"easterly" poems
Sara L Russell, 19/12/14 00:58am
White gulls fly against darkness of winter trees
swirling in a reeling easterly;
bare branches stand in earthbound traceries
behind the birds that dance weightless and free.
There is a rhythm in this circling flight.
a lazy, slightly tipsy minuet;
a majesty in gliding wings of white,
a sign that better times are coming yet.
The dew has barely faded on the green,
two fountains bend before the icy breeze,
as seagulls, with a grace I've rarely seen
swirl heavenward, like flights of fantasies.
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 8:16 PM UTC
The universe at its right angle
changes you into
day. Yet again, next year
you will look the same—
unpunctuated
line of zodiac
in easterly motion
makes its highest path to
you in winter.
*Sunlight pours down to earth from every angle.
You emerge with your mouth.*
The universe’s only apparent movement.
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 7:36 PM UTC
There is serenity within its self-stimulating prowess, as a legion of testimony sways in the easterly winds of dendrological plantations. Can you feel the power of the banshee as her Irish spirit cries in the face of certain death? The herald of Caoin is a lamentation for your long and pale hair.
Oh relentless gestations of hatred, I appeal to your haunting foreplay.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 1:29 AM UTC
Golden sand tickling your toes
Pebbles gleaming, glistening, slushing
When the tide comes back to shore.
Sand dunes hiding wildlife,
Multitudes of migratory birds,
Safely returning every year to
This beautiful, marshy paradise.
Skies so orange, pink and red,
An artists palette of natural art
Greet you at sunrise and sunset.
***** kippers, cod and plaice
Shrimps, cockles and whelks,
Mushy, minty peas and chips,
The show at the end of the pier.
The lifeboats and their hardy crew
Risking their lives to save others,
When visitors run into trouble
At the mercy of the cold North Sea.
Crumbling coastlines, cliff walks
And nature reserves full of the
Scent of wild garlic and herbs,
Norfolk lavender. Steam engines,
Fishing boats, river boats,
Paddling boats and cycles
Take you on journeys
Around the Broads or
Past the famous Castles.
Tigers and leopards peer
Through the bars of their
Zoo homes by the sea.
Easterly winds that bite your
Fingers as they whistle and
Howl through the City.
Guest houses closed for
The winter as you stroll
The lonely promenades
Breathing in the air.
Queen Bodicea, Normans,
Vikings and Romans all
Marched through this
Historical landscape
And yet we remain
Stalwart and strong
Proud of our heritage,
Our roots, our birthplace
There's only one place
Better than Norfolk,
And that's the
Beautiful Ozarks.
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 6:56 PM UTC
I worshiped her as much as ideas and dreams were worshiped. Only sometimes when I met her at the passion podium wearing my true self, Harlequin with a thousand names, a shadow of my lip is lowered down her pearly neck. She sighed passionately watching my coal eyes as my breath of fresh forest moss and violets stroked her. My ideal desires turned into worship of the forest elves towards slender birch trunks. As easterly wind with words I bent the branches of her smile, touched her imagination with pictures of needs and trembled the leaves of her youth with seductive rumble. She had no chance. I chose her as a single flower, she was not mine and therefore was nobody's. Hypnotized by my silence she awaited for black hole of fate to drew her in and convert her into the shining star of my worship. She will become mine even if I kidnapped her and imprisoned as my Harem slave, I promised myself the first time her shadow fell on my path. At that point she was wolf's hunger at the buffet, she was rainstorm in the desert summer, electronic sight for the blind. She was a mountain of Christmas gifts packaged in a slight *** appeal. I thought it will last forever, that love, and hanging her picture among the portraits of forgotten lovers I watched her as last after many. With remote thought I left a little room on the magnificent wall of romantic freedom knowing that Harlequin's love is fleeting as smile on his face, transient as grimace on his mask and changeable as a form of drawn tears. Love of Harlequin is fantasy fiction story in which one woman does not stay for long.
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 3:28 PM UTC
*Honeysuckle carrier churning the spring-
river caladium
Easterly shear delight beyond Dresden blue visage
Windy dream mermaid sea , Brown Pelican motion
Harper Chickadees stirring Pineapple sage-
banks of thought
Tempered , smitten , physical piedmont devotion
Pisciform schooners roaming wits damask ocean*
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 3:43 PM UTC
Unchained day beneath dumpling clouds in a baby boy broth
I tumble from the snake's mouth into the belly of the bullfrog
kicking across the river in fits and starts of sloshing and falling
great mirror arms reach imploring
asking the sky to see their brilliance
as steel-grey bracelets encircle one wrist and
then another
and skyward we turn
and vomited unceremoniously from the bullfrog's mouth
I slog easterly through the setting concrete of the new-fettered day
kicking across the avenues in fits and starts of staring and falling
shiny electronic arms reach imploring and
ask the stars to hear the cries
as invisible chokers encircle one's throat and
then nothing
and skyward we turn
and jostled and sweating as fresh popcorn into the gluttonous hall
I ride the current past the kiosks and shuttered kitchens of boutique cafes
kicking down the rapids in fits and starts of surfacing and falling
a majestic and world-weary arm reaches defiantly and
shakes a fist forever at one moment and
then knows
and northward we turn
and
the girl shared my Luna bar
and
the phones were passed around
and
the woman had no shoes
and
the conductor took no tickets
and
the women shared their seat
and
the man gave her cab fare
and
the woman went home with no purse, no keys, no shoes
and
the girl went back to Buffalo
and
still we turn
and
still we turn
and
our shackled arms raised against the sword reaches
necessarily and
blocks the blow as if we were one arm and
then holds
and
still we turn
Sep 7, 2011
Sep 7, 2011 at 8:08 PM UTC
Everybody claps out of synch
in the midnight elegance of “Wine Ohs”
but the bass player hums
at the twitch of the sunken keys
that man who leans back crying a New York cry
and sweet daddy saxophone wailing a New York wail
and they all pale and bow with respect
to the young drummer with bright eyes that nobody knows
and nobody knows where he came from or how old
Who’s soul I remember meeting from Easterly winds
only to find himself on stage with strangers
in a plane of rhythm and ruthless time
in a freedom jazz dance
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 2:05 AM UTC
Mine queen
Mine easterly wind
That saveth me.
Mine beautiful
Darling of lives
Long lived.
Tis again O'
Tis again, we
Shalt touch ourn
Tissue to intertwine
The mind's of two archaic
Soul's; mine lady, mine home.
Obsidian shalt I wrap around
Thine toes, Olivine crystal to
Grace thy structured shoulder's;
Yellow Spinel as like Ray's of ten-
Thousand star's glittering thy ear's.
Lass, lady of the Orient; wipe away
Thine tear's, for eternal year's art ourn
Own to capture from nonending cloud-walking.
Yea, verily, the Azure's art singing as we shalt chant
"Bala roush, anakar crean monostipi", ourn amare to be uplifting.
Godliness and Impartial giving, life is love, and heaven-sending.
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 9:41 PM UTC
a spring morning is the ripening fruit of summer
easterly winds blow from the seashore
carried with song
the birds await
the exhale of summer
Nov 23, 2018
Nov 23, 2018 at 7:50 PM UTC
My first, my only, my true
What I am missing in myself
Is what I see in you
Our last days were not kind
Many words were lashed in haste
False I was in mind
Yearning for what I left behind
I lay now on this barren field
Gazing upon the stars of discontent
Deepening blackness will not yield
The easterly wind still carries your scent
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 8:07 AM UTC
a thin rusting frame
is held up against broken glass,
frosted over by years of
sea salt
thick to breathe as snow,
South-easterly tangles my hair,
glosses my cheeks a cold rose
I cannot see myself
anywhere
Oct 9, 2016
Oct 9, 2016 at 3:08 AM UTC
I guess I've lost my voice to
The wind.
Though easterly blusters
Kept my mama
In shambles
With tumble weeds,
The northern winds will
Carry my voice
To the place where
Dawn
Breaks on ice caps and
Buries fears beneath
The ages of sameness.
Jun 19, 2012
Jun 19, 2012 at 11:59 PM UTC
Your perfect love is a sunrise
to my cool and easterly heart.
The light you bring seeks for me
after many nights chasing the moon.
With dawn, I lose sight
of what the orb ever meant to me,
as you drown its scant light
and silence the stars.
It's cold, always was.
You're burning, for me.
The vibrance night stole,
you restore and replenish
with every slow tick of the axis.
Color floods fields and valleys
I'd wandered deep in darkness;
dew steams to scents of summer
as I watch treaded grasses spring to life.
It's here I sit.
Lost on tangled paths
I was sure were meant to lead me,
I forged another, alone,
and built a home.
You shine in through its windows,
seep in past my walls, and,
as I watch and wait for you,
you quietly reach for more of me.
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 1:54 PM UTC
I rode my bike, fat, bloated 4-inch
Tires un-skating across
Frosted ground.
A degree below
(You know what)
Not ice, or icy,
Exactly, but...
As if some mythical
Dude named...John?
Jorje? (Hore-hay)
Ok, Jack, then - breathed
Almost-frozen breadth
Over much of Downtown
Indianapolis.
The sun was diffuse, low
Easterly, barely a lighted
Presence, as I pedaled through
The little pathway that perimeters the
Zoo, the muffled cries of
The furry and wrinkly-
Skinned high above
And safely ensconced
Past huge limestone walls.
Shutter-flash
Dapples of light struck my
Eyes as I passed leaves who
Stubbornly refused to relinquish
Their stemmed hold onto
Mother and Father tree.
Past the little zooey pathway,
The big bridge leading to the
Downtown canal, ordinarily
Crowded, but only I crowded
This time and place and space.
Where the sun wanted to shine,
But was stubbornly blocked by
Such insubstantial things as
Bridge abutments and pillars;
Shadows outlined the muted
Rays of a bleak post-Christmas
Sun, contrasting
Outlining them in a
Frosty embrace.
All around that little ******
Of ground, the light of day
Melted and softened Jack's
Iron-like grip. But not
That little piece of ground.
Nope.
I stopped the bike and looked
At the squarish rectangle of
Frost that stubbornly refused to
Give up its hold from the
Relentless, though much less
Powerful sun.
The clockwork
Universe ticks and tocks,
And moves and shakes, and
This morning, snug in my many
Layers, I got to ride my bike
On top of a battle
I'd never witnessed before
Today.
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 7:14 PM UTC
I slept like a log, inspite of the pains from my blistered feet. Harry woke me at six thirty. "Time for breakfast, better jump to it or i'll tickle your feet." The thought of that was enough to set me in motion. After breakfast we assembled for role call beside the waiting coaches. Then we boarded, and left the camp heading for the airfield. Every one was expecting to fly from RAF Lyneham, we had heard that we would be flying in the new Dehavilland Comet, the first passenger jet. It was not to to be. The comet had crashed into the sea, there were no survivors!
Instead of that, we were driven to a remote airfield in Wiltshire, I believe it was called Cliff Pypard, there we boarded an ageing hastings transport and set off into the wide blue yonder heading on a more southerly bearing than one would expect for a flight to Germany.
I tried to keep an eye on our progress by following coastlines, it was difficult, clouds obscured much of the coast line. I had the definite feeling that we were travelling in a South Easterly direction, and I asked one of the aircrew about it. "Don't worry, I expect we'll take a turn to the north soon." A little later, I suddenly realized that we were flying over the Med- Germany via the Med, never in this world!!
We ate chicken wings lettuce and bread for lunch, still flying at a steady one hundred and eighty miles an hour at mid day, below us dessert! We were all confused. Where on earth were we going?
Our first stop was at a place called Idris, it was an airstrip in the Libyan desert. There was nothing there only tents, and a place to refuel. I was a squalid stinking dump, and that was all. We left early the following morning after a laughable breakfast that no one ate. Our ext stop was a similar one but even more so, It was a place alled Habanya, I think, I went to use one of the two toilet's and discovered that the horrible brown stains in the toilets were actually enormous heaving masses of huge cockroaches, I went out into the desert insted. when I got back to our tent I was told off. "this place is crawling with snakes, don't stray about!" we didn't need telling twice! The tents were just as bad, infested with huge spiders, no one slept. We were glad to leave it.
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 4:39 PM UTC
of the eroding stone
by the ephemeral stream;
of the reed tottering in
the placid lake;
'tis the darkest of nights
moonless, hope-less;
but, the fragrance of jasmine
is creeping up the air,
kissing
the feisty cheeks of vermilion
emerging yonder easterly.
A tear splash and a ripple
dying in waves of joy.
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 4:06 PM UTC
When i am yet of this world
understand me as i ought to be
believe in me as i should be,
and when i become of the afterlife,
bury me in satin my friend,
do not burn me from your thoughts,
as i yet wish to live from the underground,
as this is all i would have lived for.
And if you do burn me,
let my ashes fly with the easterly winds,
so that i may yet live again,
wander aimlessly over the sands of grain...
and feel the scents of homely joy,
like almighty's beloved toy.
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 11:42 AM UTC
Her voice was poetic, such a bard may be
From my half drunk haze, I wandered
Looking up, she wasn't much a girl
She was tugging at sleeves, begging a scrap
A tale she spoke, of tears and madness
Bending any ear, that a bit might try
Throughout the night I puzzled, pieces
Of stricken towns, all easterly
Her father sickened, a cousin liken
The story beg curious, draining my enibe
Time wandered, much as patrons do
The little girl was found, by my side
Tossing her gold, she began
But to my sober eyes, she cringed
For her story, more than passing;
(She began)
Of her life, when cornered
I wanted it in whole, not beggary
Heir to dirt, spoken in small words
It was true, witnessed event
Beyond her small mind, driven slightly mad
The story twisted, tangents borne by emotions
It crept through the village, she lived
Affecting old and young, alike
A plague of the mind, before the body
Those slim recovered, as she was one
Say nightmarish creature, devoured the sea
Looming and tentacled, shelled crowned but flesh
Pillaged her mind, linking to others
Voice minds so loud, drowning her screams
Others clawing, burning their ears; carving flesh
Murderous intentions, toward husbands and wives
Children flailing, glimpsing lives to come
Wailing, the chaotic violence of the flesh
Slowly at first, the story was drawn
In her little voice, lost its pan
Confession came, through her tears
Sins not yet committed, a life hers to be
Memories of pain, unbroken fate
Suffrage of life, before ones age
I sipped rough mead, ordered food for her tale
Half listening to story, feeling the looming
A creature seeing us, omniscient from her eyes
She went on for hours, spent
Others draped, across table and chair
Unconscious from sleep, or dark in drink
On and on, the story unfolded
This shadowy entity, closer for sure
It's name unspoken, but knowing me here
The key (she said), it needed a door
It said, spokeless to her mind
And the tale, must be told
Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 11:41 AM UTC
at the neon glow
of the kitchen clock
as though its a laser
in my eyes.
it stares right into
my eyes
but i dare not blink
for what i may miss
- - -
look at me
looking at you
as you change
minute by minute
hour by hour
until the orange glow
reappears on
the easterly horizon
and disappears in the
west.
yet still nothing new
with each setting moon.
i've seen the
shapes you hold
come and go
yet still i watch
the afterglow
time and
time again
until i wait no more
- - -
for what?
I'm not sure
Nov 27, 2020
Nov 27, 2020 at 9:40 AM UTC
In a clearing two eyes meet and Spring is born,
sparks of joy rise to flame and settle on rosen lips.
Unspoken words adjoin deep into hearts,
whose daylight bring everlasting hope.
Clouds part, rain gives way to sun, night to day,
Spring to Summer.
Laughter now sings from sunny appellations,
whose tiny voices sooth and console.
Hearts grow, spirits sing,
laughter and running feet tarry, then pass by.
Flowers that were once crisp and sharp,
now dry and crumble in the days heat left.
Night pulls its shade,
blinded eyes stumble and fall, looking for that which sleeps.
Unable to behold the quiescent voice within,
upheaval of the bulwark surely comes.
Altruism's nourishment grows scarce,
as Summers door closes.
The Fall winds blow.
Times were better when, the sun was easterly high,
eyes beheld precious states, and life’s melody was sweet.
Time, now the thief paints with a different brush.
The air grows cold now.
Trees that once stood
majestically green now change to cloaks of amber gold.
Soft whispers dull the once loud chimes of time,
bringing the stillness of age.
The cloaks of amber gold fall and wither,
beginning the journey’s end.
Laughter no longer echoes in the clearing, as
the cold winds of winter proclaim their arrival.
The footprints of joyful days lie frozen in time,
to be seen, but touched never again.
The cold snows of winter descend,
to cover the melodies of adoration past.
The satin cloth of passions sweet,
etched deep in stone now crack.
A cabin stands on a hill.
A shell, A keeper of time, and visions past.
The smoke of a fire no longer flies
from its pipe tall and black.
Starvation ceased the flame, remorseless as one blowing out a candle.
Feb 22, 2023
Feb 22, 2023 at 2:46 PM UTC
One morning looking at an autumn sunrise;
Seeing leaves falling,
Feeling a cold easterly breeze,
Out of nowhere,
On my way to do another hard day's labor,
I saw my future standing there,
Someone out of my dreams,
I felt a connection, with you
Where have we met?
When have I met you?
Who are you?
Someone I never knew,
Someone beyond time and space,
Someone dressed in white,
Reflecting the warm rays of morning sunshine,
A beautiful Halo reflecting in your dusky hair,
Someone to fill my life with Miracles,
Someone to change my life,
Someone to replace the missing part of my broken heart,
The one who saved my life,
The one I love.
Copyright © 2016 Ronald J Chapman All Rights Reserved.
Sep 20, 2016
Sep 20, 2016 at 5:43 PM UTC
Evening approaches silently
The cold easterly wind bites
My face feels like ice, frozen
Snow is falling three counties away
It may reach me, it holds some comfort
Stomach knotted in depression
So so many many things beyond my control
Today was an effort, tomorrow will be more
One day soon I can see it unworthy of the effort
No tomorrow no more, no point
If you have never seen depressions face
Looked at its sallow eyes
it's gaunt expression looking back in the mirror
You my friend are lucky.
A silent killer
Slow
Un merciful
All consuming
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 10:54 AM UTC
Pen, Paper, and a cup of coffee,
Head throbbing, and a hand scribbling furiously,
Just as the flickering flame of the kerosene lamp
danced away with the easterly breeze.
Crumpled heap and an acid ball;
Glibs and thoughts meleed in my head
Pouring out everything my pen can scream,
All to contain another avalanche
of disjointed verses and noxious madness.
“Ding” goes the clock,
Eyes straining and my head’s an empty sphere,
The portable radio’s playing, and my pen’s swirling to the beat,
The bed’s just as tempting,
But I can’t bring myself to sleep.
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 3:28 PM UTC
1.
The easterly breeze softly whispers
Only your sweet name in my ears...
2.
I whisper back your name in the air
Hoping my message to reach you...
3.
One day by your side you will find me
Yes, we're so much happier together...
4.
Oh dear, you are of course my heart
And definitely the heartbeat within...
5.
Come, hold my right hand in your left
Rest your right hand on my shoulder...
6.
I shall hold your left hand in my right
And I shall grip your waist by my left...
7.
Let's meet at a place beyond any light
There you can find your name glowing red on my chest...
Aug 24, 2019
Aug 24, 2019 at 4:09 AM UTC