Lobolian Poetry

The Hurricane and the Trees A Modern Myth of Florida Paganism by Birch V. Baum  &  A Hurricane Monologue by Opal Luna This is a story from not so long ago, when I was young and the seas covered all this land. The water elementals called the sultry ocean their home and swam happily among the waves. Yet over time, the land grew and grew beneath the ocean until one day an entire peninsula was born of seashells, coral, and limestone.  The land elementals gathered on this new Earth and fed life into its soil. From that life came many of the great Tree Guardians of ancient Florida, including the Cypress, the Palm, and the lord of them all, The Mangrove. Now in those days, all the trees lived on and were close to the ground and soil beneath their roots. They let some rain fall from the sky to nourish them with water, but none of the trees liked the heavy rains or flooded ground. The water elements were jealou...

This poem is currently under construction.

I woke one morning with a shiver in my heart So I wrapped it in soft clothes Muffling the broken thuds All day I walked, bound up inside Not knowing that I bled The blood grew heavy in the sunset I sank beneath its weight Coughing deadly redness i strained to move My heart shredded beyond repair I stretched out by the riverside Tears of blood draining out my eyes And there I died. In the spring the river rose Swept my body far away I awoke the next day Bound up inside Not knowing that I bled

Class end swiftly, shuffle in, shuffle out The wind asks to sweep me home I spread my wings, but cannot fly So I linger near to the ground The sun is bright, the air is warm And so towards the Earth I wander Down the bluff the river beckons So there I linger, hugging a shadow My world has shrunk, a puny cage Enough room to breathe, but none to roam Forcing me to memorize an inch's gems. But there in a hole of weeds Upon the earth, surrounded by bees My spirit escapes its hollow realms I could be anywhere, but I am here.

One hand strikes against the world Poised with deadly sinews of precision A smile lingers below glistening eyes Bonded coldly to a dashboard of death As the button sinks into its socket The flash comes, the end hammers. The clouds freeze that leer forever Nobody trembles, nobody knew. MaxiManiacs, Feminarch Poet Heiress to the Volkerian Minstrel Legacy

Human Nationalists Part 1 Upon Departure   Will you follow where we are led?  Can your heart not be swallowed  Hailing heroes of the dead   With their lives they saw us fed  Feasting in a world where life is allowed  Will you follow where we are led?   A trek to kneel, to bow, at a sea of red  Bubbling up, here reaper  Time left hallowed  Hailing heroes of the dead.   Though you would have fell back and fled  I know a path my dreams have followed  Will you follow where we are led?   As we kneel, raise your breathing head  Our greetings unheard by the sorrowed  Hailing heroes of the dead   In the dreams I kneel alone, yet abed  Yet doused in yearning.   Cowed,  Will you follow where we are led?  Hailing heroes of the dead?   Part II Upon Return   While you stood there what did you see?  Humans steeped in beliefs so dear...

The cold here is a kind and sensible cold That you wish will come more often While blistering winds howl down Assailing the face in detached hatred Impersonal, yet intense. Whitened lips defend teeth from the attacks So that the winds do not pain them On those days of mocking frozen sunlight But this cold is kindly cold Gentle to the touch, same as heat When its feathers graze the skin Except, of course That there is squishing beneath your shoes As the white stuff bemoans your trotting Quick, lively trotting to escape air that Pings upon your face While your toes go white and corpselike. A friendly, kissing chill That fades with the embrace of green.