Original Poetry, written by Ronald Lee Oliver
When leaves aquiver fall pell mell
in patterns on the forest floor
Nature’s scene lights up to tell of
Wonder, colored warm and bright.
Relax, be still a moment more for
Pause, to dwell in rest a mite,
And contemplate how blessed you are.
Thank heaven above for graceful sights,
God shows to those whom he loves well.
By: RonnyLee
The first word from each line reads in a sentence to say:
“When in nature’s wonder, relax, pause, and thank God.”
Where is the center of a man?
Is it in his heart, or in his mind?
Does he hold it in his hand?
Or does it fall midpoint on a reel
Of time that shifts like sand?
Or perhaps his center is somewhere else, beyond what is defined?
If you can say, I’d like to know
Please tell me if you can…
Where exactly does one find
The center of a man?
I gazed with longing
Down a road
That in the distance
Met the sky
Converging lines that
Joined as one and
Just beyond
A hinted promise lie
But as I moved
It ever seamed
To slip away
Like the sound of a distant bell
Beyond the hill and
Over dell
I know it leads to…
Along the garden path of time
We cherish golden hours sublime
Where peace and sweetness brightly play
In seeming endless Summer days
We relish not the darker hours
Where tares and snares amongst the bowers
Nearly made us lose our way
Allured by shadow’s pallid sway
Not strength of will nor mind nor wit
Shone on the path more brightly lit
Which led our steps toward the place
Wherein we found amazing grace
But only love which nurtures roots
Did help our trees to bear good fruits
So blessed we rest in graceful pardon
Enjoying sunlight in the garden
Pearls tilted at foul swine are priceless lost.
For when the errant horseman, prideful, rides
Toward the mill where lies his goal in joust,
His pearls are grist—a meal made of his pride.
While foe sups well, the hero hungers still
And searches vainly for the stones he’s thrown,
Erewhile the foe does thrust his sword at will,
And pearls in balance, weighed, exact their own.
Does one so rash take heed and lessons learn,
That faith is bliss and life a deadly school?
Or does he carry on and justly earn
The coat of arms and heraldry of fool?
Whose life would end in quest of Golden Fleece
Should quit and pray for rest in faithful peace.
An ode to the surveillance State.
by
Ronald Lee Oliver
Nodes, nodes, cookies and nodes!
Filtered and foldered in pigeonholed rows.
Your data is clustered and therefore it shows,
your mindset is furtive and not one of those
We can safely pass over
without thrusting our nose
in the nooks and the crannies up under your hose!
Bend over and spread ’em–we’ll take a quick look
to ensure you’re compliant and go by our book.
Relax! Don’t tense up!
It’s for your own good.
We just want to make sure we’re all safe…
Understood?
In the quiet, early morning at the river bed beside the still waters that remain after a long California drought, I park my easel in the sand bar at water’s edge. An egret with feathers as blindingly white as a snow drift in alpine sunlight, wades and forages with patience and resolve, searching for morning victuals. Suddenly it stops and peers down a long and lethal beak at some creature that stirs, just below the surface. For perhaps a minute, the bird is motionless, stoic and rapt in solitude as the ripples slowly recede and the surface of the water returns to glassy calm. The egret, unperturbed, with flapping wings, jumps and flies. I hear the air rushing through the feathers as it beats past and glides down the riverbed, beyond the dam, disappearing into the lush shade of the forest canopy.
Our bark pitched and lolled
midst breakers that rolled,
dark as squids ink o’er the gunnels.
Both larboard and lee,
The sky nor the sea could nary agree
which was the charge of t’other.
The toothless Bosenmate, Phigg,
chortled while quaffing a swig
of foul and treacherous grog,
just dipped from the quartermain hog.
He exclaimed with delight,
his eyes sheeny with light
from the St. Elmo’s fire
that danced in the wires above.
“I’ve seen the likes of fjords
‘n dikes and sailed the blue
waters down South…but I’ve never
skimmed through a squall such as
thee’n, nor dodged such devilish spouts!
Tighten yer buckler, ye pewlin’
landlubber, we’re in for a Helluva blow!
Yes, we’re in for a God-awful blow!”
The wind shrod through the lines
that hummed as if tines of some
giant’s mad tuning fork.
When Cap’n yelled out,
“Coming About!” and spun the wheel,
heelin’ the rudder.
It was then that I seen that wall
black and green that made my spine
tingle and shudder.
That wall of sateen, spindrift and sheen,
keen deadly for malice and murder.
Down bore that black curtain that
meant one thing certain.
We were in for a Terrible blow!
Yes, we braced for a punishing blow!
That’s the last that I seen of Phigg
and the Cap’n and two-score other
poor souls. The Bark torn asunder
as the Wave pulled them under
and down to the black deep below.
Why I was spared is a wonder
that I ‘spect I’ll never know.
Rare’s the day I don’t weep
for Forever they’ll keep
in the rivers of deep that flow
in the icy cold brine below…
in the inky dark brine below.
