pinks trees of peach
and purples the grapes
as he pumps and plumps
Willow branch fingers trace in the pond painting the water.. sunset gold
As fog fragments and imagination's figments
swell trees and do new figs mint,
Four Flowers...: The Sun arose in Morning Glory, with His Goldenrod wanding Violet to Rose
The bees' favorite couplet.. sunup brimming buttercuplet
Only the fruit
of tree, bush, plant
or vine is given to us.
All other foods
As the falling dew clement
became bitter juice of lemon
It was not a jellyfish who wrapped his
tenacles around many inches
of a swimmer.
30 years later she bears
Two little sparrows
just in time noticed
the cars which
In each love affair,
whenever the hands of the clock
struck a certain number, like
a magnet whose direction
He is a melody
so beautiful, so transcendent,
the lyrics of
his political opinions,
Simon of Cyrene
helped heal Irene
of the cancer caused
by styrofoam's styrene
Those who are silent about the immorality,
illegality, security-endangerment, bankrupting
genocide of our occupying government's
wars are not supporting our troops, not defending
Dear friend. Thank you very much that your eyelight ignites these poems into life. I have tried to walk on water and failed. These poems are coming to you from the bottom of the pond! Thoughts are like birds entering and leaving the belltowers of our minds. We are not the origin of these Godgifts. Both of my parents were gifted poets. However because of lives of self sacrificing love, they did not pursue their own desires. They awakened my love of words in taking me to see a film of Othello when I was 10. Later Richard Wilbur with the poem Two Voices In A Meadow ignited a love of poetry. A poem my mother Nellie wrote about the funeral of President John F Kennedy: * MUFFLED CADENCE * The sound of shot. The roar of gun. Thy will be done blares the drum. * The sudden shock. The news farflung. Thy will be done beats the drum. * The hour of grief. The darkened sun. Thy will be done rolls the drum. * The sound of shot. The grave begun. Thy will be done mourns the drum. (It was not for a while after I read the poem that I realized the poem itself was the sound of a drum with its 4 syllable lines, most 2nd syllables accented.) Someone I don't know once said of a friend: 'If anyone ever asks what love is I will tell him of you.' I have been blessed by my Godgiven parents as well as extended family and friends for whom the above sentence could be spoken. You have my grateful permission to repost my articles. My poems may be reposted on the internet and up to 18 poems in books and magazines provided they remain unedited and include author attribution and link with the poems, and if paper is involved that it be 100% recycled, cotton, rice or other less violent paper. Unedited individual lines or phrases may be published with author attribution. No exclusive rights granted. I especially welcome their being put with the art of Deviantart and other artist forums. The poems have been written between 1956 and now. Some have been published in magazines, newsletters, and an anthology or read over the air. These poems reflect my own points of view. The political poems do not necessarily represent the opinions of my loved ones. To love ones country and people is a very different thing from rubberstamping the illegal wars of the last 67 years.. In my humble opinion, we are all love incarnate, pilgrims on the road of love, back to our hearts in which God who is Infinite Love dwells. May you live in miracles each day and all days, each way, and all ways. I have put many poems on this website, and it is my deep prayer that if you want to print any, they be copied onto paper which does not kill trees. The first one was written in 1956, and the others since then. When the internet became available, they were added onto websites. If any are upsetting to you, please give me your opinions. May all of us work to cancel World War III. Footnote: Please join millions in praying for rain everywhere in 2013 as needed. If you have trees and bushes please water them daily. I began internet publishing on Netscape, MSN Groups, and a network in my city. Netscape and MSN eliminated all their websites. An Italy based forum eliminated 2 sites with over 5000 entries. An international socialist forum was hacked off of the internet by warmongers and vivisectors.108 of my Ebooks disappeared in the hacking. . My user name was sb11 and my pen name O Anna Niemus (oh anonymous) . Other pen names have included Anna Hridaaya, which is Sanskrit for Food of the Heart.)
It snows at sea. Quiet falls in flakes. Melting designs... leave form for All
You are the nectar, the hummingbird, the clover. You are the bloom, the bee, the OerHoverer. You are the child, the bond and the mother. You are the Love, the Beloved, the Lover.
How do the words of the Peaceful Master become the tirades of warmonger pastors?
Japanese beetles, unheralded seamstresses, sew eyelets in the rose and stitch lilacs to lilace
''The sea: rocking cradle of the world.. sunset stairway to the stars..only by greatmasters trod... only written on by God.''
They did the little boy turkey named Art... choke and then served his dead body with artichokes.
The South Wind has for the evening donned jasmine scent.
They called the wind lackadaisical.. but because he in freedom blows the world will never lack for daisies.
My love for you a yearling became... many eons ago.
His dogs and cats cannot read.. save the script of his soul They cannot write..except on his heart
As a tide floats all boats..As great music lifts all lyrics ..so do love's spirit pinions..give wings to all opinions.
Living shrimp in a bucket looked up at us with their penetrating sweet black eyes on stalks. They pleaded for mercy though they could not talk.
Cloud maya makes the sun appear to wink at us. But his love is constant, not on and off.
From the shore.. one looks upward to the sanddune grass..10,000 green brushes attempting where they laid to paint the blue sky jade.
Oh, Lord, to you we give thanks that in time Polish horses defeat Nazi tanks.
Compass needles are magnetized to the north but compassion unencompassed in all directions pours.
Roses are pink. Violets are violet. Our love for you is forever inviolate
She is my beloved sister...off all who come her way the assister.
She was baptized in water by her brother's rare tears.. baptized in fire by her mother's unshed tears
The heart's love has surrounded the mind's critical knife sheathing it with silence.
Like a treebranch gently touching a nested robin's egg he knocked on the door of her heart. To let him in would require shattering the defensive walls of her past
Allgiving sun passes light... through persimmon tree leaf filters.. filling her fruit with lovepotion juice...paradisical philters
More than the stable shore does God hallow the waving sea's shellshod shallows.
The incoming egalitarian tide melts the last ice of apartheid
Oh Martin Sometimes your voice was the thunder.. Sometimes it was the falling rain. Always it burst our hearts asunder and made them vibrate.. empathic in pain.
To God they said 'Your amarylis and Your lilies with delight do fill us.' And God replied 'I made them for My Beloved Phyllis'
In the sea, each sweet sponge, a zillion strong, singing his own lovesong
Four Flowers: The Sun arose in Morning Glory, with His Goldenrod wanding Violet to Rose
The bees' favorite couplet.. a sunup brimming buttercuplet
Oh a cockroach is better luck than a cricket upon the hearth for he magnetizes to your home those who love every heart.
Bursting blooms of bluebonnet to the sun sing silent sonnets.. A beetlebored bamboo flute.. Yonder wind plays upon it
Hawaiian breadfruit... shed your Joseph's coat of many colors.. your 1000 panes of stained glass mosaic.. and become 10,000 breadfruit trees
The bee Hector needs no lector to read him the sector where blooms of great nectar pour forth fragrance in vectors
He has changed. He has grown No longer bud but Love Fullblown....
The trees of life randomly grow but the graves of Arlington are set in rows.
When God's green grows it's rarely in rows .. Awry the rye rises .. unruly the rose.
A jade curtain of willow fronds parts world of green earth from that of blue pond A grey curtain of morning mist separates turquoise waters from blue sky A more slender veil is at the portal hiding the paradise of the immortal.
Love, not force, rides the horse.
As the longfingered sun reaches out to touch a cloistered trillium or a lake trembles in the light of moon and stars so can a poet's long rainbow of words play our heartstrings from afar.
The sun wears no dark glasses. He has nothing to hide and is not threatened by his own light.
The sun does not kill and tell.. but how can the tree hide her new peaches in the dell.
We came to a crossroads and what did we see? All directions pointing to his heart's infinity.
Noah was saved on the ark from the quandary of accepting sharks. They could swim in the seas and not harm those in the barque.
As morning wands with a sunglobing dewdrop each grass spire so little acts of kindness are by God given Spirit fire.
The sun craves no limelight as he grows lovely limes in his light.
Oh womanizer or manizer most polygamous... only the sun can be righteously milligamous
Not in chaotic shards do dandelion seeds burst from their ball. Each part as perfect as the whole. Each each contains the all.
'No fishing allowed' said the fish outloud.
Can one snuff the stars or shoot the sun? Can one kill God? the universally indwelling Sun? Tiny clouds and even moon sometimes veil the sun yet no 'sin' is mortal All reside in Lasting Light All Live in Love Immortal.
In the realm of democratic elms none is asked to take the helm