"festooning" poems
For Basil@Egmont
Old school hotelier, conservationist, mountain man.
Festooning drapes of weeping moss
Hang damply from the trees
Cascading lengths of dripping fern
Bring wetness to your knees
The clutching boughs of gnarled branch
The olive greens and damp
The winding path meanders up
This mountain's rocky ramp
Grey boulders in the river bed
The rush of torrents fast,
The song of falling waters
Plummeting into the past.
The flash of brilliant plumage
A blue kingfisher in a dive
And the tragic death of this field mouse
Means other creatures stay alive.
The mammoth mountain hangs above
The snow is clean and white
The cornice shadow aqua blue
Ridge ice is sunlight bright
The summit wind is blowing hard
The snow is curling round
To recreate a billowed crown
Atop that seaward mound.
A dancing *** is eyeing me,
Impossibly it clings
Inverted from a totara trunk
With rapid flitting wings.
Exploding from it's hiding place
A ponderous pigeon *****
And weaves it's way between the boughs
With noisy wing tip slaps
The magic of this secret place
Is the drama in the air,
The solitude of teeming life
In green-ness everywhere.
The hardness of the freezing night
The harshness of the wind,
The grandeur of it's wilderness
Paints splendor as it's sin.
Taranaki's goblin forest
Is resplendent in it's garb
Of emerald green and turquois-ness
And rugged rocks and shard,
Cascading rivers, waterfalls
In sweeping walls of trees
Where pools of still transparency
Bring you breathless to your knees.
Where Egmont's goblin forest
Will make your spirits sing
And the urge to climb another mile
Will reward you with something
You had not bargained for in visiting
This remote and splendid place,
......It will reward you with a warm,
And knowing smile upon your face.
Marshalg
Dawson Falls Romantic Hotel
Mt. Taranaki
15th September 2008
Dec 10, 2009
Dec 10, 2009 at 8:28 PM UTC
In grandeur of eminence the Sun celebrates her power
In the thick forest of the darkest the Moon flourishes in her glory
The tidal wave is in tinder of a brand new glory, catching fire of a mad harmattan, refining gold and diamond in the expansive field of a glitzy pearl
And transcendence on our way it's roaring of the tidal wave, uprooting dark moons and burying scourging suns in infernal graves!
See our warriors surfing on the tidal wave of this season of victorious glory,
manifesting us to the world, declaring the glory of the Glory, shooting pearly flames in clouds of glory and power
As quotidian stinging tides are being uprooted in routing defeat with eerie eruption of volcano of joy and power in uncommon grandeur.
Oh! Alluring sun of glory
Oh! Alluring moon of majesty
Festooning our sky with power-stars
As rain of victory drowning us in splendor!
Oh! Tidal wave of beatific season, harvesting us barn-full glory at morning dawn of the victory crow!
Jun 4, 2019
Jun 4, 2019 at 3:17 AM UTC
Like lichen does the tension hang festooning from the very air
From coast to coast the tightness felt on every face, one does surmise,
That arguments erupting now between those best of friends who swear…..
That it’s no longer safe to air opinions felt, that cause the very bile to rise?
Show unease that now the ship’s adrift, unease that moderation’s fled?
Complain that he commands the wheel, quite rudderless atop a wild and thrashing sea,
Careening like a bull in a China shop he plays, un-fettled now and bled….
Whilst ugly souls hold all the cards determining that he says now, what shall be, shall be.
Pandering to every whim the media gyrate and squirm and smiling in that feral way, lap up his every word,
Dissecting every utterance, every nuance now imposed…and re-imposed to fit the scene.
Broadcast to the world as fact, a cataract of fact intact to be discerned as something quite absurd.
Blonde, braying, barging through, oblivious that we, meek and mellow, pushed aside…now find it all obscene.
M.
1 February 2017
Feb 1, 2017
Feb 1, 2017 at 12:01 AM UTC
the sun is a gentle hand whirling
softly past the opened windows
and I am a lonely furniture
sitting still beside restless shadows.
shall I give you my silence and
come back with fledgling beat?
or be fastened with the riot of the masses
pummeling the iron and striking blindly
like a palaver hurled in the middle
of the midnight riddled by stars and
nothing else? stones enisled conspicuously
like the hands of a mother have well-placed
pavilions into their order, the careful crunch
of trees in Summer, filling the brim of ornate eyes
with such redness hazily festooning the avenues
with the lissomeness of the Earth
little girls dressed quaintly on Sundays
the fragrance of mildew everywhere
you against all the surrounding scenes
that break vases, pound the halls and leave doors
opened, yourself crawling away
dragging along the weight of your own shadow.
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 1:46 AM UTC
seems I was once
a God
long ago
maybe in Olympia
or figuratively I was once:
both cruel and a coward
and both my parents
disliked me;
when came a time
I invented wine
and danced at springtime festivals
in my honor;
Where the sound of music
festooning me as I danced wildly high on wine,
as my silver bow became entangled in the olive
branches, I got plowed under;
then, thrown in the cold Caspian
to sober by my regal comrades
i may have caused earthshakes, sorry,
earthquakes, (still a bit groggy)
I envied my brother for
even Gods seem to have superiors;
then this girl Hera
also my sister by the way,
(I know a bit incestually *****
caught me while I was
messing around with others
and I grew angry
(mad at being caught)
and thundered and stormed
like no other could.
I had finally reached the pinnacle.
THE most powerful,
yet I still had tantrums?
As I throw another
thunderbolt down!
Oct 7, 2016
Oct 7, 2016 at 10:14 PM UTC
I am afraid to end this poem
The year comes to a close too shortly
I fear it is an ominous omen
That I will sparsely remember fondly.
I have been alive nearly two decades,
And in 2020, I turn 19:
To find myself wandering Cascades
Pondering to see what I glean.
But I foolishly plead to have this be my year, our year.
Not a year of the pig but a year of the horse’s glory.
That we shall premier or fear to be sincere.
This is our story to be told in our oratory.
This is my final year, my undying year,
My undying fear, felt itself tense up,
When they demanded I take a career
In speculating the woes of grown ups
I deride my festooning derision
On the chains of Putin and the Zuck,
And they have not swayed my sick decision
To reminisce on our gnarly luck,
Because I find that Spongebob Squarepants taught
values of persistent positivity.
To blow bubbles at an askance onslaught,
Grit buck teeth in the maw of adversity.
I watched a nostalgic minecraft parody.
A three part series about maturity.
It powerfully displayed our legacy.
Captainsparklez made it for our posterity.
I planted my last tomato seeds
In the brackish mounds of my garden,
To return aged with a great many deeds,
With cash for the deed to my Tarpan steed.
I hope four years don’t saddle me with debt
Or wandering an infernal Lethe
With a briquette of burning, licking sweat
Tied to me, it exhausts me of slipping breath
I hope that I may make my living death
towards the hopes I lay my head to rest:
January 1st, may this year be blessed.
Dec 17, 2019
Dec 17, 2019 at 10:51 PM UTC
These waves of wind
Travelling through those wintry forest
Are now suffused with venoms,
'Cause my love!
It now carries no longer
Thy musky fragrance;
That makes my heart
Gulp those dregs of blood-
Festooning the pale white sockets
Of these myopic eyes,
That has shared those brief moments with sorrow,
While love was transmuted
Into torrent of agonizing agony,
By the venomous stings of treacherous destiny.
Ah! This web of life
Has weaved this barreness of pain
For this baby *****
That makes me burn myself
Like the incense of patience
To redolent my bed of existence
With the hankering of death,
Till it gets entombed by my silenced grave.
©Barsha Kumar
Feb 3, 2018
Feb 3, 2018 at 5:25 AM UTC
colorful butterflies painting the sky
in opulent glorious colors of victory
celebrating us in unbounded grace
skies in waves of melodious voices
in thunderous love ectastic bloom
rapturing us to nirvana boom
tortoise of eon in acrobatics
displaying ancient wisdom in fair
festooning airs with roaring laughter
long turbulent journey
today your end we celebrate
in rhythmic flowing rivers of joy
down falling eerie rain of blessings
powering us to a happy freedom
ballooning us to the king's wonders!
Apr 28, 2019
Apr 28, 2019 at 10:40 AM UTC
Tomorrow,
The streaks of light
Of the ruly sun,
Will pierce the cottony clouds
Again,
And they'll have
Some uncountable cold bodies
Bathed in blood,
Festooning those parched roads,
Again,
Whom they'll welcome
Again,
With:
Seared throat- choked with grief
Lacerated hearts- bleeding pain
And with,
Shivering bodies, where fear has pinned itself-
With helplessness,
In every single pore of their barren skin,
To witness this naked dance of inhumanity
And the nefarious slaughter of humanity!
©Barsha Kumar
Mar 2, 2018
Mar 2, 2018 at 4:23 PM UTC