Best Burrowed Poems
Satin Winged Flowers ...by Carrie Richards and Poet Destroyer
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Let's watch how they cluster in whirlwind ballets,
lifting like clouds from the dark swampy ground.
Burrowed in sunlight, then full-bloomed at midnight
Bouquets of white moths wings, will gather like flowers.
Rising from shallows, with satin-soft petals,
circling meadows in small constellations.
With great expectations, they rise in their journey.
Star-struck, while seeking the light of the moon.
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8/25/15
Alone, there I stood by the bench in the park.
On a leash by my side, my protective young hound.
In the distance I heard the echo of whispers;
As a dark hooded figure approached in a cloak.
She stopped and looked at me this beautiful maiden.
Rose like lips smiled gently, against skin bright and fair.
She took down her hood, released hair long and fair;
I offered my hand and on bench did we park.
We looked at the stars appearing so maiden;
As we talked of our youths and her company I did hound.
Then the moon cast its shadows and darkness did cloak;
Whilst trees bustled, rustling, the night timely whispers.
As we cuddled up close, to get warm friendly whispers;
It grew colder, I gave my jacket and said it wasn't fair.
So we got up to leave and she bunched up her cloak;
We walked to the car to the place I did park.
In the back did we place my faithful friend hound,
And we drove into the night on our journey so maiden.
We drove and we drove till the dawn arrived maiden.
To the rustling chorus of natures whispers;
And a fox searching for breakfast did stalk and did hound;
Saw chickens, roosters and hens such a fair!
In burrowed field did monstrous combine park,
Whilst autumn leaves rained tumbling natures cloak.
We went to my home and and we hung up the cloak.
Then I partook a chance to kiss the hand of my maiden.
While we spoke of the night at the park.
We enfolded ourselves to bodily whispers;
And I nestled amongst all of hair fair;
But when in heat of moment the barks of my hound.
A knock on wall from angry neighbors, please shut up the hound.
So I fed him, watered and let him outside; around me her cloak.
Then returned to my angel so beautifully fair,
Her skin looked so radiant my heavenly maiden;
That I caressed it so longingly, with gentle whispers,
Then stopped and remembered the leash in the park.
Then cursing the hound; I tell the dear maiden.
Dressed quickly, coats, cloak; and I love you whispers.
She tells me not fair, and we go to the park!!!
I'm always there, in that place that doesn't mean a thing to anyone but me. A far away
meadow where I don't have to hide all the happiness of a young girls heart. One that has
been ripped apart, so many times. I stare at all the beautiful flowers and trees of my
surroundings and let the wind gently rustle my hair. I close my eyes taking in all these
wonderful things, as I lie on the cool grass. My body mixes in with the air, and I'm blowing
past natures statues and creatures galore. I stop at the edge of a nearby pond, my body
floating softly to the ground as an eagles feather. I look deep into the sparkling image that
makes me who I am. I gracefully touch the water with my fingertips and let the water
shimmer like the stars. A white unicorn grazing near the freshly harvested hay, called out to
me. It approached me as I stood, and nuzzled my arm. I brushed its silk coat and burrowed
my face against her cool cheek. This is the reason I come to this place. To interact with the
things not known or believed in their world. Its just my own, my sound and the behind
scenes of my eyes. It's calm and peaceful, which their world is far from. I'm the only one with
the doorway to this meadow. I love going there, it's like a blanket that warms its comfort
over me when I need it the most. And when I get there, my feelings are a boat sailing to
sea, leaving me filled with perfect serenity. I'll always be there, till the end of all life, and I
know this lovely meadow will never be replaced.
There was no closure of a proper goodbye.
I tried, but...
no reply.
Your body became limp and cold as
a corpse.
We froze alone
in different time warps.
My ambiguous stutters
wouldn't disappear.
They pinched as they burrowed
like earwigs in each ear.
My mouth opened slowly
to suck the words back in.
Then the dead revived
and embraced my skin.
My heart bloomed in profusion
like first love's lilac.
With lips on lips
you took my words back.
When young men meet with
inexplicably sudden and biting ends,
not the whitewashed passing of those long in the tooth,
the silver-maned for whom all mourning may expire at death;
that burrowed-under-the-skin ache
where labored breath takes speechless flight
and bids farewell to carefree thought -
that a God of love
carries my heavy heart
seems inadequate in its wake.
Red Eastern Screech Owl
Ginger moonlighter, striated
in cinnamon spice and cream,
beautifies the stage with backdrop
of an ebony-stream horizon.
He perches alone
like a sculpture carved from
bark. Glossed in ginger, sparkling eyes
penetrate darkness in golden amber
gaze. Spiced wing-span drapes into sky,
as small creatures scamper
in wind song before his flight.
Then, harmony breaks into harsh
screeches of hunter to midnight.
Instinct infuses the senses - a sullen
lowering of head before swooping in
to the hum of quivering fields of grass
and restless rhythms of beginnings and ends.
He descends, crested in darker shades of crimson,
piercing the shield of night, with a sudden
shift from grace to strength.
Outside my window, I see a swift shadow,
like a sprinkling of spice, and then all is still.
I am desperate to know his secrets,
so, I ask him to come, please, teach me his ways.
Teach me, in ginger swirls, how to sway the clouds
and charm spirits watching from the ground.
He never replied, but burrowed deep
into my sleep, a rusty-red, gentle heartbeat.
All is wild in dreams -
One glimpse of a miracle
One glimmer of light
One fleeting moment
calls me to believe. I am convinced, some answers,
we are not meant to receive.
Now that you know me;
I am in your life for a reason -
I am in your life for a season.
I may be only your happenstance
your afterthought that comes
when all your cards are played.
Maybe I am your Ace in the hole.
Maybe I am your place to go
when there's nowhere else to turn...
Better I be burned into your memory
Forged into your lifeline
Better than being nonexistent,
like a spirit unavailable.
Open your hand and read my marks.
That's the depth of me burrowed I replenish,
I then branch off at the wrist
fading out of the flesh to watch you trekking
the short distance.
You are left alone with your maker
You and he finish strong.
I witness another winner and then I am gone.
Taking my place again in the back of your mind
You also in mine. Lives entwined for a Season.
imprinted in lifelines.
Part One: I Love
The eagle as it flies far above restless
fields of golden wheat and stagnant marsh bottoms
where mice and rabbits inhabit ancient cress,
living small and unaware now in autumn's
warning chill of season's soon coming winter~
but the eagle knows coming snow will splinter
nature into those who have and who have not,
and only wisdom will see what spring has wrought.
Part Two: I Hate
The cold wind as it winnows its spiteful way
across tall mountain peaks into the valley
where colorful summer flowers once did play,
enticing bees to a pollen-filled galley ~
now flowers are dead and the bees have withdrawn
to hide from the cold in their houses of brawn
while beautiful flakes become old snow piled deep,
and nature has burrowed for long winter's sleep.
It came without warning four hours before morning,
respecter of no man nor beast,
though the house was secure it had got in before
and headed straight up the stairs for a feast.
In bed I'd just turned when I felt my leg burn
as the fearsome thing tore at the skin,
I twisted and jerked, none of these tactics worked
as its teeth burrowed further within.
Now prostrate on the floor, I scrambled for the door,
gritted teeth in the silence, I begged,
but no mercy was shown, and I think it's well known
that there's nothing like cramp in your leg.
I’m Out of Here
(lyrics to be sung by a man about a bad girlfriend)
You tell the world we’re the greatest couple,
but they don’t see what I see behind the scenes.
Your love is just pretend. You always get
your way, and you keep getting it by any means.
There is no give and take – no compromise.
My feelings are irrelevant to you.
You asked me for a love song, pretty please.
Well, I’ve got one about a love untrue.
Yes, “Darling dear,” I’ve had it up to here.
It’s time at last for me to hit the road,
so listen up. I need no backseat driver
nor any of your stuff in my place stowed.
Chorus: I’m out of here; I’m out of here.
My truth I’m no more hiding.
Find yourself another fool.
My coattails you will be
no longer riding.
So there’s your song. I wrote it just like that.
What say you about my little ditty?
Karma is a witch, and you know what?
She’ll find you, and things will not be pretty.
Just try to find another guy like me -
some guy who isn’t lazy, mean or shifty.
I gave my all while you gave nearly nil -
well below the norm of fifty-fifty!
You are a leech that burrowed beneath my skin,
but there are many fish inside the sea.
I’ll be going fishing for a good one,
and in the meantime, I’ll be living free.
Chorus: I’m out of here; I’m out of here.
My truth I’m no more hiding.
Find yourself another fool.
My coattails you will be
no longer riding.
Blue hibernation tones
Frost shrunk the leaves curled
Frog that jumped into an icy pond
burrowed deep into the earth
- even the shadow turned to ice
(alternative possibility for survival )
Love winter for those short moments,
when the clouds break up
and the sun's rays shine
With my icy hands,
I cling to the miracles of joy
Spring's warming of the breeze
And the greening of the trees,
There's a settling in the hive
To the soft whispering of bees.
A burrowed beetle 'comes alive
To sate stomach's hunger drive,
While a newly structured nest
Assures us that the birds survive.
Yet there's no more time to rest.
Worker bees will start their quest,
While life settles in the hive,
Bees will bring back nectar's best.
A Night On The Town
While searching for a book, one that I hadn’t yet read
I stumbled upon a critter and this is what he said:
Although the library is quite cozy and nice;
Could you fancy a night out for the right price?
Howsabout we meet by the bibliotheca shrub?
A groundhog as I adores a good Punxsy pub.
Grab your coat and throw on your hat.
I’m ready to have a friendly chat.
I looked him in the eye and asked him his name
With delight, he said,
“You’re unaware of my fame.
My friends call me Phil, so I suppose you should too
Let’s blow this joint”
And away we flew
We wandered the streets of this charming town
Visiting shops and pubs, up the street and down
We feasted on grub and guzzled much drink
Then, Phil looked at me with a very hard think
“My friend, it’s been fun but it’s three in the morning.”
And he tottered down the street without any warning
I watched as he burrowed under the library steps
Down on my knees and behind him I crept
His words fell on my ears as he waddled out of sight
“My friend, it’s time for you to go as the sun soon brings light.
You see, I don’t mean to complicate.
But in the morning, I must prognosticate.
Meet me again: fight your way through the mob.
That tree over there; in Gobblers knob.
In just a few hours, at the light of the day;
Meet me again; and don’t delay.”
I did just that; I waited on the lawn
When Phil came out with a stretch and a yawn
With a wink and a smile, his eyes met me with regard
Then a man handed me a note. His name was Gerard.
“This note is from Phil. Don’t tell anyone he can talk, or find you I will.”
I took the note from this cryptic subversive
And found it to be written in splendid cursive
"Thank you for the night, full of libations and cheer
Let’s do it all again. Meet me same time next year."
We’re so tired, of winter’s, snow and ice,
For too long, we have been, within our house, winter’s price.
Why won’t you come, to visit us, and sing?
Where we’ll be touched, by your sun, so heartily, beaming.
Oh where! Oh where! Are you, our sweet Spring?
We need you, so very longingly!
We saw you peak out, for just one day.
Then you quickly, and suddenly, ran so very far away.
So we did a Rain Dance, and danced in the cold.
Without your shinning brightness, all we got, was cold snow!
Oh where! Oh where! Did you go, our sweet Spring?
Why did you run, so very far, with your blessing!
We sought the Groundhog, that he ask you, to come back.
But he was burrowed, deep beneath, all the snow, and ice pack.
He wouldn’t open his door, as we knocked, true and hard.
He refused, to even come out, as he denied the pleas, of this bard!
Oh where! Oh where! Are you, our precious, sweet Spring?
We beseech thee, to please come back, to me!
The trees want to bloom; their sprouts are ready, to collect.
Our hearts are there beside them, under this winter, and it’s effects.
We’ll sit here, dreaming of the beauty, only you can affect.
We’re hopeful, can’t wait, but now at March’s mercy, and redirect.
Oh where! Oh where! Did you go, our sweet Spring?
Our hearts and souls want to be warmed by thee!
What? Dragon and I see you! We rejoice my friend!
Our hearts, like the trees, are beginning, to warm again.
The snow is leaving; all is greening, before our eyes.
We beg you, to please stay here, solidly, close by our side.
Oh where! Oh where! Did you go, our sweet Spring?
At last! It doesn’t matter! We have you back, and all that you bring!
Written for my good Friend Jack Ellison.
The Ice Fairy Princess came roaring in from the Polar North.
She rode a fierce some Vortex, the likes would freeze a stalwart heart.
The penguins wanted out to play, but we had to bring them right back in.
We couldn’t find them in the snow, so deep, cold, and wild, was its spin.
Dragon found them with his fire, which quickly turned into puffs of snow.
Hamster flakes swirled all around, so a rope we used to bring him in, just so.
The temperatures fell, oh so cold, that they set, mighty records everywhere.
How do the Eskimos do it, or those brave souls called Canadians, up there?
How do they gaze upon the Ice Fairy Princess, and, still live to tell the tale?
Even Santa Jack, at the North Pole burrowed in, oh, so very deeply, they do tell.
If only she would borrow and ride his sleigh, next time, her visit might be nice.
As it is, it’ll take a month of digging to find our own front door, amongst the ice.
It’s so cold, that even Dragon can’t help, until his fire, stops coming out snow.
Birds that never migrate, flew South before this blistering storm… they did go.
I have lots of time, to get to know my family again, as they fuss about the snow.
As the roof makes creaky noises, so Trolls are shoveling up there, fast, not slow.
I hate to be unfriendly, but as guests do go, I wish she would stop, all this woe.
No one wants a guest, whose home warming gift, can lay you, this, so very low.
We’ve decided to hide deep within our houses, until her visit is finally done…
At least until the Ice Fairy Princess, has found her way back, where she belongs.