Literary Yard

Search for meaning

‘Rediscovering Lost Worlds’ and other poems

By: Ray Whitaker


A waterfall plunges hundreds of feet
down into a chasm
only flown into by hummingbirds
they dip into the edges of the cascading water
and slipping thru the rainbows of red, blue, yellow and purple
down there.

Green vegetation grasps tenuous footholds
on rock faces lining the walls
the water cares not, it goes on
there is a quiet roar from below.

It is as if the water is civilization
slipping towards discord
descending away from the heights of culture
languages, arts to be forgotten as they always are

on the broken cliffs of time,
as humanity searches for the right answer
stubbing toes on the wrong interpretation
even whilst standing in broad sunlight.

The river continues to pour over cliffside
white mist obscuring seeing the way
pouring towards a new enlightenment,
a coat of many colors.

The rock beneath is ancient, smooth brown sandstone
no fossils can be seen within them.

To trudge on this unevenness
is stepping in the direction of a distant hut
barely visible off in the horizon,
the light inside welcoming we strangers
encouraging us to step determinedly
towards building anew.


    There is no decent
    into madness
    only an ascent
    to consciousness

    this, the challenge to each of us
    that express our creativity
    no matter, which language you speak
    or, where you live in the world.

    There is still the temper
    the visions, 
    the imaginings
    that your muse comes and gives.

    You have done the donkey work
    putting in the time at the place to
    write, to ponder the next word
    given to, and to give to others

    we can go to the well
    never seeking anything but the water
    never mind that the bucket comes up half full
    the muse will assist.

    There is still the vigor
    the sight of a possible future, 
    your imaginings to share
    that your muse comes and gives.

    We, those that are creative spirits
    have a duty to 
    the world
    those around us

    to lift up the blanket
    peal back the shroud
    covering the embodiment
    of what should be in the light.

    The Romans believed 
    there is a genius in the room with you.

    The place you are in has many warm colors.


I am the Emir of all Apples
having orchards being the envy of all others
showing but little concern for their opinions
my apples are as robust
as any grown in a fertile Iowa glacier soil
I seek not agreement
or supposition, from the supine masses
tho I appreciate [expect, too] their bowing to my needs.

I am the Emir of Apples
eating them with impunity
aware of the analogy of the Garden of Eden
and ignoring the chances of forbidden fruits
believed by many
in lands far way.

I am the Apple Emir
flying in my MIG 29 fighter jet
high above the world
just for fun just for amusement launching a rocket
disregarding, disinterested, detached, in the struggles of the ground below
ignoring those nations that may be in bitter combat
knowing all the while I could offer solutions
to put the world at better ease,
however having no concern, but for my Golden Delicious fruits
that are laid out on a platter in my palace.

I am Emir of the Apples
while eating the Red Delicious fruit
a drip of my saliva runs down my chin
while stifling the freedoms of my subjects
to speak freely, and live their lives fully
coercing their religions and pursuit of earthly happiness.

I am the Emir of All Apples
the flag flying above the palace walls
dull in the windless darkness even with lights on it
proclaiming twenty four seven the ownership of all things
I do not mind all of the humanity outside
crying for an elusive peace.


We think of forest fires consuming
fires burning thousands of acres
smoke rising as if from a battlefield
heavens obscured, dissipated and hidden by flickering grays and oranges

wishing for rain is on everyone’s mind.

Moses was mystified by the holy ground around the bush
made to take his shoes off in it’s presence
what could the mandate to lead mean, given by God,
I ask this question.

We long for long, drenching showers.

Leading teaching understanding directions
not just putting one foot in front of the other
is that determination, not leading into the smoke,
i ask this question.

Three days of rain would be in order.


Ray has been writing both prose and poetry since he was seventeen. He has three books published from NEWNESS TWONESS BOOKS:ACKNOWLEDGMENT: Poems From The ‘Nam,” a two-volume set [2019]; and “23, 18,” [2020], and “For The Lost and Loved.” [2021].  A chapbook, THE SCUPPERNONG WORKS”  was published last fall, also by Newness Twoness. His fifth poetry book now at publishers for consideration, THE TAVERN ON OLD LOG CABIN ROAD. 

For The Arts and Humanities, at Weymouth, in Southern Pines, NC. He is the father of two daughters, and lives in Colorado Springs, Colorado. 


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