"cairns" poems
A black crow's darting eyes
spans the wheat field
and an orange pumpkin patch.
She sees
tall grasses of brown
seedlings,
bristling in the wind,
soon to be bushels of grain
and a pumpkin pie that she never savored.
She sits, atop her tree perch,
at times warm and storybook,
hidden by tree branches,
and at times out of harm's way
and infamy.
Her friends, the sun, and clouds in concert,
dancing along.
Her other friends bring alms and smiles.
Life is so good at times.
Down the road sits a mill
next to a waterfall
and a cabin,
with reindeer horns
hanging above the doorway.
She is in her element, happy,
carrying for her nestlings.
Back and forth her parental eyes dart
the hilly fields, a smoked filled chimney, and her babies,
all crawling with sustenance and awe.
Storybook.
A mother feeding a worm to her baby.
Storybook.
Off to her side is not a blind eye
watching her,
scary stick figures of
straw tucked under red shirts and hats,
with a tied tinfoil strips dotting
her eyes and tease.
Scarecrows, cease.
At times life is good nature, hand in hand,
knock on wood.
If only life could be circumspect.
Than darkness filling the light
and a stutter of life.
For a sad page is turned,
pause
... tears.
Then, feathers fall.
Hers.
The sound of a thud.
Silence and tears of her friend's swelling.
A baby's cry, missing her mother.
More orphaned tears.
Who would be this despicable?
On that rogue day.
A kick of a donkey,
an ***
one bad rock on her path,
breaks the air,
as three little elementary kids were walking along
to school.
One, me, with a rock in his hand,
taking aim at her perch
and the death of the black crow's pages.
I confess.
... Bless me, Father, for I have sinned
it has been fifty years since
my last confession ...
a Tom Sawyer-like childhood gone worse.
I repent.
Some fifty years later I think of those first cairns,
including stealing the reindeer horns and milling
my brother and sister's storybook.
Waterfalls
stream tears, and a sorry boat
rowed downstream
sadly
thereafter.
Logan Robertson
7/25/2018
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 6:02 PM UTC
The desert is a killer
An unforgiving foe
Be careful how you handle her
Take things very slow
If you are lost in her confines
Be careful where you go
It is best to hunker down
If you're in the know
Your enemy is water loss
Long sleeves are a must
Head cover is primary
A wide brim you can trust
Cover every inch of skin
Cover up your mouth
Do not expend your energy
Go north instead of south
North of cliffs you hide from sun
It's the sun that kills
Stay where you are... IMPORTANT!
Unless you have good skills
You can find water sometimes
By following the birds
Deer and other animals
This is what I've heard
Pile stones in cairns
Make arrows from sticks
Showing your direction
So rescuers find it
Always move at night
The temperature will plummet
Sometimes it gets very cold
And people do die from it
It is best to wear light clothing
Conserve body water, dont sweat much
The desert rats drink often
But do not eat their lunch
It is best not to eat it all
Or eat cactus fruit and such
It contains good water
But don't eat a lot. Don't munch.
water, *Water, WATER!*
Drink this at all costs!
Find shelter from the sun
If you do get lost
Going to the high ground
So you can see the land
Finding habitation
Of folks living in sand
Carry maps when possible
Carry Bowie knives
If you wear thick glasses
A fire could save lives!
Make a fire in the desert
Create light and smoke
Magnify the burning sun
With the glasses of which I spoke
Hand sanitizer can be a help
In starting any flame
Put lots of stuff creating smoke
Getting helps the game!
But stay out of the fire's heat
Unless you're very cold
Always conserve water
It is liquid gold!
Carry a Camelbak
A backpack with a tube
To drink the water easily
These are often used
Travel light! Important!
Conserve your energy
So you don't lose water
Analyze your ***
If it is light like lemonade
You're probably ok
If it's very dark
You'll need water that day
Keep your head, don't panic
It's best to keep your cool
You can think! You have a mind!
These tips are simply tools
There are other tips
To Google in your strife
Carrying a cell phone
Could just save your life!
SoulSurvivor
(C) 9/18/2016
Sep 18, 2016
Sep 18, 2016 at 11:56 AM UTC
*death:
an abnormality—
deep prints left by
heavy boots filled with water
and washed away by
summer’s end.
grief:
a metal
sensation denude of
coldness—swelled up again
and again from life’s ***** driving
deeply.*
I suppose you couldn’t
help but steal away.
you (now endangered
ghost) left your
trace fossils moted,
gray and cold.
our memories of you
divorced from the
mountain’s path—
a wound raised
higher and higher
to a crystal peak
where your soul
was plucked cleanly out.
we built cairns to
mark your going
and stories to signal your
inevitable re-arrival.
we welcomed the heavy contact
of fire felt in the
middle of the chest
and watered
arches cut beneath
the eyelids.
we felt the frigidness of
lit feet gliding
above mountain frost
and set forth your
eternal journey
to the solar eclipse.
but somehow
we lost your trace fossils
frozen in the rock.
*where did you go?
who found you?
why?*
these are the questions
of extinction of the
physical body
but the soul is
unmatched in
its uncertainty.
if it exists, it leaves
upon time of death
and reenters when looked
at through shielded glass.
*soul:
a mountain
view, black and polished
by an unfurled moon. its
brother sun not far
behind.*
Aug 14, 2017
Aug 14, 2017 at 10:51 AM UTC
Here I tread on a woodland promontory—
With wings and wind conjuring the rains,
All is vastness and shroud, open, empty,
Even the light is carried away in silence,
My flesh all but smearings on the tableau,
Foothold of dream within disrupted dream,
Our hands once reached out into forever,
Now my soul is seeping from veined cairns,
Cut chains, mist, rains hollowing the wind.
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 1:10 PM UTC
Here I tread on a woodland promontory—
With wings and wind conjuring the rains,
All is vastness and shroud, open, empty,
Even the light is carried away in silence,
My flesh all but smearings on the tableau,
Foothold of dream within disrupted dream,
Our hands once reached out into forever,
Now my soul is seeping from veined cairns,
Cut chains, mist, rains hollowing the wind.
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 8:01 PM UTC
Red Poppies grow
Upon lapels
Telling of
War's untold hell
Of green hills
Pristine and groomed
Marching crosses
On the tombs
Marching crosses
Star of David
Where Stars and Stripes
Fluttered and wav'ed
Of buddies lost
Buried in cairns
Of brothers. Sisters.
Thus disarmed.
Of need for morphine
To end the pain
Of bandages
To staunch red stains
To honor souls
Under white snow
Upon lapels
Red Poppies grow.
SoulSurvivor
(C) 5/29/2016
May 28, 2016
May 28, 2016 at 8:23 PM UTC
Here I tread on a woodland promontory—
With wings and wind conjuring the rains,
All is vastness and shroud, open, empty,
Even the light is carried away in silence,
My flesh all but smearings on the tableau,
Foothold of dream within disrupted dream,
Our hands once reached out into forever,
Now my soul is seeping from veined cairns,
Cut chains, mist, rains hollowing the wind.
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 1:10 PM UTC
Cauld-bluided, humphing ower the stark grey hills
Gowd een skinkle to an fro
Split tongue lappin at the wind-blown smells
Bog grass blackens whaur ye go
Smoke split shielings and the clammerin o bairns
Bone cracked mithers in yer wake
Heirt-scaud ruin fae the valleys tae the cairns
Driven by a drouth ye canny slake
Crib tale shapit unner creakin heather thatch
Howf born craitur o the nicht
Auld sangs spake aboot the maidens ye would ******
Fleggit bairns tae keep intil the licht
True? Naw, havers, juist the blaflum o wives
God nivver biggit ocht sae fell
But ae bairn crouchin in the ruins o its life
Can think o naethin else the tale tae tell
Blin, lost, forwandert fae the shattered faimly hame
Warslin wi fear tae unnerstan
White winds whistle as he gies the beast a name
And dragons whiles can take the form o man.
Apr 11, 2011
Apr 11, 2011 at 2:39 AM UTC
You tell me tales of Rio
Thailand, Fiji, Cairns and Rome
I know that you are thinking
I'm a boring stay-at-home
Here's me, so rough and scruffy
-You, impeccably dressed
I know that you expect that I'll
Be suitably impressed
But while you're clocking air miles
I'm planting trees at home
To **** up all the carbon
We have recklessly let go
And while you're busy shopping
Trying to buy your life some zest
I'm too busy laying hedges
Too be suitably impressed
I'm sorry, these things you boast of
Are not doing it for me
Not all the things that one can buy
Compare to just one tree
I really shouldn't show off - but
You see my life is truly blessed
With each flower, bird or bumble-bee
I'm suitably impressed
So stop boasting of your travels
Stop judging by the cost
If that is all you care about
Such treasures will be lost
Your obsession with your image
Your concern with money, wealth
Is ultimately certain
To affect your mental health
Just stop. Step outside into nature
It's a simply made request
I'm sure you'll see the wonder
And be suitably impressed
May 16, 2019
May 16, 2019 at 6:30 PM UTC
Lined with age in faded denim
Squinted eyes and jaded smile
Sauntering through dusty courtyard
Remembering back here awhile.
Sadness tugs me back to recall
Recall of that young girl when,
Laughingly she stood in denim,
Clear blue eyes which sparkled then.
Tragic how the years have jaded,
Criminal how time applies
A caustic pall to all that’s lovely,
Attitude and tearsome lies.
Wish that I could haul me back there
Roll me back to young and pure,
Pluck the innocence from history
Transit back where truth endured.
Transit back uncomplicated
Back to where it all began
Happy kids in dusty courtyard
Faded denim, making plans.
M.
April 1963
Cairns, Nth. Queensland
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 11:26 PM UTC
if you **** me with your robots that chant tempests in pottery barns
you might look the fool who vanquished a perfect slave
free to disobey your stupid self hatred.
if you had the use of both lungs, and clung to fathoms of shallow harm
no harm but love's arm
clasping embraceful of your
lost god, would come
to you
if this were the writ that hit veins in your extravagant cairns
stick to your guns; adhere to the wound
damage done.
loving you relentless, maladaptive to dem bones.
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 2:52 PM UTC
Here I tread on a woodland promontory—
With wings and wind conjuring the rains,
All is vastness and shroud, open, empty,
Even the light is carried away in silence,
My flesh all but smearings on the tableau,
Foothold of dream within disrupted dream,
Our hands once reached out into forever,
Now my soul is seeping from veined cairns,
Cut chains, mist, rains hollowing the wind.
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 10:31 PM UTC
Here I tread on a woodland promontory—
With wings and wind conjuring the rains,
All is vastness and shroud, open, empty,
Even the light is carried away in silence,
My flesh all but smearings on the tableau,
Foothold of dream within disrupted dream,
Our hands once reached out into forever,
Now my soul is seeping from veined cairns,
Cut chains, mist, rains hollowing the wind.
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 12:55 PM UTC
Feed to me a current so that I may have an adversary
It’ll help carry the bones home when our wars are done
Remembering how we’d dislodged our lives
Torn them clean from the earth
Stolen to ***** cairns too tall to climb
Even for nimble us
Allow me then to stack my bricks up against yours
Measure if you must
They can topple continuously
Mine were bound to from birth
Build with them a wall against which I can press
In my very own war
Crumble the pieces into a fine powder
To be blown out of hand and spun
into a wind-turned eye
Call it salt and litter our croplands with it
It is standard procedure
That nothing lives long enough to learn how to mock itself
Watch it slip from your hands
Watch the line slip from mine
No chance of less slack on my own volition
Better a contained current in some watery recess
Than a fought one upended in thundering torrents
Better to quell the urge to hurl oneself toward it
Than to hold taut a line tied to a drowning stone
Mar 9, 2017
Mar 9, 2017 at 12:59 AM UTC
Look up from grey, your stony walls,
Break with the sun, seasides beyond,
Even dreams can come true my heart,
Take one step into the song of the lark.
If I should stay, Cuillin Hills will weep,
End up bleating with black faced sheep,
Stoic on cairns, froze giant of Callanish,
Or gutted in harbour like some cuttlefish.
My mind is mournful, keens with winds,
O what choral fantasias we both'll sing,
Hymns north, west, south, easter terrain,
Thoughts' forsake, points the wind vane.
A fine stout dinghy awaits pure ravel,
My sorrows a mend upon that voyage,
Into the west, moon hid from maid sun,
Aye, ginger haired wrangler tae horizons.
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 3:45 AM UTC
Alone,
on the shore,
near our family home,
familiar wide horizon fills
with shades
of deep
grey.
Drawn
to the depths
I stand here again,
exposed to the rawness,
as thunderous
waves
crash.
Collecting
cairns of pebbles
distracts me for a while,
yet those piles
of perfect
three inchers
won't bounce
across the beyond
no matter
how
hard I
throw them.
Once
you
taught me
how this works.
In awe,
I counted.
So I'm stood
bending low
soaking
wet
from salt
streaked face.
Surely,
I'm
grinding sand
in my teeth
whilst
skimming
these dark leagues;
yelling unanswerable questions,
with each exacting throw.
Unfathomable
pain
expelled.
Again.
The sea
will
soon turn
and
forget
my anger.
Here.
Today.
Where
once
we
collected
shells,
decorated
pebble forts,
with
driftwood
towers
and
seaweed
flags.
Defences
that
don't
protect
us.
How
I miss
you
still.
May 27, 2012
May 27, 2012 at 5:10 PM UTC
Colonel Hathi with a hurl
that weighs in his illicit hands
like an AR18 play-park swing
and all at his command
are concrete soldiers he had left
to test the new recruits
with netted helmets drilled
into Private Sparky’s boots.
To detrimble and exhume
the cairns from the pyres
a jaded island from respite
and scripture from the flyers
but as he jumps the trenches
of his own conceited fame
he’ll turn a sharp three-sixty
and face the wall again.
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 6:52 PM UTC
whispering breeze touching the calm
of the slumbering brine
patches of green fronds on their stems
stark against cloud white sublime
warmth from the blessed heaven above
staving off chill to the bone
stillness and peace yet undisturbed
ocean not showing a foam
island by mist gently is kissed
breaking horizon of blue
such a fine line bordering that
seen as an edge to a few
but to the eye searching and bold
adventure the call luring strong
beckoning offering that yet unknown
a wistful and sweet lilting song
sweet odor of lush green cut grass
mingling in the salt air
west of the reef gentle the tide
nurtures the sand with a care
where else a calm daily as here
far north of Queensland's east coast
between Townsville and Cairns
winter escape proving this no idle boast
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 11:01 PM UTC
the Australian Labor Party
is in mourning to-day
the great left wing union
in the sky
called Gough away
he was a leviathan
of Australian politics
in the seventies
many social issues
he championed
on the parliament's floor
with Rex Connors and Dr Jim Cairns
his biggest bone of contention
was Sir John Kerr
he sunk Gough's money supply
with Malcolm Frazer
looking on from the side
to-day there is a dark pall
cast over the Labor Party
as it says farewell
to Gough
men and women
of
Australia
will
never
see
his
likes
again
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 6:31 PM UTC
I went out for some air
As Ophelia's winds ripped Cavan
With whips and cracks,
Swaying wires til they met like Gothic lips
Whistling a lilting melody
In a wave winding along the Carrick Road.
They wailed as banshees,
Warning men with crosses,
Women in seclusion,
Screeching in their ears,
*The fairies left their hillocks,
The cairns are empty vaults;*
Ophelia drowned out prayers that night,
And slipped for Scotland's shore.
Jan 9, 2018
Jan 9, 2018 at 9:32 AM UTC
Like a stone from home into night I am cast,
My need for a story is certainly vast.
Thus fleet are my feet as I take to the street,
To implore the lore of ev’ry thing that I meet.
My interest is incentive to know,
Where from rocks roll, how the grass doth grow,
When so many things do cross this sod?
And who dared on what dirt trod?
The unbeaten trails entail many tales,
Of travails against which mine merely pale.
How came you here, oh cairns and stalks?
Confide you in me, I swear I’ll not balk.
For I as brave sentinels regard you all,
Though I know time will yet see your downfall.
And know I better that the ******** of prattle,
Will for their own gain seek thee to embattle.
Such cowards their duty for continuity botch,
Not showing their knowing that it is your watch
Holds the stars in the sky, for our fates are all married.
And thus ours must follow, when all you are buried.
Speak to me then, let heard be your pleas,
For I am as a Lorax, speaker for the trees.
And for the ground that holds them fast,
Loving their present, saving future, knowing past.
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 6:07 PM UTC
*She breathes and flirts with my loneliness,
Drinking from the last lights of heaven.
She weaves and braids a wreath of weariness
As Nyx drops a grey cloak o'er the even
And hides Pans' wild heaths and gardens carven.
Pale spirits drenched in afternoon rain
Flee, from the peerless eyes, driven
By other senses, less fickle, less vain
And who sing in a sweeter tongue of the pain
As Aoelus revets a mantle of shadows
And raving fragrances burst into the night,
She takes my hand, and leads me through the echoes
To her dominion, where she flaunts her might.
Here she commands genii to an aery flight,
Possessing the high grasses into a trance,
An angry hoard, out to a ghostly fight,
Their spears, like white fires, swirl and dance,
Puppets in a belligerent romance.
Over this multitude, pale and hectic red,
Cairns stand, overgrown with moss and flowers,
Silent guardians of childhood mirth long fled.
Over these, do I feel, the weight of hours
For the first time. Her touch shrivels and sours
Over my skin, as locks of a wailing cloud
Prophesy of black rain, of bleak powers,
And of the dark hours that enshroud
The lost joys, forever broken and bowed.*
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 11:36 AM UTC
Wonder where I'm going, past azure fields of pain,
where the wild wind is blowing,
where damnation earns its name.
Rivers running bitter cold, through dusty, ancient woods,
and as my soul was starving, I'd forgotten if I could
love or laugh, cry or sigh, gain or pain, live or die
(I slept on cairns of greystone and never realized
there was a bed of feathers so close by.)
Wonder where I went, through dusty courts of dew,
as when the air was steaming and my emotions screamed at you.
Flowers falling on the floor, time wasted by the yard,
as all you wanted was to open up my tangled, shattered heart
soul and mind, soft and kind, enduring all you stood by
(I forgot myself, on an empty shelf, where my spirit
slowly slipped and died).
When I discover where I'm heading, along the highway where I'll
vie,
in the land of rocky bedding, as my anguished thoughts are shedding,
something softly tells me, (somewhere deep inside)
your gentle, tiny hands will hold me,
should I ever learn to cry.
Jun 2, 2010
Jun 2, 2010 at 1:46 AM UTC