Once, by the Mountainside


In Tibet, where a lonesome shepherd
held aloft his pointed staff of hope.

* Once, by the mountainside.

And, wished for a family
upon Heaven’s pedigree

unto — a flock of stars.

Once, with regret, within the jebel was a leopard
that from tangled tusks on antelope
was paint expansively
with dusky, camouflaging scars.

A wooden cudgel,
rod, shillelagh
carved with a galaxy’s belief.

Can prove enough
protection ably
to break a mountain leopard’s teeth.

Once, by the mountainside.

For, while the herdsman’s
back was turned
through the bushes
crop did creep.

That mountain leopard’s
hunger spurred
on by rustling
starry sights of sheep.

As the cosh, it clubbed and clanged
a panther’s chime, soon mute
rang out with spirit’s rise.

Once, by the mountainside.

A proud and deadly beast, defanged
round a neck, was loot
for havoc’s hollow prize.

Now, protected sheep, they graze.
Their herd it crowds and multiplies.
Like shadow-puppet-strings
cast o’er scornful campfires burn
tell of his legend — solitary.

Whence a brood’s lives were stole
belonging to the pard.

Where twin infant panthers gazed
with empty mouths and eyes.
Reflects a Shepherd’s wish
as it is mournfully returned:

** ” རི་འདབས་ལ་གྱེས། ” ;

heard, wistful Heaven’s pedigree.

Embarked this leopard family
dwindled but for their souls.
Once, unto — a flock of stars.

© poormansdreams

* Snow/mountain leopard:
Panthera uncia (previously: Uncia uncia)
The genus name, Uncia, is derived from the Old French word :- once, which was originally used for the European lynx.

** Modern Lhasa Tibetan translation:
“Goodbye to the mountainside.”
རི་འདབས་ལ་གྱེས།
ri ’dabs la gyes
IPA: [ɾì tɛ̀p̚ la cʰé]



For a Patch of Earth


For a patch of earth.

Our compassioned dirth,
will spill innocent blood.

Brand ill lands,
with crimson floods.

Whilst a child’s laugh is killed,
for evil’s mirth.

All for a patch of earth.

Poisoned woven threads,
will purge this quilt of man.

Until the cloven seabeds,
swallow the guilts of man.

And, as the frost binds,
to eternal night,
sewn are our rimed
stars in place.

Iced berth, under which,
we will be made to lie,
freezed, at the seam, splits
our tawdry face.

All for a patch of earth.

Our human nation divided
by it’s stringly purse.

Fabricated to betide our
conquered curse.

All for a patch of earth.

© poormansdreams




Something within


They said,

“well, at least, you don’t miss

something

that you never knew.”


this pater-shaped hole

began to impress;

began to exceed excess.

And, once begun,

it couldn’t be undone,

it made both

beginning, and, ending;

without gravitas. Gone.

A filicidal forecast looming

within,

gloomy;

whether he reigned or son shone


“A victim of cruel circumstance?”


this pater-shaped hole

became a grave of discontent,

deep.

So, very, deeply;

without.

No heaped shovel or search

within

could ever uncover it,

nor, taste of stark reality

– stomach it


“A by-product of uncertain romance?”


this pater-shaped hole

has a

dangerous potential

to permeate

generations,

going from keyhole;

within, to black-hole;

exhuming –

gravity without fixture,

irrevocably vacuuming;

sons of Mars,

Venus’ daughters,

zodiac stars, suns, moons,

and all of their explorers,

solar systems, nebulae,

and, galactic formations

of future paterfamilias,

of all things familial,

intergenerational idioms,

inscriptions and incantations


“I didn’t miss what I had never known.

I just knew that something within was missing.

Half the time I felt apart, alone.

Half of my history in absentia whilst existing.”


When violence came


Once or twice

decisions bite unwise, saying;

unforgiving

are the memories,

unforgettable

are the scars.


Scorch marks

embedded in hands of milk

make volcanic craters;

sat in skins of satin silk.

The crash of flesh

into cigarettes;

lights, ignites and separates us.

Sombrely; in torched dark.


Burns; become words;

impressions.

Slash; abstract, absurd;

expressions.


Lacerations speak, some stutter,

of a blade which wreaked;

silent pain,

on arms which seldom mutter.

It took the opening of a cutter;

violence came,

because of an inability to scream,

an inability to speak or utter.

So, lines had to be drawn; extreme.


In disguised minds, unbelieved

eyes of thrice, say;

this living

isn’t just sensory,

existential

are the stars.


Persona non grata


Requiem

“will that make me look sexy, then?”

A pubescent teen

with nothing, not even self-esteem.

“Will that make them accept me, then?”


Acquiesce

to the authority of stress

of adulthood’s cold compromise;

the coatless blizzard of the wise,

final kiss by blue lipped death.


Ad astra

far away from a living disaster.

Breaking fleshed cocoon of rust

and becoming a star; stardust.

Intergalactic; invoked forever-after.


You Shooting Stars


Feeling hopeless and helpless

Left alone feeling selfless

Aren’t reasons to feel

That your life doesn’t help us.


‘Cause you matter so much

And your matter is such

That nobody can take it

In their own selfish clutch.


When the time comes you’ll know

Just like arrow and bow

That you were meant to shoot

To the stars – ever glow,


You may live to suffer

And if it gets all the tougher

Then please just remember

Together we grow.


Don’t let go.


The Sun and The Son


The Sun carries the fate

Of our future on its back

The Son carries the weight

Of his past in his pack.


The Sun practices beaming

Ready for the summer show

The Son forever dreaming

Of freedom free to grow.


The Sun solemn staring

At a world disintegrating

The Son struggles caring

In a world hell-bent on hating.


The Sun won’t last forever

But will far out last the Son

The Son’s a trifle clever

But he won’t surpass the Sun.


Interred-Galactic

“The more you learn,

The less you know.”

Scorned the Galaxy, stern

To her Stars as they glow

Glimmer.


Star bursts, “The irony isn’t lost

On me. I’m still a bright spark.”

Not realising the cost

Of stardust culminating in dark.

Dimmer.