Watch the Celebration of the Poetic Libretto!

Here is the link to view a recording of the Celebration of the Poetic Libretto featuring Marvinlouis Dorsey, Dean Okamura, Jim Babwe, Don Kingfisher Campbell, Patrick Thomas Jefferies, Mark Fisher, CLS Sandoval, and Diosa X! 

Celebration of the Poetic Libretto! (youtube.com)

Quirky Trees Poetry by Lorelei Kay

Quirky Trees

POETRY

 

Poetry Celebrating 

Petals, Leaves, and Quirky Trees

 

 

By Lorelei Kay

 

 

HALF NOTE JOSHUA

 

Warm gusts playfully swoosh around

the young Joshua tree, whispering musical

rhythms where she’s rooted in desert sand.

 

Steadied by her circular base, her erect

stem reaches skyward, straight and poised

as a conductor’s baton.

 

Sensing the imminent downbeat, flora

and fauna begin rustling in anticipation,

watching for their cue.

 

A chorus of chirping birds take wing,

inviting all desert residents to pitch in

with their unique symphonic sounds.

 

A solo woodpecker

      tap tap taps bongo-style

      on its dark bark drum.

 

A duet by soaring eagles adds

      high-pitched whistling tones

      to the windy score.

 

A trio of mourning doves

      detect the beat and begin

      cooing along in harmony.

 

Black-tailed jackrabbits race

      Lizards leap and scamper

      Squirrels scurry and skitter

 

Roadrunners bob and bustle        

     Red-spotted toads croak out trills

     Rattle snakes add percussion

 

A cacophony of melody washes over

the landscape, blending easy listening

rhythm through every rock and rill.

 

The air vibrates with musicality, owing

its inspiration to the half note Joshua—

standing tall on a cactus-studded hill.

LEAFLESS EVE 

 

Standing tall on the hillside,

I lift my dark limbs

through a blue wind-whipped sky.      

 

No more life-giving juice

runs under my bark.

No feathered nests on my breasts.

 

From the first breaking dawn

I’ve borne leaves, cones, and fruits

that breezes rocked gently to sleep.                   

 

Bereft of my green leafy crown,

stripped of former beauty,

my years giving shade are past.

 

In my flexible and naïve youth,

my supple arms branched

out and touched all four winds.

 

I no longer bend to every whim,

but stand sturdy, defiant and strong

against history’s blustering tales.      

 

Remember me not

for elegant grace, cooling shade,     

or the peaches I bore,

 

but revere rugged strength,

and the knowledge I’ve gleaned

on my gardenless mountain crest. 

 

 

BALLET AT HESPERIA LAKE

 

A gang of shrieking geese arrogantly

strut past as I jog around the rippling lake.

Effortlessly they lift high into the air above

the silver-tinged waters and sail into flight.

 

Their white soaring wings slice the evening

breeze, rhythmic as a conductor’s baton beating

a startup cue, and with flawless cadence,

the ballet begins—

 

Sleek feathered tutus fill the air as multitudes

of pitch-black starlings flap above, synched                  

in perfect harmony as they pulse across the vast

air-filled stage overhead.

 

An elongated circle of airborne wings creates        

a dark streak of life—wild flutterings           

juxtaposed against silent soarings as forms 

glide against the dropping evening sun.    

 

Wings held out straight, then on silent

downbeat, flap furiously as the leader

pirouettes, first east, then north, west, south,

forming an elliptical orbit above me.

 

No single bird claims main attraction status

but all perform as one, until breaking into groups

of four, three, two. Abruptly one soloist splits off

in a new direction to steal the show.

 

Sky freedom reigns—looping, twisting, spinning,

round and round, until all reunite for the finale,

as if always the plan for their final curtain call.

Who choreographed this masterpiece of flight?

 

Then, just as unannounced as first appearing

above my head, they dive, disappearing

into waiting limbs of a towering nearby elm,

settling in silently for their nightly slumber.

 

Dusk surrenders to the brightening moon.

A cacophony of chatter breaks loose from ducks

bedded down in the nearby marshy thicket,

squawking their approving applause 

 

   

      

    THE BROWN OWL CONDO

OPEN HOUSE

 

Mottino Wash Air B&B

Right Off Rattlesnake Canyon

Towering branches scrape desert sky

Columns filled with circular spaces

Multiple lodging choices open

Nesting supplies plentiful

 

Amenities Abound

Natural Light   Terraced Patios

Community Gardens   Guest Suites

Outdoor Dining Areas   Private Decks

Singing Rooms   Circular Balconies

Fresh water springs year ‘round

 

Tenants Desired

Cactus Wrens   Mocking Birds

Brown Barn Owls   Woodpeckers

Le Conte’s Thrashers   Gambel’s Quails

Mourning Doves   Sage Sparrows

Verdins   Cedar Waxwings

 

The Brown Owl Condo

No Bugging HOA Limitations

Early Birds Snag the Best Selections

A Feathered Nesting Kind of Place

A Natural Resting Kind of Space

 

FLY BY NOW

 

 

KICKING THE LIMB FANTASTIC

 

Burnt ebony lass    downside turned up                                    

your hips springing skyward and free                         

from forest’s rich  dark  sandy loam              

 

Both slender legs  tightly encased

in fish-net mesh stockings like coal    

piercing white clouds sailing by  

                  

Kicking High                    

 

Heels over head    defying all rules               

flouting your solo performance                     

          midst spangled dry leaves   dappled hills        

 

Inky black toes   stretch    dancers pose

by backdrop  of  green-fingered ferns                                 

      while grass grows and cool breezes sigh

 

Kicking High                    

           

Creative    distinctive   your dance                    

these Roaring wind-blowing new Twenties

            with razzle jazz dazzle   matazz        

 

Raven-hued heels shoot through blue air                                    

then tiptoe in hovering clouds                                               

            to mourning doves coo cooing cry

 

Kicking high

           

Performing all   day   your  risqué display                     

thighs thrusting high     reaching for sky            

so dauntless  and      so   unabashed  

                       

Kicking Ash

 

 

 

   ROOTED STRENGTH

    Like wavy spider legs

    crawling across steep banks

        Clinging

        Curling

        Creeping

 

Bare roots dive deep

seeking nourishment

    Dangling

    Delving

    Detecting

  

Digging down into bare earth

with grit and tenacity

    Holding on

    Holding fast

    Holding tight

  

Providing sturdy foundation

for towering tree trunk above

    Anchoring

    Absorbing

    Advancing

   

Oblivious to buffeting forces

whipping winds or biting frosts

    Searching

    Stretching

    Seeking

 

As each new dawn breaks

may I strive for kindred strength

   Holding fast

   Digging deep

   Seeking growth

 

 

THE LYZARD

After William Blake

 

Lyzard lyzard, slinking slow,

Under forest’s dimming glow:

What long vanquished limb or tree,

Could form thy daunting symmetry?

 

In what distant bog or swamp,

Where yesteryear thou dared to romp,

Did thy heart begin to beat

With dreadful hands? elusive feet?

 

What the logger? what the chain,

Did thunderclouds swish round thy brain?

What the thickets? what dead roots

Dared claim such dreadful attributes?

 

When tall pines shed down their spears       

And fell unfettered through the years:  

Did howling winds carve out each eye?

When thou came forth did nature cry?

 

Lyzard lyzard, slinking slow,

Under forests dimming glow:

What long vanquished limb or tree,

Dare form thy daunting symmetry?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE TYGER

William Blake

 

Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp,
Dare its deadly terrors clasp!

When the stars threw down their spears
And water’d heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger Tyger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

 

 

 DESERT DROUGHT

 

The desert landscape turns a haughty cheek

to all who dare intrude her crags and sand.

The searing sun bears down on strong and weak

who seek survival in her arid land.

 

Rocks riddled black with lines of ages past

provide a platform for a rattler’s coil.

Large gnarled roots from old trees lie amassed

and break black granite ridges in deep soil.

 

Here thickets of dead branches, prickling, stout, 

twist out like grasping fingers toward the sky  

begging for some rain to stop the drought—

but heavens slow response blows thin and dry.

 

Reaching skyward, all bleak petitions mired;

the time for wet redemption has expired.

 

CHOICES IN RED

 

Old concrete walls edge the freeway

teeming with torrents of sounds

as tendrils of red bougainvillea

creep over and down cement walls.

 

Heavy with lush vibrant petals

that reach for their spot in the sun.

moving inch by inch ever so slowly

adding cheer on that old slab of stone,

 

Ever creeping to cover the wall.

 

A red rugged semi rumbles on past

its broad flanks declaring its theme—

“Global Transportation” in capital letters

next to its proud coat of arms.

 

Rubber on asphalt and whop whop of tires

action rolling and pounding along

moving mile after mile so swiftly

trucking treasures to far-waiting ports,

 

Ever racing to cover the globe.

 

The red truck speeds on down the highway

charted and dispatched and fast,

day and night chasing the wide road ahead

and claiming the rim of the world.

.

Whizzing past carefree red blossoms

that inch all along the smooth wall,

reclining and blooming in stillness

as a breeze shoves their fragrance around.

 

One hurtles in long streaks of motion

to capture the world as it turns,

while one creeps along in the warmth of the sun

and basks in each moment serene.

Two reds—but which one’s for me?

EXHIBITIONIST      (She)     

Ambling through the woods,

I spot myriad pairs of trees

who look like a gal turned upside

down, her legs bursting out

of the ground, hips still half

submerged—not at all shy—

 

beneath the forest floor. I spy

her slender legs, heels holding

nests, kicking tall into the sky,

 

toes flailing leaves. Arms reaching     

down deep into the soil searching out

wet nourishment, digging to supply

 

underground support for her

supple, shapely limbs. Unabashed,

she spreads her tree legs wide.

 

No fig leaf hovers to cover

the center of her creativity,

at the meeting of her thighs,

 

the place of new beginnings

where no dry modesty resides.

Instead, vitality branches forth,

 

green, lush, fertile with ageless pride

as she flaunts her feminine wiles

entwining passion with new life.

  

EXHIBITIONIST      (He)

Unabashed

Unafraid

Bearing his wares

In forest shade

 

GOOD FOR THE SOUL

Life in the forest

can tickle your funny bone

even when you’re down

 

                       

KEEP SMILING

Hard rock friends agree

big grins chase shadows away

and keep you grounded

 

MISBEHAVING

 

For a forest dude

your unmannered attitude

frankly seems quite rude

 

 

CROWNED

 

Wandering along a mountain path

I stumble upon a crumbling pine,

fallen and still, sprawled atop

the forest floor.

 

Less than five feet tall, her brittle needles

cling to dry branches,

as thick grasses aggressively intertwine

her broken limbs.

 

Leafy ferns of green also encircle

her sagging form, companions true,

wrapping her against nature’s frightful wind,

weather, or storm.

 

Poking through collapsing branches

near her tapered top, cheery yellow flowers

burst forth triumphantly

from a prickly cactus mound.

 

This unexpected splash of color

in her decaying midst suggests

a delicate crown, lending soft dignity

to her final resting place.

 

Considering her demise, I heave a heartfelt sigh—

that when the dark earth

calls my name to lie beneath its loam,

I’ll have close friends

 

enwreathing me, and a glorious

burst of memories circling round my head—

just like the fallen pine tree

decomposing in the forest. 

 

WISTERIA FRENZY

 

Vines veer skyward

           spiraling on lattice walls

                     curling, climbing aloft

 

Tendrils twist toward sunlight

          dancing counterclockwise

                  at spring’s frantic pace

 

Buds burgeon and stretch

         swelling with new promise

                   ripe with lusty fragrance

 

Fall’s faded seed pods              

         nature’s twirling corkscrews

                    dangle from each bough

 

Blossoms burst and sway

         flutter in morning breeze

                   perfuming garden air

 

Purple pulses outward

 a hundred petaled fingers                                                                     

                       wave enchanted welcomes

 

Hummingbirds hover near

            delicate petals beckon

                      buzzing bees and butterflies

 

Multi mini blues

             lavender lilac and mauves                                             

                       hum rhapsodies in bloom

 

Spring sings with wisteria’s

floral chorus

                     clamoring for celebration

 

OLD JOSHUA

 

Old Joshua tree, you lift wild limbs

as a shield from the heat of the sun,

still as a statue, standing in sand,

named after Joshua of old.

 

Wild jackrabbits scamper and jump

round your shaggy brown bark,

scorpions crawl up and down your bent spine

and lurk in your odd-jutting arms.

 

Your quills offer refuge to lizards and wrens

and snakes slither past those cruel ends.

Yet just yesterday your sharp swords brought death

to thousands who stained the land red.

 

You marched around Jericho day after day

raising your bugles high.  You gave

the command, the walls tumbled down,

then your troops slaughtered all those inside.

 

You smote all the country, all of the hills,

with the edge of your mighty swords,

slaying soldiers and mothers and babes

in their beds, and kings, even thirty and one.

 

Joshua, recall how you lifted your eyes and

exclaimed, “Look—the sun’s standing still!”

The light in the heavens refused to go out

as it witnessed such bloodshed below.

 

Now you’re alone, epic Joshua tree,

grown old and smitten with time.

A lone silhouette with bent twisted limbs

against a red flaming sky.

 

No mighty armies can you command,

no promised land can you seek. Only

branches braced high cross a hot searing

sun to block scorching memories.

 

Do you lift prickly arms high up in praise

for the heated battles you’ve known? Or to

beg forgiveness for the carnage you’ve wrought,

and seek peace to quench your parched soul?