Mountains stand above valley and plain
ranging over extensive stage
mountains never look the same
mountains turn many a page
cloaked white in winter's fog and snow
clad in the green shades of spring
baked by summer’s hot yellow sun
in autumn’s many colours seen
softened by forest leaf en masse
capped with crags of hardened stone
eternally surveying woodland and grass
water and desert from lofty throne
Bear me brother
Bear me well
Bear me from this churning, bloody hell
carry me brother across your broad back
to escape the carnage of bullet, chemical and flack
your boots are heavy, clotted with mud
your uniform rain sodden, stained with blood
your rifle I can no longer see
across your shoulders you trudge with me
my head flops flaccidly I wake and sleep
or is it unconsciousness that takes me deep
away from pain and brutal surrounds
the crashing violence of artillery rounds
the moans of others gashed, crushed and burned
the landscape blackened the ground turned
my noble saviour
my hero of a man
my rescuer of honour
one who does what he can
as you bear me to safety out of harms way
will you release me to live again
or fight another day?
Sleep baby sleep
my tears of joy come
watching over you I weep
my precious dependent one
and when you’re older
I will seek
to be your friend
when independence distances you
from the parent who will love you
til the end
sleep baby sleep
I know we will part
but this part of me
will always be
your piece of my heart
The silver mists of Golden Mountain
obscure the ranging view
but create a tableau different and good
of ghosts, and flitting wood nymphs too?
when wallabies thump their way through the wood
it sounds like tree fellers of the past
they appear in swirls of misty pearls
then disappear just as fast
the deep forest loses depth
the towering forest loses height
and still the height and depth of it
is perceived as majesty and might
spectre trees and bracken fern
emerge and fade as shades
the mid story of denser shrubs
thickens, then lightens as glades
above in the lofts of the tree tops
lost in a murky crown
the creak of Gang Gangs evokes a haunted house
as the mist keeps coming down
heavy with moisture grey as lead
the weight of water settles
it drips from every frond and leaf
and jewels the risen nettles
muffled by its soft grey cloak
hushed by its thick grey mantle
awaiting the sun
is forest
under fractal lintel
the chill of it penetrates
every thermal hat, scarf and glove
the pleasure of it permeates
souls
with the nature we love
here in the forest, the misty forest
be one lost and found
take the time to appreciate
the mystery of mistery found all around
We are sitting in the basement
fifteen of us and a few cats and dogs
the battery powered light
flickering endlessly
giving this dark windowless
space an unsettling strobe
effect
we are powerless to
correct
anything
there’s constant noise down here
the wet wood in the furnace
gathered in life risking scrambled forays
sizzles spits and pops
like everything above ground
the thermal fan under it turns on
ever grinding stripped cogs
whir, grrr, whir, grrr
such a refuge
such refugees
the six month old baby grizzles
persistently as her mother rocks in place
mother elicits an endless suppressed
yet ever audible keening cry
over the child
eeee, oh, eeee, ooh, ooooh
our elderly neighbour in the corner
incessantly mutters unintelligibly and fossicks
in his rucksack for something
he never seems to find
rustle, bustle, rustle
the small boys of the street wrestle
spar for an activity to do until
someone inevitably gets hurt
accusations fly accompanied by
pleading cries and whimpers for concern
but there is little room for that
sook sook sook
oh the irony of such violence
here and now in play
and then the recriminations begin
all over again
or it's back to the board games
already fought over and
played dozens of times
or back to exhausted, restless sleep
the horror that has thrown us together
it has lasted five days now
with no end in sight
I mean how would we know
we have no radio
if there was
if there is
any end in sight?
add the horror of literally dashing
and splashing
to relieve yourself topside
before something or someone
gets you in one way or another
the horror of what you see while
you are out there
exposed and defenceless
amongst the snipers
the stray ordinance
the wreckage
the carnage, the bodies and body parts
the smoke and the smell
you can't get rid of any of it
the imagery burnt into your retinas
the stench of burnt everything
embedded in your nostrils
the burns on your skin
your very own smouldering soul
two young girls push toy cars and trucks
around the room
filling them with anything they can
that will support a story
of some sort to overcome their fear
you never know how it will manifest next as they
fret, fidget, fuss, fume or fuse
we all stare at the floor most of the time
except for the brief apprehensive looks
heavenward, to the ceiling
with every new global shudder of
our tiny enclosed world
we know where we are yet we are lost
we are buried
I wonder will we be buried here?
in our own reality show
live tombing
what will that be like?
CRUMP!
is it that noise that bothers most?
or is it the ripping and tearing of metal and wood
like live cardboard screaming
until it also is finally dead and still
all movement defeated
all creaks silenced
all purpose gone with the wind
the exploding windows
the thumps and whumps of trees and structures
unknown
falling to the earth
the wild crackling and detonation
arcing earthing power lines writhing
like electrocuted psychotic snakes
the searing howling jet stream that is
simply the roar of wind
generated by wildfire and wild fire
the small arms fire rippling
like saucepan popping corn
the convulsive impacts of
guided bombs
drones
missiles
random artillery
or
the moments of deathly silence when it all stops
when the next set of questions begin
do we venture out with hope?
or do we continue to wait
to still sit still in
this basement of dread
our will to endure fading
fading deeper into despair
our fading resilience
a fading of body and mind
we can see in our minds eye
the fading of our ink
from every record
of us there ever was
as we fade from presence
and the present and from
remaining data banks
we fade from existence
as surely as every other
ordinary person is knowingly
or carelessly erased by war
I searched for the river to slake desperate thirst I thought it was somewhere around here I thought I smelled water but I remained cursed every turn brought simply more tears I toiled through the scrub on my knees as a first I soon began to smell fear the dry of my throat and my eyes were the worst but I still felt there was water around here my effort was flagging my heart fit to burst lost I scrambled and crawled for life dear then I heard a tinkle with cracked lips pursed I stopped to listen and peer was I tricked, in illusion immersed? no, there a gleam through the woods did appear and I rose and I ran and the wild things dispersed as I charged and leapt logs like a deer all the pain and the doubt that I had nursed vanished like fog from a weir disappeared in that moment I felt myself blessed I found water deep, cool and clear and I dived right in, water up to my chin I drank and rejoiced in the swim and I swore in that water that life giving elixir no wrong would I e’er do again
Despite the many brave
She was taken by the waves
To a watery grave
No one was saved
This is the spot I like to sit
and watch the bees at work
this mere is the spot I take my rest
reflect on the mysteries of life’s cirque
to see the flowers pollinated
to see the caterpillar form and eat
to watch the chrysalis deliver
the pretty butterfly to floral seat
to watch the autumn turn green cloaking
to dusky yellow, reds and browns
before stripping bare and thus exposing
woody boughs for next years round
and in spring I observe the flourishing
of vivid sprouts and blooms from sleep
when they give energy nourishing
to new growth it fills me, replete
in knowing summer will again warm me
in this spot at nature's feet
As I write
I’m in between
the space of work
and home yet seen
I fill my time
in this nowhere land
writing poetry
without a brand
brandless poetry
there’s a thought
cos without a brand
it comes to nought
do I care?
not really no
I do it for pleasure
not for the show
but if I’m honest
I’d like it seen
by some of the public
ah, that’s just a dream
I sit on the train
I write in between
I write and think
what does it mean
this purposeless ink?
Thanks to Dora. This week’s dVerse poetics challenge was to use the concept of liminal in a work. I found myself writing in exactly that space, as I often do. Sorry, I missed the Mr Linky cut though!
At evening when the sunsets vary
when the birds settle in roosts far and wide
when the lowing cattle lie down to cud
I reflect on days toil and try to decide
will I stay on here with Mary
will we try another place far away
will it change anything really?
or is it just another run and hide
no loss can transport you to such misery
no grief can claim you so deep inside
like the death of the most precious to you
the loss of a loved first born child
Ah, the light of the golden hour
the yellow wash of dawn’s breaking sun
such pleasure in the early morn
omen for a another day of wonder
beautifully begun
The luxury of poetry
the images created there
the pleasantries of high art
the challenges laid bare
the thoughts on truth and beauty
the ugly brutal truth
the clearly written words
the affected words forsooth
the scibblings of a madman
the writing of a scribe
the wounds of the wounded
the dying and dead imbibed
the love of many lovers
the truth and pain of love
the anxiety of living
the wonder of it hereof
the unitary or divisive delivery
of hell or heaven above
Ah, this last of exquisite autumn days
the slant of light of breaking rays
through fractured clouds to which some might say
how disappointing this grey sky day
but the rays of light delighted me
the yellow bands proportionately
dominate the view, you can’t but see
the illumination of everything touched by these
and in that light the detail found
from sun's surface waves inbound
everything on earth reflects colour and pleasure
if you look hard enough for work or leisure
an architect's masterpiece of blossoming features
or a beautiful flower of imperfect creases
see the light touch your skin
examine the surface you find yourself in
think of yourself as embodied light
the light within grants power of sight
and if you think deeper you just might
fully appreciate autumn's dying light
Egg, caterpillar, chrysalis and butterfly
a fascinating life cycle my oh my
then at the end away they fly
all love to watch them flying by
those butterflies, an erratic sight
one that engages non linear flight.
on colourful platform will alight,
when the season is just right
pollinating from flower to flower
ideally protected by leafy bower
delight to watch them hour on hour
on floral carpet or growing tower
five flaps per second, a butterfly flits
up then down in lifts and dips
with dramatic wings nature equips
tasting food with feet, strange butterfly grips
each of four wings are made of scales
as bright and light as gossamer sails
ragged wings are when flight fails
end of days on hills and dales
oh how I love the butterflies
that brush the earth and fill the skies
becoming endangered, my heart cries
only stillness and emptiness when every butterfly dies
Rest easy little cherub
now day’s busy work is done
and weary tiredness overtakes you
at time of setting sun
when angelic peace comes at last
to your adored and relaxed face
your long soft lashes upon your cheeks
a picture of beauty of grace
as your breathing calms and settles
to the rhythmic patterns of sleep
your flickering eyes and twitching hands
tell of happy dreams so deep
what is it you dream of?
repeating the days play?
of parents love, of sister?
good things only I dare say
sleep calm and in comfort
your next best day yet to come
your time at rest is precious
my small and lovely one
it’s the same for mum and dad
the quiet of the night
is also the time for peacefulness
and short time of respite
before another day of fun begins
of looking, touch, smell and taste
of learning from tears and joy
no exploration gone to waste
so wake up at days dawning
brighten up the skies
play away the morning
give more pleasure to our lives
this river rolls alluringly
deep and slow
so full and powerful I cry
take me
take me river before I should die
take me dear river to wherever you go
I’ll ride you there fast I’ll ride you there slow
and river my river I’ll love you always
I’ll drift on and caress you the rest of my days
I’ll wind through your meanders
and sing with your songs
we’ll seed fertile plains and fill billabongs
river my lover take me I’m yours
through all seasons we'll wander
I’ll never ship oars
Lisa prompted we poets with pilgrimage, wandering or walkabout for the dVerse challenge this week. I have recently been wandering, on walkabout, writing about rivers, and so came to #04.
I wish I was obstreperous
Enjoying life without restraint
I’d bounce around the place
Doing things thought quaint
I’d manage to be boisterous
In every sort of setting
Demanding attention having fun
Without being annoying or letting
Friends and family get tired of me
I’d remind them of my flair
I’d wear colourful clothes
Say colourful things
And coif outrageous hair
who are you a vehicle for
who is it you pick up and return to their door
who asks you to do things then asks the score
who takes but never gives more
who do you wait on while you self deplore
what is it you are waiting for?
As we walk darkening late afternoon brown and empty park laneways
before the real cold of winter sets in
I hear the quiet susurration of fallen autumn leaves
as they are gently brushed by a murmuring breeze
the soft attentive voices of an anticipatory audience lining our path
sharing the intimate whisperings of love between you and me
Stealthy predator of malign intent
brought to a new country
evil sent
with no defences natives fall
like dominoes before claw and paw
colonising new territory by the day
nothing effective stands in the way
a death count of billions by today
an introduced plague that makes death play
indigenous species fall by the way
to arrest this devastation we catch and kill
but the feline mind eludes us still
and hand on heart
heart on sleeve
we witness endangerment extinction
and grieve
The dVerse prompt for we poets this week came from Melissa, to choose a Louis Wain artwork based on cats, and write a poem inspired by the artwork. One catch– we may not use the word cat. Other feline terminology is acceptable.
That fist kiss
I dallied on your lips
I felt my head spin
a light and dreamy
state i was in
your breath was sweet
your tongue sweet too
your lips smooth and soft
like the rest of you
your hair on my cheeks
the sensation tantalising
your hands in my hair
encouraging and inviting
that first kiss told me everything
hearts really can sing
In my hands the grip on life is weakening
incessant tremor shakes my tenuous hold
in my voice the words are thickening
no longer resilient assertive or bold
in my falling hair no flowers will bloom
there is no lustre richness or growth
in my head there is no room
for pleasant thoughts or more to know
in my eyes the irises are black
darkened by illness, depletion and pain
they can’t look forward only back
to where I’ve been and will be again
in my nose the smells are fetid
ripe with the stench of sickness and rot
in my mouth the taste is wretched
appreciate what you have?
I think not!
I walked the roads on my feet of clay
clods of mud trailing in my wake
thick and sticky gluey and grippy
wet and heavy from the rain
I thought to put down roots again
I sought out my home lost long ago
but when I found it and I stood still
I discovered my roots would no longer grow
Does it alter every morning when the light strikes the land
when sunlight ever bright or through grey skies hits the strand
do the shapes and forms move
under photon pressure waver
only photographer or artist heeds every little quaver
when dark crevices are lit
by yellow shimmer or dull purple patches
when mountains high or plains below
are patched with coloured swatches
when treed slopes or waving fields
bask in brilliant splendour
it is time to remember nothing is static
take time to appreciate and consider
I live in that locket
with you I’ll always be
a flower in that metal pocket
so you can always see
your lover at your breast
that lover always me
you wear upon your chest
your flower my honey bee
my image and lock of hair
to be there for evermore
so you my love take care
to continue to adore
poetography.ink 