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Return to the Land of the Lotos-Eaters

written by: Sean Jandle

 

I have no words to say what here I've seen,
For words so oft confuse the story's tail.
I have but thoughts to think here what I mean,
Yes, thoughts will lift the mystery and veil.

Odyssey, I and mine:

Wander wet on wooden holy wonder,
Endless sky and ocean lie before.
Lightning struck and rolled in holy thunder,
Ride the foam-filled waves unto the shore.
Heave and ho and lift and let the oar,
Noon and moon and languid air be damned.
Must we wander thirsty evermore?
Swifter now to better praise the sand.
If you value freedom make for land.

Sunsetting valley-mountain now appears,
A fertile isle here split with many streams,
Abating well the ghost of evening fears
And haunting like the ghost of evening dreams.
The flower-fruit on dale and mountain teems,
A land so wild that no mild god might tame.
And in the dying waves of golden beams
To give the fateful fruit a proper name
The wide-eyed wondrous Lotus-eaters came.

They, free men true and bearing with them gifts,
Had I and mine to greet and get along
And share the sacred plant which spirit lifts
To heights of bliss and majesty of song.
And some refrain, profess it rightly wrong
Untill his tongue is silenced by the taste
Of truth and peace in place of might and strong.
The multitudes will ever lay in waste,
Their very lives consumed by War and Haste.

But this fair island reef has greater seed
And many waiting fields yet still to sow.
Away from all necessity of need,
We've many miles to sleep before we go,
Enwrapped in twilight's everlasting glow.
Then one by one the sailor's chorus came,
"Nay, never home will waters for us flow,"
And all at once, "We've no one here to blame,"
"For All is One, and One is All the same."

They sang:

There is a color here that brighter shines
Than rare white-gold or diamonds in the rough
Or any gem for which the spirit pines
Of green or blue or yellow-not-enough.
This color flows like coal from diamond mines,
A dance beneath the surface of the creek
And sometimes running straight in solid lines
And sometimes chasing back and forth in streak.

Why venture home to where the color runs
In black or white or grey or none-at-all?
That place which harbors love but magic shuns
Is lost behind its safe but quiet wall
Composed of timeless tales and dying suns.
And when the trumpets cry for war to break,
Raise your sharpened sword and load your guns
To kill yourselves for God and Heaven's sake.

Most weary is the soul that ever ambles
And grave the consequences felt therein.
Brave fool called man will lie in utter shambles
His fate to run the race he cannot win.
He plants and plows in sweat to propagate
And burns the blazing sun onto his skin,
But breeding only discontent and hate
For all its worth is clearly paper thin.

Tread lightly here where grow the hallowed blooms
Whose only labor swaying in the breeze.
On hill and vale the blessed blossom looms
Whose only Winter shelter is the trees.
This Gaea's globe in caring for the Spring,
Whose careful arms the sun-god oversees,
Bears life upon the down beneath her wing
And sheds her fruit to feed the birds and bees.

So if you feel afraid of fear of sense
Become at one with Mother Earth and live
Far well beyond all toil for recompense,
Well far beyond a use for take and give.
Look past your lasting wall and jump the fence.
It beckons you and welcomes too your kin,
A land with lush awareness growing dense,
A world of peace that has no word for sin.

So search the endless void to find the nose
That lies upon your still dumfounded face.
If all the world is stage and name is rose
Then try to fill your fate in proper place,
Or seek to fill the void with time and space.
And if you're hoarding gold in hurried pace,
You'll never get to first or second base;
You'll never win or tie the human race.

And I digress:

Though sunset long is gone beneath the wave
And twilight dead to both the day and night
The Lotus blooms for all who truly crave
The blessings of the gift of second sight,
To walk the sleeping world in waking light.
Upon the shore the salty sea did pound
Like beating wings of songbirds taking flight.
I never will forget that pulsing sound
Nor ever leave the land that there we found.

Sean Jandle

Sean Jandle

I'm a poet from Baton Rouge, Louisiana. I've been writing poetry for as long as I can remember. The natural world is my greatest inspiration, and I explore it as often as I can, even if only in my mind. My first poetic influence was Shel Silverstein, but E.A. Poe is my personal favorite.
Sean Jandle

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