"countryman" poems
I can’t wait to be a hundred;
turning over the thoughts
and plots, of Caledon
floating on Zimmer inserts
and dusted Florsheims
three steps forward
in a dream woven
summer afternoon
Through the barn doors
and bee keeper flats
assimilating voices
from Sachems
and Forbes
and Hope Healers
coming and going
as the countryman
comes and goes
You can feel it
in a place like this
the 3 in the tree memories
of Allis Chalmers
and combine parts
of Sundrim poppers
and shallow carp fields
of patterned lawsons
and fading caulk
(on the ripped and rolled
frontier seats)
it’s a wishing well
for the peddler
and bold hydrangea...
both peeking their way
through the rusted
grinders wheel
Jan 24, 2017
Jan 24, 2017 at 11:55 PM UTC
1371
How fits his Umber Coat
The Tailor of the Nut?
Combined without a seam
Like Raiment of a Dream—
Who spun the Auburn Cloth?
Computed how the girth?
The Chestnut aged grows
In those primeval Clothes—
We know that we are wise—
Accomplished in Surprise—
Yet by this Countryman—
This nature—how undone!
3.5k
I gaze upon my comrades, at the places where they lay
A young man lies beside me with blood upon his face
“I can’t see you friend” he says “because my wound has left me blind
But I beg you to write the words I say and send them to my wife”
“My darling I have left you but I leave you with these words
I love you now and for ever, hold our children close for me
It should never have ended in this way
In a fight for liberty
I am not alone as I depart this life
Many friends lie with me, here on every side
I know not what we fought for or why we had to die
I hope we did not die in vain but I know not the reason why
A young man writes these words for me but I cannot see his face
He will tell you darling in my death there was no disgrace
With my comrades I fought bravely but we never had a chance
We stood and faced the enemy without a backward glance
I can hardly speak the words, blood has filled my mouth
My new friend here will bury me facing to the south
I am scared my darling I did not want to go
I must leave you soon for a place I do not know”
I wrote the words for that young man with the his blood upon my hands
For I’m the one who killed him as he made his last stand
Did I hate him? No for he was my countryman
We fought because a civil war had split our once united land
Yes I killed him dearest sister in the cruel and ****** fight
I would rather it had been me because you are his wife
Brother fighting brother, father fighting son
Has our god deserted us, has the evil won
This fight between the north and south, between the blue and grey
Will god ever forgive me for what I did this day
I will bury him facing south as he asked for it to be
I hope that when it is my time they’ll do the same for me.
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 1:30 PM UTC
September's ploughed earth
sows the rains
it is something like D.H Lawrence's
' The Rainbow',
that you love
the Polish cleaning lady so
my Soul's countryman,
dear poet of the North
for now, Persephone still
walks the earth
fair Kore, soon to descend
to the underworld
back to an aged God in love
were I thus loved by a man
as to become his queen
as to be kidnapped by him
instead, all I have is you,
a woman's love unrequited
for a boy & growing stale
as far off winter calls
like a theatre scene
too much rehearsed
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 9:24 PM UTC
so it begins when it begins
blasé grass serrates
past herds of carabao dreaming anxiously
of the day's toil;
the countryman stilts through
mounted in gray mountain
with dippers, casserole, mirrors
with imprints of ******** clad women
and women who are (really ******** clad) ready for bathing work,
collections of red days and even
tenderly the ***** sing attenuated songs of rooming-houses —
the crunch of basil over the afternoon.
waft of a pasture's death my eyes well
up rivers and ponds of elation. dog days, feral nights limp behind rusted
kennels and makeshift asylums
there is nothing left of the world
(this small world
that only rises when bellows
of festivities harangue the many streets
bending in them, the curve)
men moving from neck to neck
of bottles — (in the north there
is only four corners of bottle: gin,
pristine brook; in the Visayas is
the redolent Vino Kulafu of the same
potency) plucked out of the vermilion
and on benched careening on half-painted gates crooning Sinatra
gets stabbed, bloodied on the floor,
named after elegies; native chicken held
upside down and beheaded as many blacker days stifled; what do you make
out of this?
carabaos, equines, hens line up
the slaughterhouse behind the
TODA; you know a fine day when
it happens — breaking eggs
against the lip of the kaldero. crumbled
archaic sensurround, barrage of
simmer round the clock cycling
before the child wakes and wails to suckle
our mothers, faster than repose
of milbrightlions of stars falling asleep
to silent radios, leaving windows
open revisited by the eve of cold.
Nov 9, 2015
Nov 9, 2015 at 10:24 PM UTC
My eyes smell sleepy, he, refusing to depart,
But there is coffee on the nightstand,
The odor, infiltrating the dozy brain's heart.
Annoyed with each other,
They shout and fight
Like teenage siblings Commissioners at the SEC,
Arguing over bathroom monopolization,
The tongue stays sidelined, feigning net neutrality.
The bed smells empty,
For the **** has crowed,
Yogi David commands your presence
At Saturday morning Eight O'clock yoga services.
To get to his Sinai on time,
Early departure, an FAA requirement,
Car, ferry and foot you will deploy,
In the winter, special skis and snowshoes,
That blessed by his mantra,
Enable you to walk on water.
In the kitchen there is sisterly conversation,
Yes, puttering and muttering and discussing,
Sister's grown child texting, he's making the pilgrimage
To see Mama, alone, unexpectedly,
Six hours driving.
Friends and countryman,
That is how you spell t-r-o-u-b-l-e
Sleepy master dwarf refuses to concede,
Says when kitchen noises retreat,
Back to him you will supplicate,
They (the other dwarfs and body parts),
Have a big convention to better communicate..
Departure comes without a kiss,
But not without complaint,
She always says I love you first,
Which is natural,
She being a girl.
Now the bladder starts to whiny~chatter,
What about me, what about me,
Don't you love me, and me rhymes with P!
While the stomach quietly snores
Have been well-fed
but a few hours before,
He dreams of some more....macadamia crusted s'mores...
I could verse you more,
No problem that's for sure,
But you got the point:
The morning smells.
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 7:18 AM UTC
I see my countryman still holding on to the pest
we look to blame of the jar full of gold which fell out of our hand
on the pest, on the men how came from the horizon
the men how opened our eyes
but not without the down hills, deep valleys and the dark part of them
We hold on to the things which drive us into the ground'
for we do not peck the from the shining ground but we still look to blame
whiles the wind of time blows which is more parlous than gold
whiles the wind blows and carry’s away the gold
A hunter enticing his whit bat have our country men enticed us whit sweet words and then stave us in the back 7x7x7 and besieged us in poverty
Putting us in sinking sand whit noting to hold on to.
To the further we must look and loss the burden which we hold on to.
Moving from the past is inevitable if we went to be on the other side where the sun is
reaching for the thing which are in front and living the thing which are in behind .
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 12:43 PM UTC
The day shook itself, sniffed the air and sprinkled sunlight on my face
I woke,washed,said grace and breakfasted on hand caught trout, which had rested in my summer house down by the lake.
I took a moment to spread my eyes and fell upon this freshly fried and salted feast I had made from scratch,as indeed I had made the thatch which kept the house cool in the middle of the noon.
Very soon, my roving mind opened up to find a trial to test and undertake,would I bake some bread for the later evening meal?
In my zeal I did not see the winter creeping up on me,before I passed two more full noons the moon had shed its happy mood and food was in a short supply.
I used to cry at this awesomeness that left me in an awful mess,
but I learnt to do and mend and tend what needed tending to and now the summer's through,my larders full of food enough to see me through the roughest stuff,that the season which is about,will throw at me.
I see an end,a beginning too,the stories we are told run through the central core,
we want ,then we must do much more
we need, and what is needing for? but to fill our fears with sand and stand alone with bellies full of stone,solid,stolid
in the thick of things that seasons change to bring we fend off everything that hurts the soul,
and in the maypole time when spring is feeling kind of fine and the larders bare,
Mother nature's there to fill it up again.
A bit more planning a bit less pain
less to lose and more to gain
the same each year as it has been
for ever.
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 2:46 PM UTC
The blind man dreams of music
The deaf man dreams of light
The countryman dreams of a soft summer breeze
The falcon dreams of flight.
And the man who lives on the dark side of the moon
Dreams of majestic, star-filled skies
But I, I who have seen the universe,
Dream only of your eyes.
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 2:33 AM UTC
When the freedom bird sings
We will stand tall
When the freedom bird asks
We will answer the call
One voice
One people
One nation
No white brown of black
But brothers joined in blood
Shed on so many brutal fields
Blood of many nations
Blood shed for liberties flag
You speak not my language brother
But you bled and died for me
You saw me not as white
I saw you not as black
But as my brother in arms
Countryman of mine who answered the call
Who on this foreign land did fall
I held you as your last breath you took
Your blood with mine into the earth did soak
And who could say which blood was yours
Say which blood was mine
None for our blood flowed deepest red
Forever lives entwined
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 5:29 PM UTC
If I were member of the infamous Donner Party I would know not my volition anymore than what the future has in store for even one iota , Or universe held by fingers ? .. Have no recollection nor proof , faith , benevolent God or Goddess as I witness numerous horror , afflictions, malfeasance of King and governed be it Man , Woman or Child ?
I wholeheartedly refrain slander , judgement upon societies forgotten , betrayed by countryman and Much speaks , forgotten soldiers , tortured mind , aging flesh with mania that lay abandoned upon the very dirt they committed under oath to protect ?
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 10:12 AM UTC
A glass of Cru does not make one a Frenchman
Though you feel it in flow through your veins
A pair of Lobbs does not make one an Englishman
Though you will wish to walk like that again
A silk Armani suit does not make one an Italian
Though your new style will be your gain
A parcel of land does make one a countryman
Though you will hear the call of the plain
A part in a play does not make one a thespian
Though you may know how to explain
A romantic kiss does not make one a husband
Though she will forever live in your brain
An eagle soaring does not make one a shaman
Though you see it fly through the rain
But the right woman can make you a gentleman
And a soul can guide a humble man
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 6:02 PM UTC
Oh all the have demon's left
for when with her my life does changed
again slipping the loop to live again
burning bridges like a lamb lost from home
I think of her like on dark matter
now without her, my life would be shattered
Oh the pain of won't
that touch of flesh
that time I can hold her
and not hug my pillow
Oh such twins we are
like aliens from another star
and boy do I love her
like not then any other
I am in a state of grace
so out of the human race
that girl has got me bad
and without her love I would be sad
Been burnt from space
called a God by the exceptional race
but I hide in the reeds
and wait for my sister angels
Oh sing city of song for soon I leave you
rot in the discomforts of your own doing
so such a proud wonderful
now brought down to ruins
Oh selfishness and greed
it had become the demon seed
and you may want to wallow in lies
but my sweet countryman I must fly
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 12:56 PM UTC
When I look to the night sky
When I look to the night sky
Leaving the panic world behind
In the dominion of starry nigh
I travel to the galaxies so high
Stars are dim in the moon light
Goddess Moon is on the throne
Her majesty is on the height
And the surrounding glows bright
Every star has its cosmic world
Too different than the earth
Which looks pensive and absurd?
As no groans and pains are heard
All are busy in their specific role
And they never fatigue
To locate their concerned goal
Neither they stay nor they stroll
I was in the romantic shroud
But the groans of my world
Explodes the balmy veil of cloud
When someone calls my name aloud
To a Butterfly
O' short lived butterfly
Ye live forever in the dale of beauty
Spreading about the rainbow of colours
Thy honeydew makes saline moments
Of the spectator, sweet and manna
When thy reflection in his eyes
Gets a forever protection…
Monarch like expedition do you make
From country to country
Crossing the boarders of brooks
Meadows, deserts and spiky paths
And occupy the states of gloomy hearts
Diurnal ye are as a man
But stop! There's a wide gulf
Ye console the weary heart in the long run
He grants weary heart to the consoled one
Materialism….
He is not just a countryman of mine
Even we have a same boundary line
But many years turned into history
Our looks remain a part of mystery
Hunter…
To brothel Cyprian goes
And priest to the Church
What's there for them
They are in search
Tis' a Chance that evaluates
In the game of luck and doom
There is crash there is boom
Some win without action
Some actions lack reaction
Some fall in exertion
Some succeed in desertion
Some defeat in holding seat
Some triumph in their beat
Tis' a chance that evaluates
Success and defeat are just baits
Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 9:29 AM UTC
Dear Travis,
I hope you never go back to your past and relive every moment that almost broke you apart. I hope you stay the course and continue working towards your goals in life. You have been through so much and look at how you still rise, how you gain strength by your inspiring quotes every day. You have leveled up and now have a different outlook on the world. You have chosen to welcome self-love, self-care, and enlightenment into your soul.
You aren’t concerned about who walks in and out of your life anymore. You can carry your own self and smile wherever life takes you. Since you have changed and stepped into the light, you have lost friends that you thought would always be there. But you were too good for them, and they couldn’t see a good thing standing in front of them. Let them go. They will be the ones who miss out on a great opportunity. You are powerful without them. You are enough.
You are poetically treasured. Just look at the way you create such breathtaking poetry, how you allow your mind to jump in time and bring out the liveliest diction. Endless similes and metaphors are spinning in your soul. You are a wave of alliteration bursting with innumerable dreams. You are a magnificent art of hypnotic inventions, poetically treasured, unapologetically dope, and overflowing with soul.
You are a gust passion with fire in your eyes, a colorful rainbow that grows brighter in the sunlight skies of celestial desires, a gay man, a feminine man living in your truthfulness, a flowery man addicted
to charming, strong, and suave men. Gorgeous men inspire you to write the most beautiful lines of poetry. You can’t deny how you feel in the presence of handsome men. You don’t need to hide your sexuality. For that is a side of you that makes you undeniably unique. And although people criticize you for your gay lifestyle, you still choose to walk in your authenticity. I’m very thankful that you don’t hide all the raw parts of yourself. Those are the most precious things that deserve to be seen by the world. Never be afraid to show your true self. You are the source of life, everything that is right, a carefree heart that is a star, a countryman that shines like the brightest diamonds in the daylight.
Dec 14, 2020
Dec 14, 2020 at 1:00 AM UTC