in Savannah
a shadow creeps at dusk
or stalks
presumably
a sasquatch or squirrel
The little girl unfurls her dreams,
Bringing forth the visions within her.
Yet the night cloaks her dreams,
Blurring her vision.
Home was not a place of bliss;
The world felt like a bleeding star,
Gradually losing its brightness with each drop.
Each day brought its share of struggles, lack, and deprivation.
Her father was a peasant farmer,
Labouring to put food on the table.
But what becomes of the skills that prepare a child for tomorrow's demands?
He was later incapacitated,
Yet he held on until he was called to the beyond.
Her mother was a petty trader,
Doing everything she could to help.
Shattered by her husband’s death,
She lived in the shadows,
Where nothing worthwhile could bloom in the meadow.
Still, the little girl unfurls her dreams,
Though she was taken to a strange land.
The visions inside her found light;
Her aspirations reached great heights.
June 30, 2025.
While on safari
(Kiswahili for 'trip')
in Tanzania
over the horizon in a downward slip
across the savannah
the sun had begun to set
thought I'd seen it all
and yet
out on the endless plains
known to the Maasai as 'Serengeti'
not laughing but
and don't think me petty
with leopard-like
rosettes dotted
some funny-looking hyenas
there were spotted
Africa, gentle your fiery wild blaze,
Lest heat waves plunder my safari days.
I seek adventure, wild, fun-filled and free,
Not scorching sunbeams that beg to drain me.
The savannah's golden vastness beckons,
Two giraffes emerge, my stares they reckon,
Their eyes bright, like ancient wisdom, meet mine,
My camera begs to flaunt their design.
Their gaze gave a shared fleeting scary bond,
My heart beats fast, with great wonder beyond,
The shutter clicked to a frozen delight,
Memorable moments captured pure bright.
I'm an estuary of ivy-furs,
sleeping in monsoonal moonglades of love~
as the savannah sun of sunset blurs,
slowly unveiling stars with golden glove.
When russet- fairies twirl in a bronze lake,
singing with springs of watermelon wand,
an untouched summer unfurls behind ache,
lacing twilights with lush wishes, so fond.
Garden of grapefruit, doesn't forbid faith,
exotic eyes paint life with a rare art,
where hilly hues drape seashores ~ daisy-bathe,
my muse weaves magic on the 'bay of heart'.
Savannah was from a small town. She had never been to the city.
Country boys were respectful, polite, they waited their turn.
These city boys fancied themselves men.
They were rude, staring in unexpected irritating ways.
Some followed her, saying weird things.
Savannah wished her aunt had picked her up at the train station.
She had the address, but was not sure how much further she would have to walk.
“Love the hat!” “Like to see more hair!” “Come, let me show you…..”
She hurried along, holding her aunt’s bouquet a bit tighter.
A street vendor chased the ruffians off.
“Don’t worry,” he said, “They will not be back.”
“How much further do I have to go?” Savannah asked, showing him the paper.
He told her she was going the wrong direction, and pointed toward the thugs.
“I will have my son, Orlando walk you,” He said.
Orlando was respectful, polite, and waited his turn.
He was tall and handsome, and made the walk enjoyable.
Savannah relaxed, realizing that all city boys were not thugs.
There once was a little boy from Trinidad
found barefoot in the Savannah mini-clad.
He started on his quest
in a ripped merino vest
but what adventures that little Trini had!
Written: May 2015
*The Savannah is a large open parkland
in Port of Spain, Trinidad. In 1964 I at
the tender age of 3 was found wandering
there in my underwear trying to find my
way back to my parents who had dropped
me home for a nap after a pool party. Our
housekeeper made the mistake of taking
a nap too. My tales of adventure even
made the newspaper the next day. Well,
they watched me like a hawk after that.
*Above is a pic of the Savannah.
*A Trini is a Trinidadian.
Old savannah, how old are you really
The moss hanging from the tree tells it all
Big oak and hickory that speaks and whispers
Old savannahs, how old are you really
Old street car rails still in place
If those street cars could talk
It would tell you an awesome story of its travels
Old savannah, how old are you really
With old statues of the folks that lived, fought and die here
Museums that tells your story
Old boats that travels up and down the river
To see historic heritage
Slave ships that docked at the ports
Showing signs of savannah’s events
Old savannahs how old are you really
That sassy young lassie from Savannah
She wound up in Cuba's old Havana
Playing fine flamenco guitars
Rolling pricey high-class cigars
And shacking with men in her cabana.
written June 23, 2021
Old savannah, how old are you really
If the moss hanging from the trees
Could talk, it would tell it all
Trees that whispers and speak of
The battles that you’ve faced
Old savannah, how old are you really
With old street car rails
That’s still in place
If they could speak, they would
Tell you some awesome stories
Of its travels
Old savannah, how old are you really
The old statues that stands
In place speaks out
About the people who
Lived, died, and fought for Savannah
The museums can tell you
Stories with its pieces
Old savannah, how old are you really
The river even have a story behind it
Showing off its massive port
Slave ships had return for decades
Slave for held and sold for auction
Other events were held to so,
Old savannah, how old are you really
Here's a puzzle, what's black, red, black, red, black, red?
This one's a challenge, is it several pieces of jam and toasted bread?
No points did you earn
'Twas a zebra with a sunburn
Rolling on the savannah, trying to get relief before bed!
MY NAME IS ---SAVANNAH ROSE SUNFLOWER
my name Savannah
my favorite flowers are
Roses Sunflowers
one is shaped like fist
and the other looks like the sun
both which bright colorful
radiant colors
and O’ how I love them so
Savannah Sunflowers
9/25/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
a dedicated Haiku verse to Savannah Sorensen
The sun saturates the Spanish moss,
hangs from the oaks like a lacy dress
A lovely, warm grayish green under the sea,
showing every stitch in the lace, swaying like a living reef
Nature created a lace that sun nurtures and air gives water
There is a sting nestled in the moss, a gnat that bites
like the burn of fire coral
Sunlight kisses the tips of the moss with a benediction of life.
Dear Southern Gals
Savannah - oh honey
You beautiful Belle
Your locks long and loose
And silver as well
Muted mementos
Of suffering of pain
Of tears you have wept
Long rivers of rain
Georgia - oh honey
You dear southern Belle
Your story is cruel
And shameful as well
Your tresses have witnessed
In somber green gray
The heartbreak the pain
The ship of that day
Oh Savannah oh Georgia
You dear Southern Belles
We hear you forever
Plead guilty as well
Now savour your beauty
The new dawn can’t wait
Start combing your hair
It’s time for a braid
Nicole de Jager April 2018
Among the tombstones -
Before I join the departed -
Calming breezes blow through ancient oaks.
Dew drips quietly from hanging Spanish Moss.
Eternity speaks,"Welcome - I will wait".
9/30/2017
For contest ABC poem for Sara Kendrick
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