Gaia

feel like a newly
budding
growing
flower
reaching upward
toward
the
light
drinking I the
moisture
breathing in the
air
doting on the
tender
loving
care
once quashed or
overlong
untended
content to die for
now and
sow my seeds
in
other
fields

Outside

morning crept across
the lawn, tender tiptoes on
wet grass, chill shudders

breezes shake dew from
leaves, wake slumbering flowers
in their beds and me

shaking the cobwebs
of dream off to greet morning
toes meet on dirt paths

The Brink

ever felt on the
brink, not sure the brink of what
the abyss beckons

Taunt, hamper, pulverize - 3-word Wednesday

taunt me but know this
bullies don't hamper the boots
that pulverize them

small the one who taunts
the object of his envy
he's already dust



written for 3-word wednesday

Don't look

all the lonely people
such a sad parade
high struttin'
peacocks
mousy little
sparrows
they're all on and
the performance is free
for me and
you if you care to
see
just don't look in any
mirrors

To everything ...

bacchus takes over and
the fountains of escape flow free
the show goes on and
the games begin and
in ones and twos they leave
all but one will be back
tomorrow

About Poetry

A recent comment on my poem entitled ‘Poetry’ (“I love this definition”) caused me to think about my definition of poetry and its place in history and our lives today.

Poets around the world have used poetry as a tool to expose injustice and tyrants and incite insurrection.  They've risked their lives and freedom to comment on the inequities they witness.  I see song lyrics as poems.  I’ve always been fascinated by the words of the singer/songwriters from ancient bards and balladeers, to modern folk singers, 60's and 70's protest singers, etc.

Poetry whether read, spoken or sung has throughout time been a vehicle for social commentary or a simple oral recounting of our history.  These beliefs gave rise to the following poem I wrote in 2007 while attending a Blues concert in Phelan Park, Southside, Birmingham, Alabama.  I don’t remember the name of the blues man, but I remember feeling his words and story, and the faces of the audience, some absent, and some so present.

The Bard

The Bard's song is
a piece of soul sung out loud
to the absent crowd
through time, the bards cant
the deeds, tell the stories
preach the morals, ask the questions, make the protest.
They strum the heart strings
touching part
of the common fabric of our being
reminding us of the one song
the uni-
verse.


©2007 Perle Champion

Fool rush

edges rough worn thin
mind that races rushes in
angels watch in awe

not quite sure they saw
halos doffed no wind for wings
grounded and unsure

Poetry

poetry is a
piece of soul sung out loud to
the absent crowd and
protests injustice
shares interior landscape
poems, blues, rock, rag

Loose change

I wonder at my propensity
to spend time like so much
loose change
feeding the voracious
vending machine dispensing time
consumed on the run
without second thought
and little memory

Just things

things pass from knowledge
the ways, calendars, ciphers
the truths of a time

without a context
just artifacts dug from dirt
puzzles to our eyes

Ruts

there are ruts aplenty
in this world
and many frightened people
trodding them
never thought I'd be
one of them
but a moment's
inattention and I fell in step
time to make a break

Done with mirrors

alter egos, shades
mirrored to infinity
dreams there and not there.
shadows echo through
walking parallel paths

Falling Down

the sky is falling

her sky has fallen
all the fairytales held dear
all her castles in the air
are now nowhere


all the fairytales have
fallen down
from the sky
fallen down
and she could cry
innocence met with doom
reality came but all
too soon.

Where to go

she dug the hole deep
walls of dirt on every side
still, no place to hide

Restless

she's feeling cornered
restless expectant feeling
runs instead of walks

to get there sooner
finding nothing worth the race
barren landscape waits

Yellow rose...

simple yellow rose
lay low the mighty soldier
praise sung by lone star

Shattered

the priceless vase slipped
oh the pieces, the pieces
let it slip- grasp failed

oh where to begin
shards scattered in darkest night
too few pieces found

Red river running

the sun impaled on the
mountain's spear
sent red rivers running down
his craggy face
swallowed greedily by
the deepening shadow below.

Poet's lot

Poets doomed, entombed
prize covered promised coffin
mind soared now heart sore.

Dark Thoughts

mellifluous yet
malevolent thoughts race forth
from chaotic homes

none invited yet
inexorably they flood
ebb but brief respite

Vog

once she knew and it
was true, who she was, would be
vog obscures her view

Silence

deafening silence
strain my ear, still cannot hear
luscious tranquil sea

Sun sets

forever leaving
said adieu to every one
sun sets yet rises

Time and Space - Homage

Ray Bradbury - An original - a Master of words and the genre called SciFi left us yesterday - this one's for him.

throughout the empty
reach of space I reach to catch
the glimmer of a
long dead star still shining down
to reach my eyes and
cause my mind to wonder if
somewhere in the vast
reach of space some child of mine
as yet unborn does
reach to catch the glimmer of
a long dead star that's
known to me today as sol

more than i knew

and I flew apart

blew my top and things

toppled out

many more than

I knew I was

had

could

Bird child

the child said, gonna
be a bird when I grow up
then I'm gonna fly

couldn't speak truth then
no need to hurry it then
my own baby bird

memories aged like wine

memories pulled from
the dark cellars of my mind
time has been so kind

to the once young wine
mellow now, each draught warms me
to my very core

Hands of time

silence broken by
the tick of time's unsubtle
hands across it's face

New Moon Rising

i am shadow and a little light
a little day and too much night
steps unsure on the new moon’s darkened path
lost
never talked directly to goddess or god
but i have had soliloquies in which
i think they listened.