"southerly" poems
Sometimes she walks through the village in her
little red dress
all absorbed in restraining herself,
and yet, despite herself, she seems to move
according to the rhythm of her life to come.
She runs a bit, hesitates, stops,
half-turns around...
and, all while dreaming, shakes her head
for or against.
Then she dances a few steps
that she invents and forgets,
no doubt finding out that life
moves on too fast.
It's not so much that she steps out
of the small body enclosing her,
but that all she carries in herself
frolics and ferments.
It's this dress that she'll remember
later in a sweet surrender;
when her whole life is full of risks,
the little red dress will always seem right.
Lord: it is time. The summer was immense.
Lay your shadow on the sundials
and let loose the wind in the fields.
Bid the last fruits to be full;
give them another two more southerly days,
press them to ripeness, and chase
the last sweetness into the heavy wine.
Whoever has no house now will not build one
anymore.
Whoever is alone now will remain so for a long
time,
will stay up, read, write long letters,
and wander the avenues, up and down,
restlessly, while the leaves are blowing.
13.4k
CRIMSON
Colors explode
As the sumac stands sentinel over the ebbing rays of the sun
Shepherding away Niibin to make room for Dagwaagin
Standing, alone, in a sea of green
Sumac heralds the changing season
And like an artistic wild fire
Is the first in what will become a palette of chromatic vibrancy
Sensing the subtle change
Mother deer, her two fawns and yearling
Meandering through the sumac grove
Make haste of the fading green buffet
Mother Bear and her cubs, now a year stronger and wiser
Gorge on honey and berries as they ready for their winter's sleep
Red-Winged Blackbirds, Robins and Sandhill Cranes congregate en masse
Hummingbird drinks the final drops of nectar
In anticipation of their journey south
In advance...of the returning white Biboon blanket
The clock of Mother Earth is precise
And the natural world follows her timely rhythms
As southerly and westerly winds shift to the north
Eagle soars high above...the yet unfrozen river
Vivid foliage slowly falls to the forest floor
Creating an intricate insulating tapestry for those below
In the meadow, swaying in the wind, stands a solitary Daisy
It's single yellow petal defying the departure of longer days
Harvest moon shimmers through bare branches
Dancing, tapping in rhythmic fashion, upon a quiet window
Stirring Misigami from her reverie
Outside her window, a lone black figure, a Lobo, like her
Acknowledges her presence, blurring the lines of consciousness
Signifying that dreams do come true
And that through the change of seasons
We grow
We become stronger
Wiser
And are given the true gift...of forever being...
...Hopeful
(c) 2013 Shawn White Eagle
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 6:31 PM UTC
The full moon, golden hued, bathed in wisps of clouds
Stares intently at the barren trees along the river
A white Biboon blanket being gently pulled back
Inside her den a mother bear and her cubs stir
Sounds of ice, creaking and cracking
Resonate through the naked woodland
Ice, slowly breaking away and fleeing from winter's frozen grip
Float lazily down stream
Upon free running waters carrying away the anguish endured
Gentler, warmer breezes carry dreams that become reality
The coming rains will soon nourish Mother Earth
Kissing her gently
Breathing life back into her dormant flesh
Barren trees clothed once again
Life springs forth at a rapid rate
Bathing in the yellow light of day
Birds sing with joy
In the meadow, a brown eyed Daisy
Invites butterfly kisses upon her ethereal beauty
An iridescent flash, a glitter, from the south
Flitting from flower to flower Hummingbird dances
As a tender southerly breath reminds us to forever be...
...Hopeful
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 10:09 PM UTC
Hades escaping the first leaves of virginity
The realm of Io scattering molten silica
In degrees
Water drops from God’s shoulder burst and buried
Her eyes at my scar; she stops the bleeding
Sucrose sun whetting the crest of a bee
The dutiful molecules of my shirt sleeves
Zaccheus in a sycamore tree
Her words on a southerly trajectory
Crawfish in my grandmother’s stream
The Battle of Moon Sound beaching infantry
A northern gannet nesting her babies
The decibels of smoldering wood beams
Flesh constructing hairs in the breeze
Molecules muddy as I try to breathe
Ghosts approaching the Andromeda galaxy
Stars floating to the top of the stream
I N F I N I T Y
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 11:03 AM UTC
Dotty was a beautifully coloured dragonfly with four wings
And a long slender body,
She was made by Evelyn on the coldest day of the year
When the ground lay under two inches of snow
And a southerly wind blew flurry flakes of whiteness
Into faces and down fronts of coats.
All the way home Evelyn held on to Dotty
Protecting her from the bad weather,
Until she was safely on the kitchen table.
When you make things your heart wants
To share so Evelyn thought of her Grandma
Who she knew would just love to see Dotty.
Now in 2018 there is FaceTime a magical device
Allowing one to speak and see pictures of
One's family and friends,
So Evelyn asked her daddy if she could
Show Dotty to Grandma.
Grandma heard this ringing in her room
Coming from her iPad.
Who can that be she thought and went to see?
And there was Evelyn with Dotty
" I wanted to show you my dragonfly
That I made at playgroup this morning".
Well Dotty was beautiful with her painted wings
And Evelyn flew her round the room for
Grandma to see.
This made Grandma so happy and they both laughed
And talked and then Evelyn showed her Bagpus on her
Own iPad and Grandma and Evelyn both sang
The mice song.
It was only a short call and soon time to say goodbye
Evelyn said "you have made me very happy "
And Grandma smiled in her heart all day.
Love Mary ***
Nov 10, 2018
Nov 10, 2018 at 10:02 AM UTC
To the far reach
where the soul is frozen
and the sun doesn’t know
a rise from a fall
dark nights are unsettling
and the silence is cold
but the sun doesn't know
what the sun doesn't know.
Borealis burns
to thaw out a feeling
and you ride with the flow
on a southerly heading
as the sun stays low
beneath a fire-kissed sky
and you ride the flow
to ride with the flow.
Till warm sea winds
and calm sets you down
as the rain settles in
with a comforting sound
evening will fall
on Bocas del Toro
as the rain settles in,
as the rain settles in.
r ~ 7/11/14
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 2:58 PM UTC
In a swiveling chair, the black and white images of light to the west, are reflections of mind in a humming machine. Turning a head, there is a closed window, showing an energetically inspired pen the nearing sunset.
Moon swept itching dark
Twilight, sunrises curtain
pink lids - open eyes
With a blink of instaneous awakeness and sleep, the neck turns fast, to look for inspiration.
Dusk - apart painted
eight queued paired mare and foal
foliage lined dark black
Without my sister's presence, the filmed horse's birth is only an image, lost. Indeed, it's the shadows of sunlight that have lit up the southerly tree with darkness!
May 23, 2010
May 23, 2010 at 3:16 PM UTC
The first sinking dismay
she had in her humdrum life
was the first bongless time
when she heard herself cry.
The swallow of a muttered moan
following a stricken strife
like a shade hurtling the shadows,
a last dismaying gasp.
Where the zephyr in southerly arms die
where the nymph shrivels on a thirsty desire
where the Wheel crashes on a pallid meadow
where the plucked wings of the Dove fly?
Where the shadow of the bear downed stone
will dim my own umbra, eventide's gravedigger
brooding on a fractured glass? Lights' eyes queller
the lips' ballad subduer, ripper of the flock's strokes.
Your own stonewalling dismay is
double-crosser of a sea of dust chalk,
drowning feeble lying fireflies...
twinkling the sneers of your eclipse.
-Follow, follow her shadow
calling your own void from afar.
Where the wild lilacs the foggy crucify
where the stinging memory stirs dawdling desires
where a stabbing thought make the blurred red rock dance
dance in an **** between the answer and the why.
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 1:08 PM UTC
For some,
There's no escaping the daily grind;
Only the inexplicable tortures which plague the mind.
For others, however, there's a blooming gap
Which presents itself
In the form
Of a nap.
How simple a pleasure;
An enchanting endeavor.
Those words do not rhyme,
Though I do not care,
For I've just awoken and tainted the air;
Clouds of tobacco smoke poison my lair.
A dream lingers briefly so I jot it down.
Angels from heaven appear -
Oh the sound!
An orchestra plays something I've never heard;
It's hauntingly beautiful -
Mildly absurd.
A box pushed its way to the surface through dirt
And inside the box is a sparrow;
It's hurt.
I do what I can
To help it to heal,
But a cat comes along and decides it's a meal.
"I know you're a cat, and that's what cats do,
But wouldn't you say you were just a bit rude?"
It replies in baritone, southerly voice,
"I am what I am and I hadn't a choice.
I'm driven by instinct,
As you may not be;
However, these feathers
Taste curiously..."
The cat then exploded;
Its innards now out.
That bird was a bomb,
I haven't a doubt.
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 1:56 AM UTC
Westerly flows on
a northbound
express..
Trembling wasteland
in the dreams of
her dress...
Southerly tides
in East Michigan’s
winter...
cascading skies
under a buried
splinter...
Destiny’s heartland
in the middle of
nowhere...
condoms and fish gear
on a diet of
Lite Beer...
Aug 23, 2010
Aug 23, 2010 at 6:15 AM UTC
here a sleight prayer to the gods of precipitation
for the garrulous little swallows in the agave
decorating like trifling bits of finery
whilst the sky waves and waves come crashing..
thanks be to the gun metal of gray
a cheery wave to the non existant horizon
hooray,for the cooled southerly breezes
while day cries our scorched and when
yesterday but the day before and now now..
the collection of sighed the changes so
say cool and the sweet perfumes..
the relieving rain rains down..
exclamation
Sep 8, 2018
Sep 8, 2018 at 9:11 AM UTC
9th February.
I suppose it should hold special meaning,
Or coloured dinosaur eggs
But it's merely volcano silt.
Washing out a year and bringing in a brand new blandness I don't need.
It'll be the celebration day of my birth in just a week
Everyone has forgotten,
Too wrapped up in their own brain mazes;
Everyone forgets,
Mauve poison daggers seeping through memories
Forgetting;
Mostly warm summer days,
Mostly the southerly change at night
Mostly February ninth.
Everyone's forgotten me.
Feb 2, 2014
Feb 2, 2014 at 8:09 AM UTC
Spring paled in the glow of soul-light, where
She opened, awaiting the incoming tide, reaching for completion,
A moment stalled between the intake of breath,
A satin tangled sigh, lost, beneath prayers, burning desolate hours.....
Lost shadows, fold into echoes, breathing the essence of lullabies, softly whispering,
Rainbows beyond colours of ache; where sculpted passion,
Spreads petals of dew dampened rose, beckoning the sun; and
Stillness clings to tear stained glisten, awakening the fragile kiss of unborn tomorrows....
She begs morning from a whisper-moon, heartbeats, filling sighs dripped from her lips;
Her strength brailed-sutures, silence the scars beneath corners of her dream;
Dreams...the granules of heart's truth, the myths of her longing,
Cradled in the pause of unspoken crave....
Southerly winds carry pounding rhythms that mock her heartbeat,
So fragile, aching to touch the light in the distance,
A flame of trust ignited by matchstick whisper-sparks;
Pulled close, becoming airborne, flying through winds of chance;
To find his heartbeat racing beneath her own.....
Love sways in ripples of the river's embrace, beneath a canopy of night-tide,
Soft, the hush of unspoken, understanding, becomes
The inhalation of a kiss, exchanged in the ache of lips whispering,
"Sweet dreams, I love you"
So many miles between my pillow and his......
A wall of distance, steals touch from dreams,
She traces the peripherals of night, resting her heart upon his pillow,
Softly drowning in this unmade bed she lies draped in roses,
Spilling soundless as pink stamens sleep, brushed delicate in,
Timeless moments between the breath of night.......
Aug 1, 2012
Aug 1, 2012 at 5:01 AM UTC
Dotty was a beautifully coloured dragonfly with four wings
And a long slender body,
She was made by Evelyn on the coldest day of the year
When the ground lay under two inches of snow
And a southerly wind blew flurry flakes of whiteness
Into faces and down fronts of coats.
All the way home Evelyn held on to Dotty
Protecting her from the bad weather,
Until she was safely on the kitchen table.
When you make things your heart wants
To share so Evelyn thought of her Grandma
Who she knew would just love to see Dotty.
Now in 2018 there is FaceTime a magical device
Allowing one to speak and see pictures of
One's family and friends,
So Evelyn asked her daddy if she could
Show Dotty to Grandma.
Grandma heard this ringing in her room
Coming from her iPad.
Who can that be she thought and went to see?
And there was Evelyn with Dotty
" I wanted to show you my dragonfly
That I made at playgroup this morning".
Well Dotty was beautiful with her painted wings
And Evelyn flew her round the room for
Grandma to see.
This made Grandma so happy and they both laughed
And talked and then Evelyn showed her Bagpus on her
Own iPad and Grandma and Evelyn both sang
The mice song.
It was only a short call and soon time to say goodbye
Evelyn said "you have made me very happy "
And Grandma smiled in her heart all day.
Love Mary ***
Mar 2, 2018
Mar 2, 2018 at 1:20 AM UTC
I had never thought about little things until now, until I had become displaced and detached. Little things like the scratch of grass against bare feet and the little crunch noise that undoubtedly breaks the blades of grass... But natures green carpet always bounces back immediately. Perhaps the noise of tree branches, being tangled, tortured and embraced by strong southerly winds in the middle of a steaming hot summer, should have held more importance to me back home. The art of appreciation and great-fullness is so easily lost amongst the concepts of time, greed and the incomprehensible human need to succeed.
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 8:28 PM UTC
I
a fly
on the beachsand
washes his face.
II
a southerly wind blows
scratching at
my towel.
III
from downlake:
the sounds of a hundred gulls
fornicating.
IV
this little sandy spring:
hissing & *******
over black stones.
Oct 20, 2011
Oct 20, 2011 at 3:49 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
Glenshane Pass separated you both.
23 miles away in the same time, same place as my father’s childhood.
So when you talked of your da digging Toner’s bog and waxed lyrical about sheughs, I knew in our English class what exactly you were saying (when others didn’t).
Your words float over time & space to me now.
A celebration of the intimacy of our homelands.
A holy adoration of long gone voices that still resonate.
You never strayed, never.
It was always in your heart, always:
the land, the forgotten lanes, the broad fields, the lost language of it all.
I keep a certain comfort now with your lines as I Iay in my southerly home,
knowing that I am forever tithed to the townlands of our shared ancestry.
I thank you.
May your words stay alive as song as Ireland still has its beauty
and may their illumination still shine on us all.
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 5:46 PM UTC
a southerly breeze
danced around the elm trees
teasing their leaves
May 23, 2017
May 23, 2017 at 11:23 PM UTC
I saw galaxies and fire in his eyes,
as we spun in the dawning sun
I was rapt with the surprise
the strength of the pull was fierce
the fight seemed never ending
The gaze that he was sending
was making me weak
The shadow veil over his face,
could not hide his eyes from me
as the pieces fell into place
I could finally see.
What am I to you?
He is like a phantom to my mind
He infiltrates my thoughts and dreams
And silences my screams
with but a word.
The heat is searing through me
It washes over my skin, tingling...
like the warm sun in a southerly breeze
and yet, I freeze
I can not speak..
What did he do to me?
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 3:55 AM UTC
A broken diadem witness to those where dire traffic
with a southerly flux that pretend to track the vapor there
though this substance again duly addressed as *** holes now
contrast with this ever growing population while they gather
in their restaurant with Navistar global position.
Aug 26, 2017
Aug 26, 2017 at 1:38 PM UTC
O house dweller!
Open the doors...o open the doors
Waters ,lands the vast woods
Are swayed by spring
Open the doors!
O house dweller
O the coloured smiles
In amounts so paramount
In the ashoka ,palasha(flowers)
O the colorful addiction
Mixed in the clouds
In the dawn sky!
O in the new leaves
Reigns a new swing!
Open the doors
O house dweller!
O the flute is heard
In the jungles
Gently swaying to the
Southerly winds!
O the butterfly
Swings on the grasses!
O honeybees go about
Taking flowers gifts!
O in its wings
It plays
A beggar's veena(lute)
O in the jungles
Of the madhavi flowers
The air is heavy
With such scent
Open the doors...
O house dweller!
Feb 28, 2018
Feb 28, 2018 at 3:24 AM UTC
Ere those despairing months have come to pass
And befall my pensive condition
With tempests that hide a southerly sun in undulating expression
I examine my place here
Mind swaying like blades of grass
With neither voice nor sound of breath
I consider the evanescent present.
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 11:40 AM UTC