s what wise ones say.
Vanity, they also say, is Narcissus way,
Indeed, he my take pity and let you look
into his mirror and see
Gallivats and scallywags with chests of gold,
Avast! They will take hold of you,
Trade you for safe passage through
Inner secret waterways,
Or trade for jewels and golden pearls~
Now close your eyes and go to sleep,
the rest of your story will have to keep.
If Mother Earth came forth today
she'd throw her hand up and would say.
"Oh, my dear world what have you done?
Look closely at what you've become."
Humanity with no regard
to live in peace can't be too hard.
Destruction, pillage, selfish greed,
all comes from want, and not from need.
You strip the trees; the soil is bare
You mine my lands without due care.
You take and take, do not replace
You slaughter half the human race.
You poison waterways and seas,
and spread around filthy disease.
You cut the throat of fellow man
what once was good, now out of hand.
With dirty politics you fight
make sure that love is out of sight.
Instead, keep taking from the pot
quite soon you will destroy the lot.
So, when I stop and look around
there's little joy that I have found.
Despite the crisis in debate
you're still at war consumed with hate.
And so, I'll offer my advice
before you pay the closing price.
The future is all up to you,
will just depend on what you do.
Be thankful that your still alive
but change well needed to survive.
What legacy you leave behind
Will be the mark on humankind.
Patterns are evident throughout God’s creation.
A nucleus determines the pattern of every cell.
And the seas shape patterns for shores and straits.
Why should stars not have their patterns as well?
A city has skylines of steel, glass, and brick,
As stately as a mountain range of ridges.
Music holds patterns within every chord,
Much like urban waterways feature bridges.
An egg rests snug and secure in its bird nest,
Like a nebula embedded with a protostar or baby sun.
Here the protostar begins its long life,
Following the pattern ancient as the eternal fun.
In the cosmos patterns are not one size fit all.
So, each pattern fits one star at a time.
One for the massive giant and others for small,
Since little stars live longer in the cosmic clime.
Less mass means long life with many patterns,
While the giant’s life is less eventful and long.
Of course, all these patterns are seen only by God,
And serve as aspirations for man’s dream and song.
Have you heard of Fisher Folk
Masked and disguised
Often difficult to see
When in front of your very eyes
Some will see through the disguise
Once engaged in conversation
Others will never see a Fisher Folk
Blinded by their manipulation
Fisher Folk do not fish
In waterways of any kind
They only fish in ones psyche
Fishing…. human minds
Fishing information, only for personal gain
Needing constant compliments and praise
This is how Fisher Folk
Spend their devious, “its all about me” days
Also known as “Me People”
And other choice names
Pretending to show interest in you
When ‘Self ‘ is the name of their game
Some will never see a Fisher Folk
Being blinded by their camouflage
Others will see straight through it
Quickly seeing the mind sabotage
Fisher Folk are generally likeable
Often intelligent , charismatic ,smart
Though their interest in others is inauthentic
Not from a genuine or loving heart
Water rushed and flowed with tremendous energy as she
used her insight and understanding to carve waterways
where none had formerly been. At times Water needed
more strength and power, while other times Water
needed to be still and silent.
Air, with his fierce winds would move and assist Water
helping her o create tides and crashing waves.
Air’s curious nature kept him intrigued wanting more
Water. Water spoke to Air expressing her desire and
longing for Air, as Air spoke to Water he found his
breath.
Water became still and Air became the breeze.
At times Air moved quickly and violently while Water
raged tumultuously; other times both rested and were
still. During these times Water and Air realized
they created and carved a newness of life from both the
raging tumult and fierce winds.
Water and Air understood there was no stillness and
peace without the raging tumult and fierce winds.
In the chaos and stillness Water and Air became one,
and Water began to carry Air as Air began to carry
Water and together Water and Air were infinitely bound
one to the other.
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
Waterways, red cliffs,
ancient underwater caves,
back to the Pangea age,
continents fused as one.
I stand in the stardust
of a million-year-old memory,
a flutter of songbirds,
a bouquet of warblers,
the wild swoop of blue jays.
Hummingbirds check me out.
My breath hovers over crimson wildflowers.
Long before the idea of a kiss,
when love was mystery,
the earth entered it’s quaternary period,
the age of humans.
A time of gestation, anticipation,
the Great Lakes birthing,
hawks soaring, the first migration.
All we see of that coded mapping
are faint skeletal imprints,
visible in glacial rock formations.
The stone I cradle, a mountain remnant,
honors the ancestral presence
and my encounter with raw existence
The lake shivers as falcons dive,
beaks and talons fisted and footed.
A drop of water touches my face.
Profound. As much as a human caress.
During Hurricane Harvey resourceful fire ants stayed alive
clumping together on waterways, forming a raft, not one dive
I saw them and my hair stood up and I let out a scream
Knowing how dangerous they are as they travelled downstream
I had been bitten by one, which was like being burned by fire
He had gotten me on my inner thigh, I was glad it was no higher
The poison he put in me left me weak, I was barely alive
hundreds of thousands of fire ants floated past ready to survive
Another raft of them floated past, a million, score!
I ran away from the river, for I could take no more
Hurricane Harvey seemed to have found a plethora of them.
My view of fire ants is truly pretty dim and grim.
??
O thou whitish heaven's deity
Rowing on the waterways
Hellen of the birds in heaven
Heaven of the world of fays
In the foggy eves of winter
In the moonlit lake you row?
Larks and cuckoos, moon and weathers
Gaze at Thee in awe and go
Pearl of Love, thou Silent thinker
Midst of oceans midst of river
Gazing at the Reed as hermit?
Then on thine own thoughts thou shiver
Often see I rowing, boating!
In the eves of scented summer
Holy mornings, foggy winter
Thou in silent worship hour
On the sands of ocean shimmer
O thou angel, O thou mystic!
Thinkst thou of earth or heaven?
Thinkst thou of Love that Vanished?
Thinkst thou in seventh heaven?
Thinkst thou that life is sorrow?
Sorrow with the beats that mingles?
Thinkst thou of mirthful hour?
Not on face of earth that lingers!
Write on waves of ocean angel
With the quills in heart of water
Ways of earth are ways of sorrow
Ways of God are ways to laughter
Willow trees wave gently on the stream.
In the breeze, casting cover for hiding fish.
Thin trees float readily as if lost in a dream.
If only a breeze would bestow my wish.
The water played the lush leaves tenderly.
making waves that sweep across a calm lake.
Blue and green created a color so slenderly
Let us not spoil this calm scene, for God sake
Water larvae are difficult to spot.
Lovely birds with their wings held dots.
They quietly glide by on waterways.
Disrupted mirror images of the skies.
Sunlight filtering through cotton clouds.
Everybody has different faces and sounds.
Dappled shade from the summer's sunlight.
Umbrella to shelter together, in delight.
Storms have arrived and set the mood.
Natural disasters have led to limb shrewd.
The willow remains unbowed and erect.
Head held high as it stoops to connect.
Written: May 26, 2023
Just a little tyke
When on the hearth~strike
Then blaze
Warmth flowed throughout like
Happiness 'pon trike
Young days
When you were godlike
I'd feel dreamlike
A phase
Let me paraphrase
It's not hollandaise
Just dreams
Down by waterways
Where God I could praise
Fish teem
As 'pon stream I gaze
Large bream dreams always
Sea bream
No_ hatchlings that gleam
And bring forth moonbeams
That strike
'Pon the eyes_pipe dreams
Whipped and fluffed upstream
A seiche
Dreams come true it seems
Strike brought fire agleam
In Pike
Written: 03/17/2023
Contest: Write Me A Virelai
Sponsor: Kim Rodrigues
Pike..A county in Georgia in which we once lived.
Strike: Daddy would strike the match on the hearth to start a fire. Some fish when they bite do what is called a strike.
Seiche: a disturbance of the water caused usually by atmospheric pressure change.
Apparently, there are sea bream as well as freshwater bream. I am sure the sea bream are much bigger but those tiny bait fish I was catching looked like sea bream to me at my young age.
Checked with how many syllables
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