Bayou Des Allemands Robert O. Zehr | home

My Poetry Page

Sheer Beauty

(On seeing a rainbow in 1969)

I saw a rainbow

Through rain swept skies-----

Mere beauty.

I saw compassion

Through tearstained eyes---

Sheer Beauty !

by: Robert O. Zehr

Take Off

We lumbered down the runway,

Gained speed,

Became a bird,

But lost the sun.

It sank from view,

Day was done.

And that was that!

Transformed we lifted.

And as we rose,

We pried a fingernail of gold

From the edge of the earth.

Up. up the golden orb

Rose before our eyes.

And as we leveled off

Slowly set again!

by: Robert O. Zehr

Bluebirds (1972)

Bluebirds are hard to find now days.

We have poisoned them.

We have razed their nesting places,

Until I thought there were no more.

But today I saw eight bluebirds

Flashes of powder blue.

Whirling on the edge of an April wind.

Their burnt breasts flamed as they flew.

And their wistful calls were notes of hope to my polluted earth.

Bluebirds are hard to find now days.

Today I saw eight!

by Robert O. Zehr

Cat Cold

Cold paws of icy wind prowl and scratch around the eaves.

The cat cold cries to get in.

It rattles panes and pulls at screens.

The cat cold rubs my window.

A porcelain half moon is pasted low,

On a china bowl that arches dim.

And the cat cold laps at the milky edges

That are melting pink on the frozen rim.

The cat cold wants to rub my shoulder.

The cat cold wants to lick my cheek.

But the warm Sun born grows bolder.

And the cat cold stretches on my window sill---

Fast

Asleep.

by Robert O. Zehr

Thunder Storm

God's Wonder! Boiling clouds, cathedraled Thunderheads.

Earth purged streak by streak, air cleansed.

Herculean might, wind swept genuflecting trees,

All earth bent in ritual awe baptism to receive.

Thirsty dust, thirsty grass drink driven drops sparsely spent.

Then sound of rushing wind,

Rain- sheets from heaven rent.

Ablutions pass, light streams,

And thirst- quenched leaves and thirst-quenched grass lift succulent to heaven

From whence the savage healing flowed.

by: Robert O. Zehr

On Watching the Sun Go Down

I stand on the grassy knoll and watch the butter ball sun melt helplessly

into a cotton candy profusion behind the westward trees.

The weight of my spinning world swallows it.

Darkness licks the edges clean

Until no pinks, golds or baby blues remain.

I marvel that the butter ball sun yields to the darkening iron edge,

And loses itself so readily with candy- cottoned ease.

For from my vantage point I witness its demise with unbelieving eyes.

At precisely that moment half a world away,

My sun is breaking loose from the darkened iron edge that grips it

And pushes free!

It climbs in metallic, golden splendor

Away from my night.

And wakened Oriental birds welcome it

in coppery, jade ecstasy!

by: Robert O. Zehr

Psalm 135

God, I never knew you keep your blustery winds in a storeroom!

How big is your storeroom?

Are the hurricanes hard to keep in?

Are they under lock and key?

Do the tornadoes howl to get out of the drawer you keep them in?

Are they folded neatly or are they a twisted mess?

Do the windstorms become old and stale and shop worn?

Full of holes

Moth-eaten

Rusty

Mildewed

How big a handful of wind makes

a cyclone

a Northeaster

a thunderstorm?

Why do your winter storms blow so cold?

How do you warm the winds of Spring?

"With Love?"

"God, I am glad that the full fury of the wind is contained in

Your storeroom!"

by: Robert O. Zehr

I’m Handmade, By God!

I’m special

I’m unique

I’m handmade

By God!

From earth God scooped up the substance of me

God molded that dirt

In his hands

He pinched and pulled

He patted

He shaped me

I have his fingerprints all over me

On my back and tummy

On my face

On my heart

On my hands

I’m handmade

By God!

By: Robert O. Zehr 1/13/2003

Our Souls Swept Out to Sea

by Robert O. Zehr 11/01/2006

We are the seed of slaves who wrested this Beulah Land from the fetid swamp

The craftsmen who sweated the bricks and shaped your walls

Who slashed the cane and milled its sweetness for your coffee

Down along the bayous and the gator holes

We sleep to the drone of malaria

We live where you wouldn’t live.

But there in our cabins we breathe free

There our souls sing the songs of freedom.

Our fathers are the red men who peered out through the palmettoes

Who moved off the best land when our women and children were threatened

We backed into that no man’s swamp

And the world let us claim it

Until progress discovered black gold beneath our huts

And denied our children books and chalk

But the great Spirit taught us from his storehouse

The lessons of nature and wisdom beyond this primordial mud

In this unwanted place we regained our souls

We are the issue of the hated in a land across the sea

Who braved that sea to a new world

Who built homes in a promised land-- a New Acadia

Only to discover hatred had followed like a stray dog

Persecuted we moved

Scattered along the new world’s coast .

We were shoved and pushed until we joined other hardy souls

In a swamp that no one wanted

We are the Cajuns

Our souls are bound to the bayous, tides and the mighty cypress touching heaven.

We are the new immigrants

We are of Hispanic ancestry from Carribean shores

We invested our lives in a dream

We are the new immigrants from the rice paddies of Vietnam

We bring our skills, our hopes and our crushed souls to be nurtured in this new place

A place where our souls can blossom and live again.

Our collective dreams have soured into a nightmare

A bad dream called Katrina, A horror called Rita

Our homes and our livelihoods wrestled from the swamp by our forefathers

Paid for with sweat and tears

Vanished in a moment as the winds and the waters snatched them away

As they swept to sea, our souls drowned with them

We are the forgotten, a people without a soul. Diaspora is our name.