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Posts Tagged ‘poetry’

Thursday, February 2, is Imbolc (Gaelic budding) AKA cross quarters, the day between the Winter Solstice and the Spring Equinox. Some call it Brigid’s Day, the Irish Goddess of poetry and wisdom “Exalted one” (some call her a triple goddess, add in the Goddess of Healing and the Goddess of Smithing). Celebrate with Brigid’s Crosses and Processions.

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National Poetry Day 2

This poem is in honor of National Poetry Day.

Theme is environment—while this is an Aztec love poem, it is about people more  in tune with their environment than modern people

Stand! Beat Your Drum!

Give your all!

Be a friend! Aya!

Your heart will be adorned

with many hues. Yehuaya!

Good-hearted Noblewoman,

Perhaps only ours to borrow,

our pipes, our blossoms.

Ohuaya Ohuaya.

Rise, my friend, be joyful,

Take your blooms to the drum, your rancor takes wing!

Beautify yourself with the flowers that stand tall,

cocoa flowers of beaten gold. Aya!

They fly into the wind. Ohuaya Ohuaya.

Raise your voice in song,

the turquoise quetzal, that male cock,

the macaw’s cry rules,

every shaking rattle and beating drum replies. Aya!

I down cocoa, I am happy.

My heart partakes of happiness.

Ohuaya Ohuaya.

Bang the drum, pass by,

Turquoise quetzal, mountain bird.

Hey, pink flamingo, go away,

Just leave, thank you,

Gourd rattle, deerskin drum,

Ohuaya Ohuaya

I’m eating chocolate

As I leaf-wrap, Aya!

Aya!  Be happy, Value peace,

Ohuaya Ohuaya. Not a literal translation, but my attempt to invoke the spirit of the original poetry: Nezahualcoyotl Fasting Coyote (1402-1472 ruler of Texcoco)

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Temple Mound Cre

Once long ago, barren was the Earth,

Shafa, the Moon, leapt into the sky,

Did frighten Tso, Goddess of the Sun,

She bled, two drops plunging to the Earth.

These two drops became man and woman,

Though they were cold and lacked life,

Gyatha’, The One who is Breath, beheld their plight,

Took pity, breathed into them, gave them life.

This pair became the very first Yuchi,

Called themselves Tsoyaha, Children of the Sun.

Ever since, Yuchi climb the Temple Mound,

Give eternal thanks to Tso and Gyatha’.

Yuchi myth inspired this tribute to Temple Mound culture.

Charles Suddeth July 9, 2022

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Coffee Blues

Charles Suddeth

Follow me down to the coffee house!

Choose you a brew—dark roast even,

Kona, Central America, and south,

But dump that sugar and cream in the floor.

Drink, drink, drink that coffee down!

They ran out of java? Say goodbye,

March away to the next coffee house!

They have drip, espresso and more,

Don’t say decaff, this is a coffee crew!

Drink, drink, drink that coffee down!

They ran out of beans? Time to scoot!

Next coffee house is just down the street!

Tell them to fill your mug to the brim,

Anyone caught sipping tea is outa here!

Drink, drink, drink that coffee down!

They’re turning the lights off, locking the doors,

Seems that dawn is trying to break through,

Gotta get home before the sun burns my eyes,

I’ll slip into bed, never tell where I’ve been.

What’s that aroma? Someone’s got coffee going!

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Limerick #2

Today (May 12) is National Limerick Day

I’m no poet but I like to have fun.

#2

The sign read, do you need a shave,

I thought it read, be sure and wave,

I went into a spin,

Never saw light again,

I just ran over my own grave.

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Oldest love poem

My version of the Akkadian: Assyrian farmer’s daughter to her shepherd lover 4,000 years ago

The shepherd,

Look for me until you find me,

I’m in the desert,

I’m cutting thorns down,

Now, I’m planting grape seeds.

Farmer’s daughter,

Water has put out the flames in my heart,

I love you and want to take care of you,

Take care of me as you do your flock of sheep,

Look for me until you find me.

I like to think they married, and their descendants live in Iraq.

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Barn dance

1909 barn dance, Pea Ridge, KY. Sam Short tuned the banjos. Annie and Walter Short frailed them. Little Ovie Short jigged.

1976: Sam tuned the 80-year-old banjo. Annie played “Mule skinner blues.” 1956 photo of Walter and Annie.

AUNT ANNIE’S BANJO

Charles Suddeth

She strummed the strings and laughed,

Sang Mule Skinner Blues,

The melody bubbling over,

Rambling around our ears,

Down hidden hollers and hills.

Her banjo knew her songs,

Swishing paddlewheel steamboats,

mean-eyed gamblers with moonshine,

Dazzling cancan dancers,

Blushing, white-veiled brides.

Alas, Annie is no more,

Her banjo vanished in the mists,

Their stories forgotten and lost,

Gone downstream forevermore.

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National Poetry Month 6

On Bull Creek

Charles Suddeth

Lived on a Bull Creek farm when I was small. The Ohio lay at the far end. Oh, those days.

Listen, here, my melon colic baby,

Told you not to gobble all them melons,

Remember what you did this past spring?

You hogged up those green persimmons,

Now you done busted your belly again,

I can hear your guts gurgling from here.

Last April, me and Sam plowed the garden,

Him braying and kicking for all get out,

Planted melon seeds, sunburned my neck,

Twisted my back, weeded all summer,

Picked melons as you tossed stones at squirrels.

I drove grandpappy’s Studebaker pickup,

One headlight shining on the moon,

The other scaring nightcrawlers,

Ran it into a holler, got stuck in the mud,

A farmer’s team, dapple-gray Percherons,

Hauled me out, took my last five bucks,

Ran out of gas, hiked ten miles to town,

Wrenched my ankle, blistered my feet.

I was fixing to tote the melons to town,

Sell them, buy you a shiny red firetruck,

Not tin junk, real cast iron—ladders and all.

Buy your mama a green gingham gown.

I’ll slop the pigs with what’s left of them.

Don’t you puke in the house, even on the porch,

I don’t need to wash you or your britches,

Quit your bawling and stay out of my way,

And keep out of the river until you can swim.

Play in Bull Creek so I can keep an eye on you,

Go scrounge up crawdads for catfish bait,

Careful they don’t nibble your toes,

Give you something to really wail about.

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National Poetry Month 5

I offer this prayer

I light this fire in a sacred and holy way,

I see in a sacred and holy way,

I hear in a sacred and holy way,

I love in a sacred and holy way.

I think sacred and holy thoughts,

I dream sacred and holy dreams,

I commit sacred and holy acts,

I live a sacred and holy life.

I dance in a sacred and holy manner,

I sing in a sacred and holy manner,

I offer incense in a sacred and holy manner,

I become a sacred and holy being.

Charles Suddeth 041422

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Aztec life and death

Frangipani Bloom at Night

Charles Suddeth

The priest marches in Tenochtitlan’s parade,

Villagers shower his head with frangipani,

Pink blossoms clinging to his hair,

Their fragrance fondles his nostrils.

When he reaches the pyramid’s base,

The crowd chants and claps and shouts,

While he climbs fifty-two steps,

Each strewn with orange marigolds.

Tied to the altar, a maiden awaits,

Her eyes glassy, her lips blistered,

painful reminders of his young daughter,

His lips reciting prayers to the sun.

He raises his blade above his head,

Its gleaming black obsidian ready.

The knife plunges straight down,

The scent of frangipani mingles with blood.

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