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shamamama May 14
Kolea sees the rising of Orion's belt
and follows the belt into dawn's day
He spent his winter on green pastures on an island
nourished by rainwaters which have fallen
swelling into rivers and red dirt

Plumage changes, reminding him of his return
to the Alaskan tundra
How can he know this path of
three thousand miles across ocean
to ancient nesting grounds
his grandmothers used?
What faith does he need to ride through
currents of air across vast waters to reach land?

He arrives in green tundra,
and finds his feathered brothers and sisters,
Seeking his mate,
they dance and unite,
then begin their nesting ritual,
Eggs laid, patience sets in

Time well spent, the eggs are ripe to hatch
emerging birds open mouths wide to
feed and grow strong--
Those bones, those feathers, those wings
must be mighty  
for the journey home

They watch the sky for the sign to return,
Some seekers who have called him papakolea
follow him now in double hulled canoes
praying to the night sky,
While papakolea listens for the
whisper of the dragon
thrashing across dark skies

In the middle of the ocean
he rides on dragon's breath
to find a pasture on an island
where he had fed a year ago,
Paddling canoes, tracing after stardust
from papakolea
they reach the shores and reunite to land
In this way
Seabirds and seekers
find reunion
Every May, for maybe thousands of years, the kolea (pacific golden plover birds) begin their migration to Alaska, to meet their mate, and lay eggs.They all return in August, to rest and feed up for the next migration. I have often wondered how they sense their traveling time--I have also wondered how the Hawaiians found the islands---and so a while ago, I wrote this poem, to explore this.  One of my Hawaiian elders shared that the Milky Way is "the dragon" in the sky, and as the Milky Way rotates in the tropical night sky,  the dragon is "thrashing" in the sky.
Blade Maiden Sep 2018

The room in starlight bathed
My body unscathed
Swimming indoors
sheets are shores

Wash over me like the tide
for I don't sleep at night
Swimming indoors
where it always pours

Moon reflection
on my cushion
Swimming indoors
following ancient lores

Diving deep to find
an Atlantis on my mind
Swimming indoors
til reaching the dream's source
Marte Lindholm Jul 2018
I washed up on the shore
You were already standing there
Like you were expecting me
You made me feel warm again

I could feel the sun burning my neck
As I turned around and followed you into the forest
It was like a warning
The sun trying its best to make me stay

But I couldn't resist
And you led me deeper in
It was so dark

I remember falling asleep
And when I woke up
You were already gone

I stumbled around in the dark
Time went by
I thought I saw the shore
Where it all began

I rushed my steps
My blood started pumping faster
In a hurry towards the light
A twig scratched my left arm

I didn't feel any pain
But then I saw the blood
First just a few drops
Then my arm was all covered

I kept on running
Faster and faster
The light was getting dimmer
But I could smell the ocean now

And then I was there
I was too late
The sun was setting

I could barely see it shining
Behind some tall buildings
That weren't there before

The sun disappeared
And so did I
Finding Paradise, look it up
jennifer delong Apr 2018
On this beach
It's where , I find peace
Sand between my toes
Waves crash splashing me
She's such a beauty
This beach
A gift of nature
I find such pleasure
On her shores
Miles have been walked
Driftwood gathered
Laughter's echo
Of days enjoyed here
Even buried my Emma
On her shore
It's just a beach
Oh she's so much more
This Mission Beach
© Jennifer L Delong  7/3/17
It's where , I go alot  & my best friend my heart we buried her here.  I get my Driftwood here that I make into art and its where i find I can let my mind find peace !
Poetic T Mar 2018
Ashes of life permeate
       through shallow tides,
weakening as shores of
                   white undercurrents
collect stagnantly on white shingles.

Corroded within each grain
          that swallows all hope of
                                          elongation.
Life is a moment crumbling to an
inevitable ending, buried beneath times silt.
marin Feb 2018
how do you            drag your finger nails down the shores of the
blistered beach     fully knowing lines exist,
only for seconds between moments holding onto notions that
dead things can survive

over and over you become a number in the many marks left unrecorded
sometimes
  unfractured for the beats when waves don’t reach their target.

x-ray the sand implant layers of what preceded - you - impose meaning on
all the drawings you couldn’t find
faking citations to forge        truth-beaten signs
Poetic T Dec 2017
I was a mosaic collected
in scratched nails
                  imbedded, bleeding
like I was meant to be touched
but can you really grasp a reflection..

How could you identify what
          I see, within the fallen feathers
of a crows smiles.
                               I'm hidden within,
a pile of dead bones wishing to fly again.

I could walk within the footsteps of those
in front of me on calm sands.
                               But I choose to run on
a beach of shattered shells, this is life!
broken dreams never really washing away.

I see smiles kept aloft by matchsticks,
                                       ready to ignite.
Within there embers embracing the true
               reflection of how I see others.
Parched realties of never really loving you
or another for the failures of there integrity.

I could love,
             in blindness.
But what is seen is nothingness..
I could love,
             in thought.
But memories will always lie to oneself.
I could have love,
             in myself.
But nothing ever comes from that..

Until I realize that I'm not in control
of this collage of moments.
                    I'm a Paper-Mache,
randomly collecting on a frame work
           of contemplation, that I will only
see on the completion of my life.

I'm but a part that I thought was
                                 irrelevant, immaterial.
But I'm just a piece of life collecting on
the shattered shells slowly reforming to
realize there is more to life than sandy shores.
Poetic T Oct 2017
Swallow lakes of onyx consume
my breath, as I lie asphyxiated
beyond the waking moments.

I'm drowning with the perspiration
of what clings to my eyelids.
Like cement clinging onto the fluttering
of still eyes sinking deeper from the shore.

Where I was once in the realm of cognitive
sleep, I fall deeper into the shallow
graves of that cling to my slumbering mind.

Have you fallen into a place that makes even
your breath chilled. Could you climb that
ledge of despair as your being consumed
by the fear of never finding a path from darkness
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