Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts

Sunday, January 14, 2024

The Northern Kingdom

 



The Northern Kingdom

The northern kingdom welcomed me
when I stood there in its morning glow
with arching limbs of forest trees
adorned with winters finest snow.

A crystal sea of ivory,
a gemstone treasure of the north
lay before astonished me
enticed my yearning to wander forth.
---------------------------------------

Saturday, January 13, 2024

Collapsing Themes, Rebuilding Dreams

Collapsing Themes, Rebuilding Dreams

Things today are over the top
the world appears insane
the stories told just don’t add up
and there’s nothing left to gain.

Yet in the streams of narratives
pressed by our mainstream news
our overlords have overreached
controlling public views.

Today we’re thrice divided
by psychological op’s
games are played, deceptions breach
and the noise just never stops.

But once the game comes crashing down
the thieves will be exposed
for in the dust of crashing cards
the truth shall be disclosed.

Truth and strength shall claim their place
in the land that clings to hope
while building bridges over time
is how we’ll learn to cope.
-------------------------
The Activist Poet


Defiance

Defiance
 
In the end,
when the conflicts still rage
and the army of bots descend
upon my presence on the stage

I’ll speak my mind so that it’s clear
I’ll not be quiet, nor desist,
I’ll be more determined, persevere,
raise my resolve and raise my fist.

I’ll not go into that censored night
nor will I change my view
when nations unleash their might
to bomb, invade or stage a coup.

I’ll battle where that evil has sprung
a field where every man should
condemn those that slaughter the young
embrace community and all that’s good.
-----------------------------------------
The Activist Poet

Thursday, September 28, 2023

The Sorrows Came

The Sorrows Came

When our gardens burned in the banes of treason,
and our essence empaled by American mallets,
the sorrows came in the form of demons
and filled to brim our bloodied ballots.
---------------------------------------------

The poem was inspired by David Diop’s Poem “Vultures”

Vultures

In those days,
when civilization kicked us in the face
the vultures built in the shadows of their talons
the blood-stained monument of tutelage.


David Diop - (born July 9, 1927, Bordeaux, Fr.—died 1960, Dakar, Senegal), was one of the most talented French West African poets of the 1950s, whose tragic death in an airplane crash cut short a promising career.

Diop’s works in Coups de pilon (1956; “Pounding”), his only surviving collection, are angry poems of protest against European cultural values, enumerating the sufferings of his people first under the slave trade and then under the domination of colonial rule and calling for revolution to lead to a glorious future for Africa.

Yoke of Oppression

Yoke of Oppression

When the red coats trampled us into the dirt
and the clouds of hunger swallowed our skies,
the yoke of oppression found our necks,
while squalid futures bled the fields dry.
----------------------------------------------

The poem was inspired by David Diop’s Poem “Vultures”

Vultures

In those days,
when civilization kicked us in the face
the vultures built in the shadows of their talons
the blood-stained monument of tutelage.

David Diop - (born July 9, 1927, Bordeaux, Fr.—died 1960, Dakar, Senegal), was one of the most talented French West African poets of the 1950s, whose tragic death in an airplane crash cut short a promising career.

Diop’s works in Coups de pilon (1956; “Pounding”), his only surviving collection, are angry poems of protest against European cultural values, enumerating the sufferings of his people first under the slave trade and then under the domination of colonial rule and calling for revolution to lead to a glorious future for Africa.

Governing Order

Governing Order


In these days of negative spectrums,
when truth and morals are engulfed in flames,
the governing order locks our doors
growing fat with their misery games.
-------------------------------------------

The poem was inspired by David Diop’s Poem “Vultures”


Vultures

In those days,
when civilization kicked us in the face
the vultures built in the shadows of their talons
the blood-stained monument of tutelage.

David Diop - (born July 9, 1927, Bordeaux, Fr.—died 1960, Dakar, Senegal), was one of the most talented French West African poets of the 1950s, whose tragic death in an airplane crash cut short a promising career.

Diop’s works in Coups de pilon (1956; “Pounding”), his only surviving collection, are angry poems of protest against European cultural values, enumerating the sufferings of his people first under the slave trade and then under the domination of colonial rule and calling for revolution to lead to a glorious future for Africa.

Saturday, August 19, 2023

Of Grey Roads and Landings

Of Grey Roads and Landings


No truer than the television
that blinds its host of their vision
absorbs the essence into fire
to render moods dark and dire.

Pretentious subjects taken in
that seethes and boils under skin
as repetition compounds belief
sucking souls just like a thief.

Voracity consumes the mind
to render victims deaf and blind
fills the soul with bright illusions
communicating their delusions.

And when the program begins to stall
the world that’s built begins to fall
misconception fades and dies
but from the ashes one can rise.

for all the lies that one had learned
built a lifetime, have crashed and burned
minds then opened in the light
with grand connection to inner sight.

A gift of sight that’s not financial
on frequency that’s substantial
it rains compassion, opens eyes
brings contentment and surprize.

All that matters then comes to you
before your transit from the zoo
one last chance to make amends
with distant family and fading friends.
--------------------------------------

About this Poem: For generations our populations have been controlled by a few through a complex web of lies and illusions. We’ve been fed these lies our entire lives, but as the internet opened doors to challenge the controllers of the system, an information war began to wage around the world. For some, belief in the system’s programs will continue to their death. But for others, they will awaken and see the illusion for what it is and correct their path making amends, forgiving some and moving onto a whole new world that functions in a higher state of consciousness.



The message - Shed the ego, see the truth, repair your bridges and build new ones.

Friday, April 28, 2023

A Secret Place

 


Photo by: Stewart Brennan

A Secret Place

The forest children hid their lands
amongst the ivy’s brackish tans
of thickets that surround their fore
a mile or so upon the shore.

Intuition had found it there
not far away from Hatley fair
amongst the deepest greens you’ll see
neath the elms and willow tree.

The way inside where I was led
through scarlet shroud a glowing red
this forest place that I was shown
with door made of carnelian stone.

Around the frame time spoke in runes
of passing cycles of the moon
which played a part in crossing through
now lost to shadows from our view.

First nations of the pagan age
intune with nature they engaged
their gem stone works are still revered
and from their path all lines appeared.

Lost forever, histories gone
in common knowledge all withdrawn
these forest seeds of human birth
that stretched out far across the earth.

But presence here is greatly felt
in conscious minds all about
who see the door in waking dreams
a mile or so near Hatley streams.
------------------------------------

About this Poem: Working on my 4th book which will be one of imagination and story telling.

*Hatley is a small country village of about 800 people tucked away in the Eastern Townships, Quebec.

Saturday, April 1, 2023

Cycles and Rhythms

Cycles and Rhythms

Cycles and rhythms begin from one’s birth
with the gifting of life on planet earth
cycles that stage with the moon and the sun
regardless of time or where we come from.

A patterned series that brings lows and highs
from beginning of life to the day we die
we’re a rhythmic heartbeat that grows and learns
sinusoidal wave forms with peaks and turns.

Awareness, intuition, essence, strength
emotion, intellect all have a length
timing is different but sometimes converge
and through these patterns our cycles emerge.

The patterns of life, in the things we do
repeat in numbers to make it all true
it might be sports or multiple careers
cycles have stages and a length in years.

Those years are your numbers, special in you
revealed in birthdates or nemesis too
all can be measured, put on a scale
every victory or when you fail.

Think of achievements, your get up and go
days when your energy is high or low
as emotional stages rise and fall
our biorhythms can address it all.

One’s basic emotions, strengths and needs
are better dealt with when positive leads
and once you’ve mastered the timing of peaks
apply a set of strategic techniques.

Cycles and rhythms in emotional flow
with peaks and valleys that help us to grow
your spark is electric from heart to mind
bring interesting moments when all are aligned.
-----------------------------------------------------

About this Poem: The theory of biorhythm starts from the fact that since birth, man, or more precisely, his emotional, physical and intellectual abilities pass through favorable, unfavorable and critical moments. One easy way to understand or recognize the biorhythm is when you notice there are days when you feel good with no apparent reason.

Biorhythms describe energy levels and the capacity for performance on 3 Primary levels: physical, emotional and intellectual.

The emotional biorhythm governs the nervous system and lasts for 28 days. The same length as the Moon's cycle. It relates to one’s emotional stability or stress level which influences our emotional states, affecting love/hate, optimism/pessimism, passion/coldness, depression/elation.

The intellectual biorhythm lasts for 33 days and relates to one’s mental capabilities, creativity, and aptitude to solve problems. The cycle influences our memory, alertness, speed of learning, reasoning ability and accuracy of computation.

The physical biorhythm lasts for 23 days and is related to your physical energy, strength, health, stamina.

The cycle effects the physical aspect of the body and encompasses one’s energy level, resistance, and ones overall physical strength and endurance. The cycle influences physical factors such as eye-hand coordination, strength, endurance, and resistance to disease. During the negative half of cycle, you are likely to have less energy and less vitality.

There are 4 Secondary Bio-rhythms that can also measured in cycles: Spiritual (53 days), Awareness (48 days), Aesthetic (43 days), Intuition (38 days)

Biorhythms are calculated using simple math and graphing the data over a cycle of time

To know and understand your biorhythms is to be one step up as to when making important decisions.


Here is a link to a Bio-rhythm calculator. Try it and see for yourself

To calculate, enter your date of birth and today's date (or the date for which you want to see the biorhythm diagram) and then click calculate

Definition: Sinusoidal is a word used to describe the mathematical wave form or pattern of the sine wave. It can also be used to describe blood flow to the body’s organs or in AC electronics where one cycle begins at zero, peaks to a maximum positive point, descends towards the zero, then to the maximum negative point and back to the zero point. The form is based on a unit of time where 1/Time = frequency and is applicable to everything including the many different cycles within our star.


Solar Cycle




An example of a sine wave depicting the human audio spectrum (20 Hz to 20 KHz)





Monday, March 6, 2023

In the Early Hours, I Can See


 Photo Art by Stewart Brennan

In the Early Hours, I Can See

I awoke from a dream that layered my thoughts
looking for answers my essence had sought
in the silence of darkness, calm and alone
I tried to remember what I had been shown.

I grabbed my hoodie and went for a walk
in the wee morning hours out to the dock
where a reticence of stars flickered their light
reflections on water where moon flows in white.

The shadows of evening all caught in the rise
by the first light of painting in lower skies
they connect to the universe, earth and moon
and I follow suit to bring me in tune.

Sun begins rising with its warmth on my face
while forest harmony and sounds interlace
a celebration of life does unfold
those moments on earth that the dream had foretold.

Unique understanding of minds held in tow
levels of consciousness all one in the glow
life on our planet, relies on the sun
and every star mirrors to make us all one.
-------------------------------------------------

Tuesday, February 28, 2023

In Death there is Life

In Death there is Life

Lifetime built against the strains
gathers in determined eyes
gaze across the open plains
where adjuration lives or dies.

Deep within a nagging guilt
while grounds rumble under him
he, this fortress, all he built
faced mortality, life and limb.

All events pass through his mind
as stinging blow turned to shock
a blow that came from behind
down he went this steady rock.

Episteme pours out spheres
while blood drips in crimson drops
all he was throughout the years
fades to shadows as heartbeat stops.

Last moments drain on the earth
arms reach out for longer stay
with promise of better worth
his consciousness then whisked away.

Through the door into the light
the universe spins in rhymes
mission ends, as well his fight
the part he played in trying times.

Harmonic waves then ensue
where pre-earth memories rise
comes the gnosis and the nous
hermetic wisdom of the wise.

In life there is death,
in death there is life.
--------------------

About this Poem: As time grows shorter and the end draws near, I find I'm reading and writing more while coming into phase with the universe and the realities on earth...Something I wrote while reading the book, "The Quest for Hermes Trismegistus".



The Shire

 


The Shire

Hidden in the valley,
and un-beset by time
near Blue and Misty mountains,
the Shire you will find.

High rows of burrow dwellings
fresh garden plots outside
with roads of cobblestones
that’s flush with hobbit pride.

Their walls a charcoal slate
deep green moss on their rooves
round doors and hashtag windows
to keep away the gloom.

All were built upon the downs
against the rolling hills
south of eastern farthing
west of the Buckland mills.

The Brandywine feeds the streams
that drink to their content
which feeds the farms and village
gold ales at their events.

Hearty people of the Shire
known as the little folk
gather harvest at the place
around the giant oak.

Well kept vineyards, hobbit wines
sold on the road to Bree
never ventured very far
they’re timid folk, you see.
-------------------------

Sunday, December 25, 2022

The Ride

The Ride

Essence plays upon the earth
it weaves and dives the peaks with grace
a thrilling ride of sturm und drang
with hush of wind upon the face.

Every climb, a mountain conquered
and every fall the ride does make
a gift of freedom and a choice
compiles a lifetime in its wake.

Memories made are set to film
to play in hind sight on the train
like shooting stars, they come to pass
endearing sessions in their refrain.

Glee and joy, inseparable twins
beam from eyes wide open and tall
these moments made from all we touch
long deep breaths to catch them all.

To look ahead when mind is full,
when time and breathing are then short
we wish to live it once again
this ride and gift we do exhort.

Rebirth in essence on the earth,
to weave and dive the peaks with grace
relive the ride of sturm und drang
with hush of wind upon our face.
------------------------------------

Notes: Sturm und drang - A proto-Romantic movement in German literature and music which occurred from the late 1760s to the early 1780s, emphasizing individual subjectivity and the free expression of emotions.

Stockholm

 


Stockholm

Take us to the village square,
the town between the bridges,
Agnafit may claim its name,
above the lofty ridges.

Mälaren greets Baltic Sea,
and boats are laden to go,
to trading centers on the coast
where ancient stories flow.

The Æsir gods and Vanir,
no longer wage their wars,
a Viking town that still remains,
in the drinking halls indoors.

A hardy toast to the king,
a ritual at this haunt,
days of old, return in runes
at the Aifur restaurant.

Songs of journeys, stories told,
at gatherings in great halls
where mead does flow from lofty cups
with boisterous cheers of Skål!
---------------------------------

Poem Notes: Agnafit is the original old town where Stockholm was founded. It is located where Lake Mälaren meets the Baltic Sea.

The Æsir gods and Vanir are the gods of the Vikings

Aifir = The Aifur Restaurant – Stockholm Sweden

Skål means Cheers

Migration Retreat

 


Migration Retreat

Rolling greens touch the sky,
below the mountain peek,
its jagged teeth draped in snow
where roads less traveled meet.

Sovereign essence sails free
above blue turquoise skies
taken by the earth to pray,
I cast my old disguise.

Operit winds sing their songs
observe migrating geese,
where I’m at in my mind
I’ve come to find my peace.
-------------------------------

*Note: Operit = the operatic sound of the wind

A Mirage of Time


 Artist info: Watercolor by Viktoria Prischedko

A Mirage of Time

Winds of providence have increased,
by breath of dreams that transit east,
they wave in blue and pallor white,
to fill my mind, transfix my sight.

I’m captured by hermetic signs,
that speak to artists in our times,
providing vision and consent,
to strike a chord that’s heaven sent.

Entangled essence, Aegean seas,
sounds of Mykonos in the breeze,
moving slowly, in slender forms,
unaware of approaching storms.

Mirage of time in beryl scenes,
a polity of diverse means,
life moved slower, a different pace,
protected by Apollo’s grace.
----------------------------

The Poets Crossroads

The Poets Crossroads

I think I’d like to play a game,
where famous poets stake their claim
around a table we’d apply
our crafty words upon the di.

A jumpin’ joint on southern road
where poets gather to unload
their rolling words from dusk till dawn
with bois’trus crowds to cheer them on.

On stage the poets would gather so
with Hughs, Cummings and Edgar Poe,
Will Shakespeare, Yeats and Angelou,
Mark Twain, Frost, Li Bai, and Du Fu.

All would journey to play the game,
called to table, their pride and fame
with fausty judge that talks in rhyme,
haiku panel that measures time.

Night after night excitement grows
when metrists deal their crafty prose
to challenge all their fellow bards
all measured strictly by their yards.

Best brevity’s chocked full and loose
chromatic colors give them spruce
a limb of words that they can strut
but careful now, cause’ they can cut.

It all happens and unfolds,
at poet’s corner and crossroads
don’t believe me, just come and see,
on fun filled website called A.P. 😉
-------------------------------------

Link to "All Poetry" Website

Dream Home


Dream Home

If only I could build a home,
on forest land that wasn't owned,
I'd build it by the rivers edge,
enough away, above a ledge.

I’d choose a spot with lots of trees,
that stand like guardians to the breeze,
in coexistence to assure,
with lots of wildlife to be sure.

I’d grow my food that I would share,
and during harvest, say a prayer,
look up to stars and then immerse,
give thanks to God and universe.

I ponder how to make it true,
this dream of mine that I’ve thought through,
before the punch clock steals my prime,
and I’m not left with any time.
---------------------------------

Propaganda


Propaganda

What is history when not read
or viewed from all perspectives,
but left to an anchor’s feed
with obsidian objectives.
------------------------

Under the Ruins


Under the Ruins

In the quiet moments of passing moons,
when the owl glides obsidian air,
not a heartbeat is heard,
but the thump is sure felt,
as talons grasp its prey on the dunes.

Those left behind are spattered in mourning,
sand, a silver glow smothered in shadows,
many heartbeats are heard,
and their thumping’s sure felt,
by empathic witness under the ruins.
----------------------------------------

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