Best Babbling Poems
Coloured and in cascades, there's foam on the falls,
Elliptical dome shaped..almost perfect circles are recalled
Haven of childhood and sanctuary gained, ephemeral beauty
its existance proclaims, against backdrops on dewdrops in
rain on the leaves, bubbles are forming in torrents and streams
in my bathtub they a'wait me..under billows of steam..!
Copyright Joe Maverick 2011
On and on went the constant stream of
sound..
I got lost in my own musings, the second
time around.
She babbled her notions, to living things
that drank her.
They savored up everything, that she had
to offer.
I followed her down to the end of the
journey..
Laying down next to her, I enjoyed the
tranquility!
Babbling Brook was spent from her travels
of the day.
But, she kept on moving as time drifted
away.
All of the rumors of nature, were imparted
to me..
Of what was to come and what was to be.
She slowed down her stream coming
upon a nook..
Never can she really rest~for she is a
babbling brook.
for my precious granddaughter, Brooke
whom I hope one day will be able to talk again…
The babbling little brook ,
was enjoying the warmth of the autumn sun,
Thinking about where her waters flowed,
then wondering from where they come,
She was lined with a mosaic of pebbles,
all different sizes and kinds,
Some had a glittering sparkle,
holding minerals that could be refined-
As the sun went down and night arrived,
the moon with the stars sprinkled light,
Little brook awaited for winter months,
when she’d be covered in a blanket of white,
A few simple answers, she thought,
then a happier brook I’d be,
Searching for wisdom high and low,
she gazed up at the conifer trees-
The babbling little brook,
was seldom all alone,
Surrounded by picturesque beauty,
in a mountain forest she called home,
There had to be other water sources,
but where could they be found?
She knew that all of the forestlands,
composed 1/3 of earth’s precious ground-
Winter passed, then spring arrived,
the little brook to the brim was full,
A wise old owl flew across her path,
letting his words in the gentle winds blow,
"Precious little brook," he hooted real loud,
"you hold the mountain's melting snow,
and as it travels down and leaves you, dear,
it’s out to the sea where it goes"-
Knowing from where her waters came,
and where they'd end up to be,
made the little brook happy,
as she greeted the summer with glee,
Campers and animals were her friends,
this was her favorite time of year,
Often the focus of a photographer’s lens,
she gave drink to all that came near!
babbling brook flows -
gently down the outcrop stream -
musical journey
The Babbling Brook
The babbling brook was very loud.
When people saw her first, she drew quite a crowd.
Usually, brooks are relaxing and smooth
This brook was different, but not to be rude.
She always kept the villagers up at night.
But they were very kind and didn’t put up a fight,
She babbled and spoke from dark till light.
In the middle of the village, where the brook was in sight.
Though everyone could see it, it was still overlooked
They had the wrong impression on the babbling brook.
One day, a girl, who was small and kind
Sat by the brook and a question came in her mind.
“Hey Brook, Why don’t you tell me a story?”
Then it started talking about its former glory
It chatted and chatted, and it wasn’t boring.
The other villagers noticed and starting to listen.
At the end of the tale, their eye sort of glistened
When they snapped out of it, they started to cheer
They asked more, for more they wanted to hear
Everyone started to like the babbling brook.
And it alerted them from every thief and crook.
Their lives got better, and the reason is quite clear.
A key to happiness is just to open your ear.
The flow of time and I but a stone in the current
Upstream I cannot know,
Downstream but a memory.
Piece by piece I am worn,
To the past I become,
A shadow of what went before.
But I stem the flow, life's blood,
Staunch and strong,
Present in this single moment.
Stoic
In this crooked chair i sit
at this crooked table
at this crooked desk
and write my crooked thoughts
looking out the crooked window
out onto the crooked crooked street
thinking about how crooked the world is
when suddleny is top and realise
the crooked people arent crooks
everything is crooked
crooked jails
crooked hospitlas
crooked business men lawyers and politiicians
crooked churches crooked steeples
crooked believers crooked people
it was perfect perfect and crooked
crookedly perfect
perfect people
perfect houses
perfect airplanes
and perfect yachts
perfect make me sick
keeping up with the joneses
perfect white teeth
perfect bodies
perfect hair
perfect health
thwey werent crooked?
were they?
croooked like me?
crooked like them crooked in a world full of rooked people and the crookedest
thing to do was to stand straight
and make a show of it!!
whose going to replace all of this crooked ness and turn this beautiful now?
Do you think its disrespectful to curse
on the same lines as the word God
even unaware rambling through society
on a hot plate.
I hoped criminals hooked you like a fish
like the images in my mind last summer
a little to real to be mental illness
It felt like a group of emps got together
for a pajamma party in my head.
And whats up with all the exploitation of
religous poems; hologram tecnology I
love star trek smothered with onions
and volkens on some cloaked rock
Humans shouldn't hurt humans inless its in
self defense, and if so least have the half of
heart to say sorry by f--- you
I'm doubting the whole humanity thing
just like charity just something to make
me look good, deep down I'm the villin and
you know it
I'll get it all back at the end of the year anyway
Not all just some, the ones who can turn money
and power into a mind f--- jinxing yourself for
a petty laugh
I use to get high to Marvin Gaye
wine, the good kind you need a kork for
steak and onions, the good kind you need a knife
and fork for
The midnight whores was knockin on my window
like a heavy hail storm
they never went in from the cold they used the pipe
to stay warm
yeah I said, the pipe to stay warm.
There once was a babbling brook flowing through the field,
just one look is all it took to see the beauty of nature’s gift-
All the leaves from the trees seemed to gather in the weald,
in the lumbered beaver dam lay a weak and broken rift.
Just one look is all it took to see the beauty of nature’s gift,
I see the cascading reflections surfacing with the ebb flow-
In the lumbered beaver dam lay a weak and broken rift,
for when the twilit moon arrives it leaves a honeyed glow.
I see the cascading reflections surfacing with the ebb flow,
with mossy vines running through the emerald of the trail-
For when the twilit moon arrives it leaves a honeyed glow,
because of the morning dew, the water is left cold and frail.
With mossy vines running through the emerald of the trail,
it spreads and reaches the distance no space can feel-
Because of the morning dew, the water is left cold and frail,
it shimmers below the setting of the sun that can heal.
It spreads and reaches the distance no space can feel,
for in the light of day the grassy covered land is sincere-
It shimmers below the setting of the sun that can heal,
and as it glimmers it brings splendor into the atmosphere.
For in the light of day the grassy covered land is sincere,
all the leaves from the trees seemed to gather in the weald-
And as it glimmers it brings splendor into the atmosphere,
there once was a babbling brook flowing through the field.
December 14, 2016
When magpies' crackle joins the song
Another answers from below--
That neighing horse completes the verse
Until loud winds hush gossip's row.
This brook in the woods I pass in the winter
It babbles and blisters and wanders and splinters
In all sorts of directions grinding and winding
Turns back in connection then to itself binding
Like limbs of a squid with their purpose undid
A playground of kids with rules they've rid
Not rigid or timid, free flows with no limit
Nothing to follow, full of depth's wildest grit
A space not to wallow, fills up all its hollow
Ill will and doubt with my pride it can swallow
Like veins it runs through with no skin to confine
This brook in the woods of a place that's all mine
Resistivitiy Metrics are aassocated with
locating water before the drilling.
where discussions take us
from price to certainty
Costing then finds us as we
are excited to see
in awe we gloat and glare
those whos lesser understanding
just look at stare
which reduces labor
a chore which we support
then to doing
then that whats been needed
done
we applaud happy
as we prepare to drill
reliblity and productive
automation Barnard 33
The Unbridled view!
the construction of the
depths of Kiffer
Coolwind,Woodwind,brasswing
a sleek design
200 Series 4-Value
BBb Tuba by
Dear the Pope
was supposed to vote
but sat around
just taking notes
Holy Sheesh!
was he asleep!
and so it goes that
a whole in sheets
don't mean two cents
if we miss a beat
it wasn't meant
to be anything less...
then Heaven sent.
so if I must
I did in deed
asked to confess
within my peace
and prayed to a god
I couldn't see and
asked the guides
forgive me please
... I know not what I do.
humble i go to the
apple grove
babbling love as
much as i know
and asking still...
god let me grow.
I sleep not nights
I write in lights
flickering in
a candles glow.
babbling words
i shall not know.
"...see no evil..."
is what I heard.
"...and hear we know..."
is what i learned.
"...live on..."
it was written and
SEWN
crusty ol’ Clint
pausing & gesturing,
babbling & rambling
through what others have
deemed a “speech”---
talking to that
empty chair on stage
in front of all the hopeful
repugnicans (a room full
of predominantly old white
people…some even wearing
stuffed animal hats), hinting
at profanity that might come
from the mouth of president
hope & change, as if he
might be different than the
new filthy wealthy mormon
robot that could sweep in by
the same tethers of Wall St.,
Big Oil, Big Tobacco, AIPAC
& the military-industrial
complex, with a new smile
but the same old lies &
then the ancient actor’s routine
makes itself known throughout
the net, going viral for those
of us who could give a ****
about the “election” of a
mouthpiece for those lies---
as if one couldn’t write down
the future, scripted word for
word, drop it in a time capsule
& open it up in another 4 years,
getting every single prediction
right---for we are going into
Syria, we are backing batshit
berserk Netanyahu on his crusade
into Iran, we are getting rid
of jobs in the US & adding more
cameras, police & security to
watch those of us who are
suffering, so that we don’t
strike up another conversation
in the community with a box full
of bombs bought online, a couple
of fully automatic rifles in our
hands & all the unemployed time
in the world to wreak havoc on
those who still for some reason
believe in this system, like good
ol’ multimillionaire Eastwood---
that is, a world full of violence
that mr. “make my day” can sink
his ****ing dentures into.
BEAUTIES BY THE BABBLING BROOK
They sat on the boulders
by the babbling brook
basking in God's brightness,
their bronze curly locks
bouncing as they giggled.
Their beauty was perfect
in every way, including
the big beautiful bold eye
that graced each of them
centered in their foreheads.
They were giggling at me
because I balked at each
questioning my own sight;
could it be, I asked myself,
God made them one-eyed?
Their laughter mingled
with the songs of the brook
as I marveled at their beauty,
even though embarrassed
for having gawked at them so.
What could I say as I walked away?
(From a dream: Mar. 1, 2008)
[It should be noted that on the front page of The Komsomolskaya Pravda, the
Russian Newspaper, it was reported on 2/22/2005, that a baby girl was born with
one blue eye centered in her forehead. She died right after birth, only having
taken one breath. I researched this, because I could not believe what I saw in
this dream; also I worried that it would discredit my vision of Heaven. I hope to
see these beauties again in Heaven when I get there. I'll want to be their friend
and get to know them better.]
“...there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no
more pain, for the former things have passed away.”
REV 21:4
GOD'S ANGELS HAIKU
They are all over
fluttering up, down, here, there,
bringing messages.
“'He who overcomes shall be clothed in white garments, and I will not blot out his
name from the Book of Life; but I will confess his name before My Father and
before His angels.'”
REV 3:5
These poems are the last 2 poems in my IN HEAVEN book, which is 165 pages
long, and for which I'm seeking a publisher.
(C) Sheila Kathryn Barrera Feb. 12, 2008 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
http://www.myspace.com/sheila_kathryn_barrera