"archipelago" poems
O tower of light, sad beauty
that magnified necklaces and statues in the sea,
calcareous eye, insignia of the vast waters, cry
of the mourning petrel, tooth of the sea, wife
of the Oceanian wind, O separate rose
from the long stem of the trampled bush
that the depths, converted into archipelago,
O natural star, green diadem,
alone in your lonesome dynasty,
still unattainable, elusive, desolate
like one drop, like one grape, like the sea.
12.8k
You rode an airplane horse
Like Joan of Arc and her hope
With Princess Julia and Prince Justin,
Flew away from our bleak archipelago,
Across this continent of the smooth-skinned
To meet the King, your love,
For a quest to raise again our royal family,
And brought rain to Dubai.
You have rained on Dubai;
Brought the ocean to their deserts,
Watered their artificial plants,
Glistened their rough highways,
Bathed the Arabs,
Moisturized their dry skin,
And taught them to dance in the puddles.
You have rained on Dubai,
And took with you my Philippine sun.
Now I sit here in my desk;
A withered bud in the Land of the Orient Pearl,
Staring at this snow globe you left
With glitter orbiting the Burj Al Arab,
Watching over you from this crystal ball,
Waiting for you to leave the Gulf States,
And bring the rain back here.
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 11:41 PM UTC
Summer is more mini monsoon
where dry days outnumbered
used to hold sway this archipelago
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 8:27 AM UTC
land's moniker
mulls utmost care
Kalinga
branding the ox
of men with glaringly
immaculate chiaroscuro,
atop hills flourishing
with the fruits emblazoning
reticence.
chase angel-ward, the synopsis
of meaningfulness,
jagged, indelible accoutrement
akin to the brand of
chaste heritage,
galvanizing this epitaph
with aesthetic nativity,
gallant mambabatok - fill my bones with the ache of your past,
carve in me what the rippling
shrill of air has toppled
in the highlands
you have us shaking the blood
of this archipelago like boughs
breaking free from water's ebb,
frenzied by the river-warm
serpentine embellishment
the strike of the thorns
mints in our untouched bodies!
altogether in this numerous hike
we go in pursuit, hunting the
nibble from flesh to bone,
revealing the rebel, body
to soul.
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 5:10 AM UTC
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The soup today is not what it could be;
We’d better search out the old recipe
Explanatory Note:
I fear the poem as written fails, which is my fault (perhaps I have lapsed into fuzziness from reading Leonard Cohen), so here is a bit of exposition:
The words in small print are a quote from the Bishops of Texas (long may they wave), generated by some in-house scrivener, about what constitutes a "credible accusation." "Credible accusation" is not a title in civil, criminal, or canon law, and it appears to be some sort of Article 58 (cf. Solzhenitsyn's The Gulag Archipelago), a means whereby anyone is guilty because he has been accused. It stinks.
Also stinky is the behavior of some few priests and religious.
Anyway, I pulled the quote from a diocesan web site, and scattered among it in LARGE TYPE categories from that site. I stirred 'em all up in a soup because the matter of paedophilia and the bishops' responses seem to be a soup, making it difficult for a "good simpleton" (cf A Canticle for Leibowitz) like me to understand.
May God have mercy on us all.
Feb 4, 2019
Feb 4, 2019 at 4:20 PM UTC
#
Hands formed into a fist
her jaw, set..
****
She's gonna slug me*
***"You opened up a thirst in me, Paul.
Are you going to see it through..
or just stand there?"***
Her war-torn, Mesopotamian spirit
Bringing fire to those beautiful, Baltic eyes;
A direct descendant of all things, Telmun
She is waiting on a Pearl
Waiting, for the Pearl
Archipelago of Virginity
--Beautiful girl is the Pearl
After gazing at her stunning beauty
I turn back, and resume the task
of digging with a small trowel
into the dark, loamy soil
She slaps me on the shoulder,
tears streaming from those dark
sky-filled eyes..
"..I thirst"
Ladles are made for love;
In abundance, they bring drink
to those who sojourn,
those, who wait
And it is I
who have allowed myself
to become distracted,
as of late--
Holding out for beauty
When all along, Beauty
Has been holding out for me
#
Jul 27, 2023
Jul 27, 2023 at 11:03 AM UTC
on a farflung corner of the world
beyond the frosty Urals,
past the Saharan desert yonder,
and the Himalayan walls of ice,
and then a little while longer,
there you’ll find me sleeping.
or if you would ride a comet
and streak through the Atlantic,
land on the East Coast,
and head west some more
’till you arrive at the Western shore,
find a seastar and befriend it.
Then traverse seven horizons
across the infinite Pacific,
there you’ll find me resting.
here beyond the furthest dream
beyond the faintest clouds
i stand on sandy seascapes.
away from all the broken people
with their broken frowns and towns.
this is a land of smiles and sunny skies
where darkness and death cannot harm
the relentless light in
the brown of everybody’s eyes.
on a little archipelago of pearls
suspended from the stars by strings
like a toddler’s mobile as it swings,
the heartbeats of London, Paris,
New York, LA, or Rome:
pictures in a fairytale book here at home.
I am very very far away
where all my life is an echo
sounding in tropical sunsets:
rosy and pink and sinking
like a reverseblooming rose
lighting up the Manila Skyline.
Dec 15, 2012
Dec 15, 2012 at 12:16 AM UTC
I wonder why we define boundaries
The LOC's, The island, The territories
Do we ever understand our existence?
Do we ever question our existence?
Intrigues my mind these thoughts ever
Reasons my thoughts over and over
Do we really think we are big?
Do we really exist the way we think?
Andromeda being our neighbor in many
Thousands of these galaxies surround us
Milky way is one such in plenty..
One dot is our planet
Unique, beautiful, lively, colorful..
Colors are recent addition not too old though..
The time when existing boundaries were drawn
Colors and flowers too were born..
Do we believe we created colors?
Do we really believe we created boundaries??
We fight for territories
We define continents
We be so proud of countries
Our existence, Our proud, Our nationality, our Identity,
Do we feel we exist because of countries??
Do we really feel we are nothing beyond countries??
Religion, Ethnicity, Culture, Color,
Do animals have it too??
Sentinelese, Jarawa, Onge tribes
Living in archipelago of Andaman & Nicobar for 60,000 years,
Who are these people living in tribes?
Which religion do they belong?
What language do they speak?
How without fire do they survive?
Do we still think we exist because of names given by us?
Do we still doubt our Creator?
To bound self in boundaries is sin
Sin against the Creator
Sin against the Soul
Sin against the humanity
Sin against belief of life..
To partition our nations is to belittle
the Greatness of His
Who created us, who created universe
Who created "Himself" to keep our belief..
Continents, Rich, Poor, Oldest civilisation, Countries, Big, Small
Are these parameters to be proud of?
If we observe us from the top of universe
We will be a fly or a microorganism
They may name us Earthica humane
Do we have to fight for land and land marks?
Do we still have to divide the mother Earth?
Is it not high time we rise and decide?
United we make our Earth unique
Souls wander the whole universe
But to live they decend on Earth
Can we not be proud of planet as a whole?
No boundaries do us part
Can we not end the hatred forever?
Bringing peace, solace and love as treasure!!
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 5:07 AM UTC
What on Earth
took you? Do we dare land?
A lark of descension. An aborted beginning.
Moon trills.
Captain is dead
at the controls.
Mother gives birth in the airlock.
Trouble in the passageways.
A struggle to name it.
A drink before eclipse.
All that's wrong with the world
sounds like harmonium in the (wishing) well.
First flight over Hölderlin's Archipelago,
creating new and stranger versions
in the sandclouds.
So this is
Tharsis Rise?
Life without a trace.
Non-terrestrial Martian field.
Halcyon flowering seas. A rock with no trees,
no urban hopes.
Yet, the whole universe inside
wants to be touched.
I love you in zero gravity,
pushing tender buttons.
*** as solution.
Moon trills.
A kiss of atmosphere.
This alien womb.
Those android embargoes.
Our children are born echoes of astronauts.
Lunar schedules
their first words.
There's a lightspeed sensibility
to this type of marriage and parenting:
no leaving the hub,
no exit procedure.
The Sol they sing
is a harm hymn,
moon trills,
subject to the ladder and the weight of breath
this outside Earth.
But I love you in the veil of a twilight moon.
We're monuments
burned into moments.
Moments without a beyond.
Jul 2, 2022
Jul 2, 2022 at 6:36 PM UTC
Heading west from La Pesa to the streets of Calabazar for a trip to the markets,
a dance through bazaars.
The lighthouse in Cayo Guano lit the way to the end of the day as we snorkelled deep off the archipelago.
The night filled with Hemingway's stories being drip fed a litre of ***
as the moon slipped behind old Havana awaiting the birth of the sun.
May 29, 2016
May 29, 2016 at 5:41 AM UTC
i asked my god for rest
and in pagan desperation
he gave me apolaki
god of the sun and war
i mistook him for seraphim
God struck me down
with the force of a thousand spaniards
reaching my country's once untouched shores
*your land had a god of the sun and war
before they pinned you in virginal grace
your country wanted you to see the sun
and remember war was not for the bloodthirsty
for your people it was god's will*
i asked my god for love
and in carnal frustration
he gave me anagolay
goddess of lost things
i mistook her for a saint
archangels unsheathed their swords
celestial eyes filled with rage
*your land had known loss
long before you did
your country had known loss
long before love had made it known
you will find yourself again*
i asked my god for light
and in familiar search
he gave me tala
goddess of stars
and i stopped seeing them as stained glass figures
i no longer saw my banished gods
engulfed in the power of rome
my land saw the stars before God's first day
"let there be light" He said and apolaki bowed in recognition
tala greeted Him with a smile and promise
anagolay laughed in joy and gratitude
my country had gods before wooden crosses
before the galleons carrying friars came armed in holy water
before my archipelago had become a sprawl of cathedrals
now i'd like to think my God and bathala smile down on me
saint jude conspiring with lakapati
cherubim sleeping in diyan masalanta's arms
i'd like to think the gods are at peace
i'd like to think they would only want me to remember
to never forget every disfigured reflection of the almighty
Thy will be done.
Oct 9, 2016
Oct 9, 2016 at 4:17 PM UTC
Groom Training
Get up you tired old grumpy whimper!
And take the fracken elevator
If you have to
Down to the kitchen
And eat the breakfast
That people who have already been up
For three hours
Have made for you
If they can rise and shine
Day after day
Doesn't mean that you can
But they prove it's possible.
And probably with a lot less fuss
Shower, brush and focken shine!
It's the least you can do
Sometimes it takes
Some pretty harsh
Inner language
To get scruffy old oil tankers
Trying to navigate through an archipelago
Of any inevitably unknown future
to get moving.
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 5:08 PM UTC
Today, I’m sharpening arrows
to aim them at
politicians with snouts in the trough,
clerics who preach peace for themselves
but hatred about others,
academics who promote freedom of speech
but run a Gulag Archipelago
for those who don’t follow their own ideas
or buy their textbooks,
hypocrites everywhere,
celebrities in general,
people who don’t smile,
people who aren’t nice,
(why are they here?)
fanatics, tyrants and power mongers,
(there are a humungous lot of these)
boring people,
(they wouldn’t be boring
if they could just try to engage a little more)
and those who block supermarket isles
with their trolleys while they stop and gossip.
I’d really like to put a few arrows in their butts
to puncture their pretensions and hear
the subsequent hiss of preciousness
unless they sincerely promise
to be more considerate
and try to love a whole lot more.
Now. I don't insist they have to love prodigiously,
but I reckon they could lighten the **** up
just a little, and try to laugh more frequently.
That's all.
Mike T Minehan
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 1:29 PM UTC
she lay next to him at night
dreaming of a ghostly icon, gold
little-headed monkey god on an island nigh the cape of bone marrow.
& now
she bounds into humble years, house cat, domesticated
little smiles, little daughters, little
flowers at the supermarket.
good morning.
pull her hair, as if to tree
& family. seed shoved down her throat
& diamonds.
she remembers the jewel runners, their chunks of wet rock.
& birds
slipstreaming away their days above africa.
slug to the chest &
she awakens in a hyundai
under the beaming heat of a vacant strip-mall sun.
gravity feels soft
in this lesser pungent life.
dreamt only, of choking temp and humid archipelago nights,
the gibbons & the thieves.
the treasure chest lairs of chieftains and tribal nobodies.
war profiteers.
men of fang island fantasy.
fake it.
p.t.a. and butter spread it, to toast and/or corn.
the sun is rising
& falling
& truly just travelling ‘round.
marinated artichoke hearts.
[baby dreams] of waves
on shore and handshake, of altered mother moons, she
is hidden in reflection
& time.
happy with the furniture.
plentiful on extra lunch meat.
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 8:03 AM UTC
On an Archipelago
far from septic isles,
Deep in silent azure
I place broaches and pins
in a wooden box, for safe keeping
And set her dreams on a bed of lichen,
fields of leafy pathway stretching
she’ll nestle woven toad flax and larkspur
to steadfast her conscience.
The Birds of the flock
thrush and dove, sensing her bridle
rejoice in her Mother lode,
precious be their plenteous dawn.
Jul 28, 2012
Jul 28, 2012 at 1:18 PM UTC
Until the Spring Ball
the farms in the bog form an --
archipelago.
Feb 10, 2023
Feb 10, 2023 at 3:44 AM UTC
To many people of the world, Africa is often seen
Through a narrow lens, a filtered screen
As a place of poverty, starvation and disease
Of famine, drought, and misery
But this is only one side of the story
Most people say this out of ignorance, I’m sorry
Africa is a land of great diversity
Of vibrant cultures, of ancient traditions
Of beauty, of art, of peace
Yes, we have our challenges, it's true
But we are a people of strength, of resilience, of hope
From Algeria in the north, where ancient ruins abound
To Zimbabwe in the south, where Victoria Falls resound
Senegal is where the vibrant West African culture comes alive
And in Seychelles, the archipelago's beaches and nature are a perfect vibe
Sierra Leone has the beautiful beaches of Freetown
While Egypt has the Pyramids and other awe-inspiring sculptures
Mauritius is a paradise island, with virg*n beaches and luxury resorts
From the rainforests of the
Congo to the beaches of Cape Town
From Bijilo Forest Park in the Gambia
To the Kragga Kamma Game Reserve in South Africa
From Ghana to Nigeria, who regularly argue over which country
Makes the best Jollof, fufu and afrobeat
But the bond is as close as Arnold Schwarzenegger and guns – big guns
Look at Africa with a broader lens
And behold, you find the flawlessly faultless
The continent of countries, of tribes, of peoples
Each with its own history, its own voice, its own dreams
Its own richness of traditions, the diversity of their languages
And the beauty of their cultures
Let us dismiss the delusions
Of a continent that is backward, primitive, and poor
For Africa is a land of great potential
Of food that is spicy, soulful and sweet
Dance that is enthusiastic, energetic, and expressive
Where the earth is rich with resources untold
In doing so, we will break down the barriers
And create a world that is truly inclusive
For Africa is not a place of darkness
But a place of light, of hope, of opportunity
Africa is not a place of pity
But a place of power and pride
We are the children of a proud continent
Where the sun rises and sets with a sizzling splendor
Making it a place where every day is summer
Mar 27, 2023
Mar 27, 2023 at 12:24 PM UTC
*Let me court you and bend my pride,
Venting foolish passions,
Vowing with my heart,
Volleying pebbles to your window.
Do not forsake for my sake,
Say, you are the fickle Moon
And I'm a grumpy Narra tree,
That I'm the dizzied Sun and you—
A pirouetting world, that we are
Two islands of the Archipelago.
But never say, impulsively say,
That you are the shooting star,
The Perseids, a meteor shower,
For it is then, love,
That I would have become
The melancholy,
The Universe.*
© 2015 J.S.P.
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 7:14 PM UTC
A hush. A fanfare. It begins
As loved ones huddle close
To the marble hearth.
My grandmother’s eye streams
Bitter cold, she says. So is my granda’s
Gravestone – glinting charcoal, that rises
Through a sea of green. An archipelago
Of poinsettias. Words resonate
Off each little island, every city state
With its own legislature. Have you doused
That water on it yet? Have those roses
Seen the end of their days? Quiet, now
First glorious mystery: the resurrection
Of our Lord Jesus Christ. We power on
Standing firm. Forgiveness. Compassion.
Trust; the chant becomes louder
Closer, closer, we cry. I can see Pilate now
Washing his hands. Closer, closer – even louder
They need to make it through. It all depends on us
To light the way. Where are we? Third? Fourth?
Or even further? The beads shimmer as the frenzy
Grows, a pitch higher. Grant it, Lord
Through your mercy, and yours alone:
Bells toll and toll again, seeking the way
It’s time. Anytime now. With just a little push –
Silence. It is finished. A collective sigh
Done for another year. Did all we could
To save those souls; they’ll make it this time around
I’m sure of it. The crowd swells, swiveling the map
Of the yard, inspecting the atlas to no end.
We don’t stay long. Granny’s cold. She’s satisfied
She’s stood for pretty long.
My mate says we sleep till the time; I hope he’s right
I’d rather they rest than run, stay out of sight.
May 13, 2013
May 13, 2013 at 9:51 PM UTC
this dead city is alive with stray cats and missing person fliers, but the locals are dancing
on hardwood floors and [ ferocious yellow drums ] are striking the black-most
and the back-most star, sinks
it's cleat into
banished sunrise
with No End
in Sight !
the pride of most eyes,
too blind
to witness the free
oblivious,
As corn-fed black holes
swallowing the wisdom of crowds... as the unctuous clouds
of our dismay
are ever, ever at play; where the thin pool thickens.
where our blown bubbles French with thick tongues... our open lips
rebuffed to an invisible sheen.
the running of the Bulls is always an Alcatraz in a Free Will.
we dip into shallow cathedrals
where our Mercies slip through
nausea and dank
and Islands
of Less Ocean... where
The weakest Archipelago
In a Severed Chain
Of Dreamt
Events
are you
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 11:44 AM UTC
A city of blinding lights
An archipelago of unearthed minds
Take away the tension
Let the creativity flow
No matter the darkness of this road we go
There's always a great story waiting to be told
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 10:33 AM UTC
Beaugelic quempress,
A Serentifying archipelago
We shalt repose; nearby a
Bryefire, burning liquid's
Of scented rose. Gardenia
Perfume, to sheen ourn
Outer layer's; scribing
Of the almighty, inscribed
Into ourn conscious, galaping
Another's inviting. Extraciting-
Anjarising, O' flambustic passing;
Her cherithronius' marble foundation,
Hast given me solid ground, wherein
I heareth the most karstrett of once was
Lost, now found. Darshaying in Romanticism's
Prism; making drum beat's to **** street's,
And archaic rhythm's.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl jane Nagley dedication ( Filipino rose)
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 9:14 PM UTC
I’m part of the archipelago today,
just a little island lying around,
with a lagoon and some palm trees,
and here I am shooting the breeze
with you.
So I hope the rest of you islands
out there are enjoying the birds,
maybe an albatross with a preposterous
wing span, some turtles, and a castaway
with a bottle or two.
There could even be a galleon on the horizon,
with pieces of eight and doubloons.
Maybe not, but so what?
It doesn’t matter when you let go
and say Hi ** when you’re
part of the archipelago
today.
Mike T Minehan
Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 8:34 AM UTC
is it strange then to long for wild mountains that spring from all angles?
and stretch to the a sky filled with clusters of white
which escape from view quickly with an ocean wind
to see the unordered grass trompled over by livestock
on their way to the sole tree in the pasture
seeking a brief salvation from a stark ozone-less sun
no bureaucrat planned, manicured this land
he did not sit in a lofty office, feeling the cool breeze of electrically chilled air
it was not voted on, the way the waves are to crash
he did not need the approval of his lay out for pebbles on the beach
corruption did not intermingle the trees, making it cumbersome for humans
or the reclining alp's angles
they were left to the law engrained in movement
the unknown dispersion of marbles across the ground, scientific wonders
now they sit, in their building, living monuments of time
springing up from the ground like ant hills
not understanding
standing on the previous lives of men
entitled
my land
my city
my country
and i long for, my archipelago
stretch of green, a harmonious chord
pining after the days
in D.O.C camps
barefooted
gritty
the feel of sand in the bottom of my sleeping bag
and the wonder of no-man's-land
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 9:44 PM UTC
Ophelia's eye will look down on our small isle
sometime early Tuesday afternoon
the lull in her fury when all will be deathly still
and still we will hold our collective breath
when Ophelia ramps up her swirling skirts
and sweeps all before her powerful frenzy
continuing on her ravaging way
sweeping across our small archipelago
as we cower in our matchstick towers
and with awe and fear and stunned silence
all pray to our gods for deliverance., from Ophelia.
Oct 16, 2017
Oct 16, 2017 at 2:35 PM UTC