"myrtles" poems
I want to go back, back to my New Orleans
This place that I call New Orleans is actually Louisiana
But still, the gorgeousness of this dirt and grime
The live oaks stretching over the 6-lane wide streets,
Touching leaftips, making a canopy over the passerbys
Crepe myrtles showering streets with lacy pink faerie dresses
Smells of beignets and seafood fill the French Quarter
Intense, consuming, warm, loving sun burning through your shirt
In New Orleans to say horses sweat, men perspire and women glow
is to be ridiculous.
In New Orleans everyone sweats like pigs.
As for the grime I mentioned, this exists mainly in
the sidewalks cracked by live oaks which make an adventure of every walk down the street
And in any semi-deserted street
To have a Mardi Gras or St. Patrick's Day without a parade and citywide party is to toss aside traditions and the New Orleanian way
The New Orleanians are welcoming, hearty and heartwarming, tough and unafraid to talk to a stranger on the streets.
An old black man once greeted me with 'konichiwa' as I walked past
A middle aged white man once struck up a conversation with us as he realised we had shared the same ferry earlier in the day
An old asian woman conversed familiarly with our family at Cafe Du Monde simply because we are Vietnamese as well
A teenaged white boy waved at us as we drove past him jogging
A different old black man stopped and serenaded my siblings, mother and me with his trumpet just because we smiled
Several young mothers and women have stopped my mother to gush over my siblings and me, usually when we were very small
I, myself, have given directions to a tourist or two, lost near Cafe Du Monde or the levee,
And I hope that the warm smiling spirit of the Big Easy will remain forever immortal.
Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 7:33 PM UTC
#
*The cycle of the seasons
once again presents a change.
Greens and blues are now the colors,
as the scene has rearranged.
Crepe Myrtles shed their blossoms
in blizzard, pinks and reds,
And bulbs with care once planted
now emerge from flower beds.
I walk upon a sea of blue
that waves with every breeze.
Bluebonnets on the Texas plains,
a view that's sure to please.
They ripple with the grass
in tempo with the wind.
How lovely to just sway and hear
the message that they send.
It seems as though the world awakens,
stretching with a yawn.
As luscious grass emerges
from the brown muck on my lawn.*
#
Mar 29, 2018
Mar 29, 2018 at 8:16 AM UTC
"Under the flag
Of each his faction, they to battle bring
Their embryon atoms." - Milton
WELCOME joy, and welcome sorrow,
Lethe's **** and Hermes' feather;
Come to-day, and come to-morrow,
I do love you both together!
I love to mark sad faces in fair weather;
And hear a merry laugh amid the thunder;
Fair and foul I love together.
Meadows sweet where flames are under,
And a giggle at a wonder;
Visage sage at pantomine;
Funeral, and steeple-chime;
Infant playing with a skull;
Morning fair, and shipwreck'd hull;
Nightshade with the woodbine kissing;
Serpents in red roses hissing;
Cleopatra regal-dress'd
With the aspic at her breast;
Dancing music, music sad,
Both together, sane and mad;
Muses bright and muses pale;
Sombre Saturn, Momus hale; -
Laugh and sigh, and laugh again;
Oh the sweetness of the pain!
Muses bright, and muses pale,
Bare your faces of the veil;
Let me see; and let me write
Of the day, and of the night -
Both together: - let me slake
All my thirst for sweet heart-ache!
Let my bower be of yew,
Interwreath'd with myrtles new;
Pines and lime-trees full in bloom,
And my couch a low grass-tomb.
4.2k
Thank Heaven! the crisis—
The danger is past,
And the lingering illness
Is over at last—
And the fever called “Living”
Is conquered at last.
Sadly, I know,
I am shorn of my strength,
And no muscle I move
As I lie at full length—
But no matter!—I feel
I am better at length.
And I rest so composedly,
Now in my bed,
That any beholder
Might fancy me dead—
Might start at beholding me
Thinking me dead.
The moaning and groaning,
The sighing and sobbing,
Are quieted now,
With that horrible throbbing
At heart:—ah, that horrible,
Horrible throbbing!
The sickness—the nausea—
The pitiless pain—
Have ceased, with the fever
That maddened my brain—
With the fever called “Living”
That burned in my brain.
And oh! of all tortures
That torture the worst
Has abated—the terrible
Torture of thirst,
For the naphthaline river
Of Passion accurst:—
I have drank of a water
That quenches all thirst:—
Of a water that flows,
With a lullaby sound,
From a spring but a very few
Feet under ground—
From a cavern not very far
Down under ground.
And ah! let it never
Be foolishly said
That my room it is gloomy
And narrow my bed—
For man never slept
In a different bed;
And, to sleep, you must slumber
In just such a bed.
My tantalized spirit
Here blandly reposes,
Forgetting, or never
Regretting its roses—
Its old agitations
Of myrtles and roses:
For now, while so quietly
Lying, it fancies
A holier odor
About it, of pansies—
A rosemary odor,
Commingled with pansies—
With rue and the beautiful
Puritan pansies.
And so it lies happily,
Bathing in many
A dream of the truth
And the beauty of Annie—
Drowned in a bath
Of the tresses of Annie.
She tenderly kissed me,
She fondly caressed,
And then I fell gently
To sleep on her breast—
Deeply to sleep
From the heaven of her breast.
When the light was extinguished,
She covered me warm,
And she prayed to the angels
To keep me from harm—
To the queen of the angels
To shield me from harm.
And I lie so composedly,
Now in my bed
(Knowing her love)
That you fancy me dead—
And I rest so contentedly,
Now in my bed,
(With her love at my breast)
That you fancy me dead—
That you shudder to look at me.
Thinking me dead.
But my heart it is brighter
Than all of the many
Stars in the sky,
For it sparkles with Annie—
It glows with the light
Of the love of my Annie—
With the thought of the light
Of the eyes of my Annie.
4.4k
I espied the wisps,
whisper with their lips,
quivering their golden hips,
orbiting blooming tulips,
to provoke me, with their quips.
Taking out an old crock,
stalking behind a rock,
I trailed those glowing beetles,
whiffing the fragrance of myrtles,
skipped across the backyard,
to catch the fireflies, flitting haphazard,
Humming and buzzing, I could hear,
with luminous insects tickling my ear.
Losing my faith, I turned back home
followed by an unknown kith, adventuresome;
He sat on my finger, glimmering with radiance
wish he did linger, while I stood
hypnotised, under nature’s brilliance.
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 4:44 AM UTC
Love's worshippers alone can know
The thousand mysteries that are his;
His blazing torch, his twanging bow,
His blooming age are mysteries.
A charming science--but the day
Were all too short to con it o'er;
So take of me this little lay,
A sample of its boundless lore.
As once, beneath the fragrant shade
Of myrtles breathing heaven's own air,
The children, Love and Folly, played--
A quarrel rose betwixt the pair.
Love said the gods should do him right--
But Folly vowed to do it then,
And struck him, o'er the orbs of sight,
So hard, he never saw again.
His lovely mother's grief was deep,
She called for vengeance on the deed;
A beauty does not vainly weep,
Nor coldly does a mother plead.
A shade came o'er the eternal bliss
That fills the dwellers of the skies;
Even stony-hearted Nemesis,
And Rhadamanthus, wiped their eyes.
"Behold," she said, "this lovely boy,"
While streamed afresh her graceful tears,
"Immortal, yet shut out from joy
And sunshine, all his future years.
The child can never take, you see,
A single step without a staff--
The harshest punishment would be
Too lenient for the crime by half."
All said that Love had suffered wrong,
And well that wrong should be repaid;
Then weighed the public interest long,
And long the party's interest weighed.
And thus decreed the court above--
"Since Love is blind from Folly's blow,
Let Folly be the guide of Love,
Where'er the boy may choose to go."
1.9k
Gone are the glorious Greeks of old,
Glorious in mien and mind;
Their bones are mingled with the mould,
Their dust is on the wind;
The forms they hewed from living stone
Survive the waste of years, alone,
And, scattered with their ashes, show
What greatness perished long ago.
Yet fresh the myrtles there--the springs
Gush brightly as of yore;
Flowers blossom from the dust of kings,
As many an age before.
There nature moulds as nobly now,
As e'er of old, the human brow;
And copies still the martial form
That braved Plataea's battle storm.
Boy! thy first looks were taught to seek
Their heaven in Hellas' skies:
Her airs have tinged thy dusky cheek,
Her sunshine lit thine eyes;
Thine ears have drunk the woodland strains
Heard by old poets, and thy veins
Swell with the blood of demigods,
That slumber in thy country's sods.
Now is thy nation free--though late--
Thy elder brethren broke--
Broke, ere thy spirit felt its weight,
The intolerable yoke.
And Greece, decayed, dethroned, doth see
Her youth renewed in such as thee:
A shoot of that old vine that made
The nations silent in its shade.
1.8k
Diamante falso y fingido,
Engastado en pedernal, &c.;
"False diamond set in flint! the caverns of the mine
Are warmer than the breast that holds that faithless heart of thine;
Thou art fickle as the sea, thou art wandering as the wind,
And the restless ever-mounting flame is not more hard to bind.
If the tears I shed were tongues, yet all too few would be
To tell of all the treachery that thou hast shown to me.
Oh! I could chide thee sharply--but every maiden knows
That she who chides her lover, forgives him ere he goes.
"Thou hast called me oft the flower of all Grenada's maids,
Thou hast said that by the side of me the first and fairest fades;
And they thought thy heart was mine, and it seemed to every one
That what thou didst to win my love, from love of me was done.
Alas! if they but knew thee, as mine it is to know,
They well might see another mark to which thine arrows go;
But thou giv'st me little heed--for I speak to one who knows
That she who chides her lover, forgives him ere he goes.
"It wearies me, mine enemy, that I must weep and bear
What fills thy heart with triumph, and fills my own with care.
Thou art leagued with those that hate me, and ah! thou know'st I feel
That cruel words as surely **** as sharpest blades of steel.
'Twas the doubt that thou wert false that wrung my heart with pain;
But, now I know thy perfidy, I shall be well again.
I would proclaim thee as thou art--but every maiden knows
That she who chides her lover, forgives him ere he goes."
Thus Fatima complained to the valiant Raduan,
Where underneath the myrtles Alhambra's fountains ran:
The Moor was inly moved, and blameless as he was,
He took her white hand in his own, and pleaded thus his cause.
"Oh, lady, dry those star-like eyes--their dimness does me wrong;
If my heart be made of flint, at least 'twill keep thy image long;
Thou hast uttered cruel words--but I grieve the less for those,
Since she who chides her lover, forgives him ere he goes."
1.6k
Wax myrtles slip
Sideways on bodies-
Their brothers,
Buried beneath fresh soil
Of an ancient Earth,
Mixed amongst
The loblolly pines
That caper with the breeze.
* * * *
Sad nights shift
To dreary days
And ashen clouds
Soak in the light
Until they all
Ignite in flames
And lose their strength
Or will to fight.
They lie alone
In sheets of wind
On beds of air
And thoughts,
And, patiently,
They wait to end
Their lives
And be forgotten.
* * * *
Long after,
We sit and wonder
Whether palatial skies
Will fall like rain
Away from us,
Torrents of dreams
Abandoned
For to sleep.
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 11:54 PM UTC
Love's worshippers alone can know
The thousand mysteries that are his;
His blazing torch, his twanging bow,
His blooming age are mysteries.
A charming science--but the day
Were all too short to con it o'er;
So take of me this little lay,
A sample of its boundless lore.
As once, beneath the fragrant shade
Of myrtles breathing heaven's own air,
The children, Love and Folly, played--
A quarrel rose betwixt the pair.
Love said the gods should do him right--
But Folly vowed to do it then,
And struck him, o'er the orbs of sight,
So hard he never saw again.
His lovely mother's grief was deep,
She called for vengeance on the deed;
A beauty does not vainly weep,
Nor coldly does a mother plead.
A shade came o'er the eternal bliss
That fills the dwellers of the skies;
Even stony-hearted Nemesis,
And Rhadamanthus, wiped their eyes.
"Behold," she said, "this lovely boy,"
While streamed afresh her graceful tears,
"Immortal, yet shut out from joy
And sunshine, all his future years.
The child can never take, you see,
A single step without a staff--
The harshest punishment would be
Too lenient for the crime by half."
All said that Love had suffered wrong,
And well that wrong should be repaid;
Then weighed the public interest long,
And long the party's interest weighed.
And thus decreed the court above--
"Since Love is blind from Folly's blow,
Let Folly be the guide of Love,
Where'er the boy may choose to go."
1.3k
Roses are red, but only sometimes
And I don't care much for them anyways
Violets are never blue
But I like crepe myrtles better
Sugar is sweet, but too sweet for me
I'd much rather have spicy
As for you? You're only sweet all the time
Other times, you're incredible.
Nov 30, 2012
Nov 30, 2012 at 4:09 PM UTC
I’d hidden away the mirrors
Packed them up and sent them off,
Taken the shine off the saucepan lids,
Sandpapered the coffee ***
Everything that reflected I’d
Sand-blast, like the sliding doors,
Even got rid of the polisher
For shining the wooden floors.
It was very like narcolepsy when
She saw her face on a plate,
She’d go in a trance and sit for hours
In a crazy, dreamlike state,
I’d take away the reflection and
She’d sit and weep for hours,
‘You’ve taken away my beauty,’ she
Would say, and take cold showers.
It seemed like a terrible sickness that
She loved her looks so much,
She’d say, ‘If you won’t let me see myself,
I’ll just make do with touch,’
She’d run her fingers over her face
Explore each crease and mound,
And sigh to her satisfaction as
She felt her lips turn down.
I couldn’t get rid of the garden pool
That flowed on in from the brook,
Babbling over the standing stones
From the woods at Nether Hook,
I’d catch her kneeling beside the pool
And staring into its depths,
Smiling at each reflection that
Would ripple with every breath.
‘Beware of the evil Water Sprite,’
I told her more than once,
‘He takes advantage of lovely girls
For he hates to be outdone.
He’ll lure you into a shady pool
With guile, and his tender lies
And hold you down ‘til you surely drown,
You’ll avoid him, if you’re wise.’
She told me then of a vision that
She’d seen, that of a prince,
He’d smiled at her from the water but
She hadn’t seen him since.
‘That’s not a prince but the Water Sprite
And he’s trying to lure you down,
To put your face to the water, but
I’ve told you once, you’ll drown.’
The water was babbling gently on
A sunny day in Spring,
In shades of the weeping myrtles and
The sound of cuckooing,
Miranda was knelt beside the pool
And I saw her head go down,
When claws reached out of the water
Pulled her in, without a sound.
I raced across and I seized her hair
And I pulled her from the pool,
But claws had raked at her pretty face,
She said, ‘I feel a fool!
I should have listened to you, I know
But I thought that just one kiss…’
But he had turned to a monster and
Had bitten her rose red lips.
I put the mirrors all back in place
And I bought new shiny pans,
Polished the floor, you can see your face
But she hides behind her hands,
She never looks in a mirror now
Though her scars are healed and white,
But goes each day to poison the pool
To **** off the Water Sprite.
David Lewis Paget
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 11:09 AM UTC
The years pass – wings –
the valleys grow
and the picks lose the silhouette clear.
Who’s hitting furiously the horses young,
the sky who has there lit?
Not me! Not me!
Me and you, sat on a short shore
along the path, sunk in myrtles
and we’re looking at the love,
in that endless mirror.
And somewhere young girls
are singing a refrain in low voice
and giant woods are losing root.
Horses are tearing in sulphur and volcanoes.
Inside of me – the sea is murmuring.
© bogpan
--------
original:
***(минават годините)
Минават годините - крила -
нарастват долините
и върховете губят силуета ясен.
Кой удря яростно конете млади,
небето кой е там запалил?
Не аз! Не аз!
Със теб сме седнали на нисък бряг
покрай пътеката, потънала във мирти
и гледаме във любовта,
в това безкрайно огледало.
А нейде младите момичета
припяват с нисък глас
и дървеса гигантски губят корен.
Коне препускат в сяра и вулкани.
Във мен - шуми морето.
*Translator bulgarian-english: Vessislava Savova
rarebird
Jun 6, 2011
Jun 6, 2011 at 9:39 PM UTC
November Sun , refusing to reveal her loneliness , a cloudy piece of the world in tears this morning ..
A red tailed Hawk , grounded by rain just outside my window , a blue dragonfly sailing aimlessly across the meadow ..
The vigor and warmth of Summer , the candle of hope lighting the night has abated .. Tall Oaks , Magnolias and Crape Myrtles like lovers , stand naked , unashamed ..
My eyes have lost peripheral vision , anxiety taken command of my consciousness , rumors of intrigue whisper softly on warm southern winds .. The physical forces in mechanical motion , condemnation of my spirit at the hour of the eruption ..
My demon narcolepsy , a marionette of ploy and trickery for a student of hope standing dead on both feet ..
With a red heart on your sleeve , she wears a smile well , like many a familiar door , slipping quietly from within my grasp ...
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 1:02 PM UTC
Wake me when the Elephant Ears grow tall , when the first red rose comes to call , as the mesmerizing scent of Gardenia fills the air , when the Butterfly bushes receive their host in Spring ...
Come to my door when the Crape Myrtles stand glorious , as the Peach trees blossom , when songbirds of every shape and brilliant song prepare their nurseries , as the Pink Begonias undertake their beautiful Summer journey ....
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 9:59 PM UTC
I and my colleague got out of our car,
We, the two men with a trench coat wrapped around us,
Walked down to the alley on that cloudy day,
A ****** scene it was, across the river bed,
Where once the pearly white swans swam.
There lied a dead young woman with a stab in her chest,
Through the heart,
With luscious red hair lied a beauty,
That enamors a thousand souls,
A blooming red rose aside her right arm,
A necklace made of scallops around her neck.
A blonde winged child crying profusely
With an empty quiver around his back,
While whistling doves hovered over us,
And a purse containing letters from the shepherds,
And a commander.
And a man and a woman standing
Besides the body, were crying
And with sadness in their voice,
Saying about how without her
They will forget how to love in time,
And will never be loved anymore.
In such wailing times,
All I could do was to shed some pennies,
And I said them here are pennies,
To plant some myrtles in her memories,
Across these riverbeds,
And hope the swans swim in these rivers once again.
Feb 8, 2021
Feb 8, 2021 at 5:52 PM UTC
Turtles, crape myrtles
Tadpoles, baby frogs
Running feet, summer heat
Cicadas, crossing logs
Glancing back smiling
Forging on to explore
Oh, how i love
Little you, age four
Aug 4, 2015
Aug 4, 2015 at 12:00 AM UTC
*At the collision of timothy and zoysia , where Crape Myrtles reveal their late morning luster , where luminosity and cloud continually sketch , color and reinvent open pastures , individuality forever fading , leaving sadness at the afternoon approach then gone
Hours without occupation , warmth and windsong
Tethered , embittered and hidden*...
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 11:53 AM UTC
I promised her
A G-Wagon and a Camaro SS
Had her thinkin that I was the best
And we gon make it out the hood.
I had promised her
That we gon build a business together
And... You know what?
**** this weather,
Its been raining all my life,
Hell,
"Baby you bout to be my wife."
I promised her a garden of sunkissed
Cayenne roses and
Crepe Myrtles,
Oh **** a graden of Crepe myrtles,
And an ****** from a drop of the finest wine
Fresh from a muscadine fruit.
I promised her the best time in our youth
And a sweet tooth,
She got a knack for sugar rushes
And blushes.
I promised her a gold and diamond pinky ring,
And a Mariachi Band
Dark purple amethyst stones
In her hands,
Laying down on a black sand beach.
Cause life's a beach,
But I gave her a tidal wave of lies..........
A storm is brewing,
And I found peace with ignoring her calls
For the past few days,
Getting lazy,
The air getting hazy
And maybe I'll hit her back when I'm ready.
Maybe I'll get her back when I'M steady,
Ready, willing and able.
She approached me,
"...I thought you said you don't like fables."
I said "Baby I read fairy tales growing up,
And my whole life has been a biography."
Because I feel like someone is writing down everything I do.
Even the love I had for you.
Never knew how to stay true,
But always stuck to myself,
Hell if it was possible,
Stuck to my wealth.
But try me,
Like James Brown to his "hands down."
That's my best friend.
Walk with me
Talk with me,
And watch how good I make you believe in my vanity.
Fall into my trap door,
You walk in on a cracked floor,
And when you fall thru,
I'll call you,
"The Queen of Stupidity"
Only because...
You really thought you was getting into me.
Dummy.
Jun 10, 2018
Jun 10, 2018 at 11:56 PM UTC
*A deadly task at hand , see the November broom sage conforming with the lay of the land
The smooth stones are secure in their creekside homes
Adolescent Crepe Myrtles abide in the company of elder Oaks
Every plant allotted soil and very much aware of their place
Under the ever meandering compression of man with a valuable lesson of humility and grace
Behold the wall builders , the ceiling setters , the clothed and the rambunctious
The soil breakers , the ravagers , the fire starters , the problem
solvers mingled with the war mongers
The breath of creation fueling their thirsted conflagrations
Behold "the thinkers" , destroyers and the manipulators* ..
Oct 24, 2016
Oct 24, 2016 at 4:29 PM UTC
Living with day and night
black and white
crepe myrtles of white and pink
variety and variance make me think
now and then a dissonant pitch
makes my life rich.
But sometime what seems at odds
is not. Like seeing Love AND God
contemplation AND friendship
solitude AND kinship.
Why must it be either or
against or for?
Why can’t we see through
the differences between me and you?
What is so sad
what seems so bad
is when difference leads to rejection
then I must leave for my own protection.
When she said, “If you are this then you can’t be that!”
I left. I won’t be her doormat.
Some people thrive on opposition
attracted to dominance and friction
but at this stage of being me
I choose to be free
to see through those things that divide
beyond the outer mar to the beauty inside.
Jun 15, 2018
Jun 15, 2018 at 8:51 AM UTC
Among the myrtles –
Yes, in between
A green, so fertile! –
A King was seen
Atop His stallion –
A chestnut red –
As His battalion
Patrolled ahead
Throughout all the earth
Both far and wide
Observing the mirth
But birthed by pride
The report came back,
*“At rest! At rest!
By behest of Black!
Asleep; possessed!”*
---
Among the myrtles –
Yes, in between
The deep, the gurgle! –
A King was seen
Atop His stallion –
A chestnut red –
As His battalion
Then stormed ahead
Throughout all the earth
Both far and wide
To silence the mirth
But birthed by pride
The report came back,
*“Alas! Alas!
The quake; the crack!
Judgment has passed!”*
---
Among the myrtles –
Yes, in between
A green, so fertile! –
A King was seen
Atop His stallion –
A chestnut red –
As His battalion
Awoke the dead
Throughout all the earth
Both far and wide
His reign making mirth
As death had died!
The report came back,
*“At last! At last!
The captives are back!
Returned at last!”*
---
At last! At last!
The captives are back!
Returned at last!
Returned at last…
.
Feb 16, 2020
Feb 16, 2020 at 9:08 AM UTC
*One of these days I'll become a Jay
I'll bathe in Port Lake everyday
I'll command the fencerow with early morning
original song
Feed on blackberries and pine nuts the whole
day long
I'll nap in Live Oaks whenever I wish
I'll turn Crape Myrtles into my evening niche* ...
Nov 28, 2016
Nov 28, 2016 at 6:48 PM UTC