Moon Warrior

sunflowersnow

Moon Warrior

When the wind whispers

His name to me,

I know the moon warrior is

On his way to me,

I feel nothing but a slight

Breeze and the sounds

Of ancestors of yesterday year

Lingering in the background,

That sound vibrating

Through my being,

Chants of circles

Among the feathered dressed

As his spirit calls to me,

Upon the hill where he sets

On horseback,

Gazing towards the big black sky

Of collected stars,

Bathed in the moon’s radiant

Golden light,

With stillness and dead of night

Arriving,

White as a winter’s snow

Is his bird on his shoulder,

He mirrors the depths of feeling

Inside me,

As he tells me things, my soul

Did not know,

Mighty and brave

His form remains steely

With a resounding clear voice

Touching my ears,

“Do not fear me, only listen

To my message.”

Because of my sky father

I come to you,

As a fine warrior

In traditional dressage,

Watching the embers

Disappear

And I know the beauty

Of your heart

Always prevails over

The worldly opinions of people

Not taking charge for peace and

Grace among us,

Believe in chance

As the elders inspire

The world’s love

For most natural

Sweetness with loving care

And blooming beauty

The moon warrior must ride

So swiftly away to break the past

Spells of evil.

However, I know he will be

Back again to reach for the stars

Of glowing stark white

As the moon rises in the

Surrounding clouds of warmth. –J. E Cook © 2019

 

Advertisements

A Poet’s Haven~Alan Boles, Administrator~Poet in the Spotlight

Image may contain: flower, plant, outdoor and nature

Our Choice For This Early Tuesday Afternoons

Best Poem And Our Poet In The Spotlight,

Josie Cook


An Unexpected Summons

Come, you fragile poets filled with the sea’s liquid.

Come and leak your speech upon our parched beaches!

Come and sing with the ocean’s primordial influences.

Come and sanctify our living dictionary.

Come and listen to our seas–rivers–the many lakes.

Come and offer a levy to our tributaries.

Come and accompany us.

Come with your mask of shifting personas falling away.

Come with your torches burning.

Come add your bouquet to the existing aroma.

Come bring your artfulness for our sake of the art.

Come with your lacerations, tender and red.

Come with your heart brilliant or obscure.

Come with your words for the distinguished dead.

Then go to the notorious graves and remember their souls.

And recite all of your remembrances.

Yes, come and find your passion; your true natural ability:

The marriage of thoughts to be esteemed hydration.

–J. E. Cook ©2016

My poetry on The Dear John Show

2lovesofdoeAAA

Welcome to The Dear John Show, Sunday 16th June 2019, live poetry readings of works by poets from across the world, here on Facebook. With Nina Thilo, Christine Barker, Chris Edridge and myself, Your Host, John Kavanagh.

My poem is the first one read by Christine Barker at this link on Facebook.

 

A Ride Around the Lake

Going into the woods
Among the brambles
Upon my horse’s smooth
Back,
Footing at times
A bit too slippery
For this ride,
Over the hills
Of Kiser’s lake,
Passing under low branches
And ducking,
As the mud sucks at her
Hooves,
I can feel her blood
Pulsing beneath her
Skin,
Smoke in the air,
She does not spook,
Not even when the pheasants
Fly out of the low bushes,
Or when we see deer
Drinking from the streams,
We jump over a fallen tree,
In the thickest part of the
Woods, my eyes feel almost
Closed with the darkness
During broad daylight,
Marshes here and there,
With golds and browns
Reflecting on the surfaces,
Herons among the tall grasses,
Inlets of the lake
Muddy and full of minnows,
An old apple tree
Surrounded by wild berries
Catches my eyes,
The ghost resides there
From a skating accident
Many years ago,
She fell through the thin ice
Her body recovered too late
For her to survive,
The icy waters causing too
Much damage,
In her hand now,
A frozen apple of red,
Captured in time,
Today it is warm
Unlike the day she passed,
Paintings of rowboats against
Starry nights were hung
In her childhood home
Her pale locks of hair
Tucked in a dresser drawer
From her first haircut,
Along with a first tooth lost,
Some yellowed school papers, and
Her doodles of winter sparrows,
It is said, her mother
Had hair the color of roses
After her death,
The girl reappears at this
particular Apple tree,
Greeting onlookers with her
Gentle smile,
Her white ice skates over her shoulder,
And a rusty compass hanging
Around her slender neck,
I whisper, “I’m not trespassing,
My horse loves apples, too”
The bright sun rays cutting
Through reveal her tears
On white cheeks that shine like
Diamonds,
She returns, “let the horse eat”
This touches my ears,
My eyes blink at the light,
I think about vodka over ice,
And the gin she had before
Her encounter with the pure, clean
Snow on the lake’s surface,
It was a party of teens that night,
Skating together,
She was the only unlucky one
To fall into freezing waters,
This would bring tears to anyone’s
Eyes,
I still can’t remember the date
Of this sad event,
But, her story is told
Around campfires,
So her legend never dies,
Her ghostly image is mild
And friendly–not scary at all,
Pale blue eyes,
A straight, narrow nose,
Looks a lot like her surviving
Brother,
Many call it a screwed-up
Family,
With many things buried
In their closets,
I actually think the tree
Is quite beautiful
But isolated from view,
She must be lonely here,
With her own sorrows,
It is so plain and simple
To me now,
That I am here,
Light glaring off the marshes
And her pretending to be happy
Beneath this apple tree,
I feel sick inside
Looking at her tired body,
Thinking about the broken
Hearts of her past,
She looks chilly,
As a flock of blackbirds
Pass over us,
Her words still ringing
Inside my head,
As she fades into the
Foilage of green,
I know I must go back. –J. E. Cook © 2019

The Dear John Show

Another Poem of mine included in the live show this Sunday. 

Welcome to The Dear John Show, Sunday 26th May 2019. Live poetry readings from around the world, here on Facebook. With Nina Thilo, Christine Barker, Chris Edridge and myself, Your Host, John Kavanagh.

Visions in my Sleep

I am looking for the most
Beautiful place on Earth,
With long, blue & green views,
And silhouettes of black twisted trees
On the distant skylines,
Fields of sunflowers in a variety of
Colors,
Sweet air drifting in on a slight breeze.

Endless expectations with lovely views,
Possibilities for fresh blue waters with
Cascades of showering droplets
Among the grasses of flowing fields.

The evening star against dark blue skies
Filled with pinpoint lights,
Pastures of horses & ponies roaming freely,
With moon against the black indigo at
Midnight,
Purifying richness in the hills of green.

Fading silver lights at dawn as the woods fill
With watchers of the night like weasels and
Raccoons and the lonely owls up high.

It’s a dream and it is mine. I am hypnotized by
The beauty of it in the visions I see. Gorgeous
Views with mild darkness set after the remains
Of the day.

To disappear from my bed into this world would
Be pleasant with a life of freezing coldness gone
Forever with roads of climbing beauty before me
Often without any real stress to bother me.

Reality returns in my old house with fifty plus years
Spent and my battered coffeepot filling the air
As it brews with a scent of waking,
As I think about the philosophy of living and death
Of strangers,
Dreadful histories glancing through my brain,
Outside my window, the birds sing and their pretty
Voices sooth my ears hiding the pain of all my years. –J. E. Cook © 2019

Image may contain: tree, sky, grass, plant, outdoor, nature and water

Dear John Show

I had two of my poems featured on this live broadcast! Give a listen and enjoy!

So very honored to have two of my poems included in this Sunday’s live show. Christine Barker and Nina Thilo read my poetry. The host, John Kavanagh requested one of them and Nina Thilo requested the second poem for today’s show. This is very unusual to have two poems read together on the same Sunday edition. You can listen to the show at this link address.

 

https://lnkd.in/ePwbCWA

Books by Jim Ashley

BOOKS

The old man knew no pleasure

He thought was half as great

As the moments he would treasure

With his books, down by the lake

At the early break of day

With his volumes in a sack

A sandwich for his lunch

And something for a snack

The birds were already waiting

To engage in song

They accompanied the story

In his head; he hummed along

His chair was where he’d left it

In the shade, by the water’s edge

Where he’d always kept it

A ribbon marked the page

The characters stood silent

Awaiting the command

That would bring them back to motion, when

The book opened in his hand

Suddenly surrounded by

Friends and enemies

Words of ghosts would start to fly

Across the centuries

Arguments, made long ago

Would make their case again

Dialog, both to and fro

Would swirl around his brain

And so, he sat, so motionless

In the center of it all

No passerby would ever guess

That kingdoms rise and fall

That lovers give their hearts and tears

That villains wield the knife

To take the blood and steal the years

Of an unsuspecting life

That a hero strove to do the deed

That no one else could do

And, against all odds, he would succeed

If his heart was good and true

An old man with a sack of books

Stood up to walk back home

A thing’s not always how it looks

He’s not at all alone

Memory Lane

Memory Lane

Taking in the beauty
Of the countryside
Rows of hay fields smelling so
Sweetly,
The apple orchards,
And the birches with their delicate
Leaves moving in the wind,
The woods are so full
Of miraculous treasures
Old fossiled bones, hiding creatures,
And so much more,
Here away from all the people,
Like wandering through a dream world
In a state of dizzy adventure
With a shuttering effect against time,
Apparitions in the trees above
Playing and becoming orbs to float about
In the cool, deep green
Of it,
With the smell of moss and earthy specks of dirt
As bands of light stream in,
The trees forming a delicate lattice
To defuse all the brightness
Stickers and briers on the border,
Visions bringing about strange
Circumstances inside my head,
Nothing became permanent to me
From trampling through those lovely woods
Except being enchanted by its beauty
And still thinking of him,
This one is gone,
The male that caused her to love him,
My solitary ways and moodiness
The result,
Locking myself away with a pile of books
Watching movies alone,
That feeling of melting in light
Always present
Our stolen time is gone forever,
I wait in the fields for your return
Even though I know it was not possible
Dusk has arrived,
I could smell your presence
Here in a world so green
But it is not human
There is nothing I miss more than your
loving touch,
I am aware you are now in another
World that I can’t access,

Except for this; the field of awareness
I’m without you,
Pollen in my hair, grass on my clothing
Your name is still on my lips
As I call it and no answer will ever
Arrive,
Your old letters inside a box
Buried deep in my closet,
Folds of your penned words
Still there,
If I chose to read them again,
My desperate mind on you.
We did belong to each other once
The mistake was you gave me up,
Time spent apart,
However, I still read to you in
The silent dark,
Sometimes gazing out the window
Thinking about the trails in our life
And being turned away
Knowing it was called a mistake
Delirious sometimes from lack of rest,
Peculiar moments not so distant,
Realizing you were only a man
Not some weed among the brambles
Looking for riches in the deep soil,
Just a man that lost his mission,
Our life truncated together to serve
Others and accommodate them,
All I wanted is our happiness to
Survive and be our story of life
But, it is a cautionary tale
Of a love gone bad leaping into
Blackness where I remain, the injured female,
By the monster you revealed living
Inside you,
Causing a flurry of panic
To me, that was an imaginary being
Until the horror was real
The absence of love,
I can’t speculate over that is banished
To memories that I can only access
Through my dreams.–J. E. Cook © 2019

Lee Todd Lacks This is incredible, Josie. The sublime natural imagery, the disarmingly powerful shift between the speaker’s vision of the forest and her recollection of a wayward lover. Beautifully written!

Sunday on the Dear John Show

Welcome to The Dear John Show, Facebook live poetry reading, Sunday 14th April 2019, with Christine Barker, Chris Edridge, And, Your Host, John Kavanagh.

Christine read my poem on this live show. Thank you, Christine Barker and John Kavanagh for picking one of my poems for this April session of poetry. 

**This session was live with Shannon Larisse Sharpe & Christine Barker.

Dear John Show-live Broadcast

My poem, titled, Keep Me Pristine and Alive, requested by the host. on 04/14/2019 it was read by Christine Barker from Germany live.

Poetry with John~

Listen here:

I Am With You –
Written by John Kavanagh –
Music by Alan Johnson –
Narrated and produced by Hank Beukema
Copyright John Kavanagh 2015
All rights reserved

When you waken in the morning
and you open up your eyes
When the light shines in your window
And the birds sing in the skies
Do I still become your first thought
Do you still call out my name
Am I still your shining knight
Your life’s eternal flame
When you step into the sunshine
And feel the cool fresh air
Do you feel a little lonely
Do you wish that I was there
Do you think of me each moment
Does my memory bring you joy
Do you have those tender moments
When alone do you still cry
When you lay upon your pillow
and the moon is big and bright
Do you say a little prayer for me
and wish to hold me tight
When you drift into the dream world
And all again seems real
Does it help to ease your heartache
When you tell me how you feel
When you awaken in the morning
and your eyes are open wide
is your pillow wet from teardrops
Wept from deep inside
Do you feel it in your heartbeat
that things will be alright
for my darling I am with you
throughout each day and night.

John Kavanagh © 2015
All rights reserved