Best Creek Bed Poems
Somewhere in a dream,
Serene and blissful from the start
It comes to me again
The two of us in love, and eagerly alone
Breathlessly naive', and blissfully assured
that we would be as one
...that nothing in the world outside, could ever be compared
Two bikes took rest against a tree
We climbed the nearest hill,
Through foxtails, deep and thickets, high
Along a creek bed, far and wide,
wading through warm granite stones
Slick and wet, with velvet moss
littered deep with autumn leaves, and the urgent tender years
My darling...do you remember...?
We were like children, we marveled and swooned
at the shapes of the clouds in the lavender sky
changing their forms in a wink of the eye
We were wild with love, that stirred the stones
Discovering firsts, and thirsts unknown
Layers of years, now whisper here,
Imprisoned in this hidden place, with every breath of air
Not a fluent time that bends or moves
...but time fully reasoned, with ancient eyes
Unwound of it's youthful eyes and loves
Where dulcet words plucked out of space
Have not been tinged by autumn's breath
And innocence is scattered like leaves upon the breeze
And lingers, ...with a sweet wistful sigh
We who once made love, ...a thousand skies ago
Have slept with tossing shadows and lilting cries
Still tremble with the memory
Oh, ...I know the subtle ways of empty dreams
And I shall go by silent lanes and leave this day....and you....
....timeless here
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
I've passed it by, so many times before
While traveling this twisted asphalt highway
That weathered sign, nailed, so crudely fashioned
To peeling bark, upon the yoke
Of one ancient, gnarled and battered cottonwood tree
It marks a fork of the old backwood road
Where gravel branches, bends and sways
And meanders through the glade
Where the dry creek bed, goes high into the hills...
Where poison oak thrives, and secrets hide...
There it is!.... That feeling, that inclination to explore...
I've had before....
Stabbing that place of my wanderlust
My curiosity....
An old dented mailbox....sitting alone...whose, do you suppose?
Where does the mail go? Does anyone know?
So many times,.....we have passed on by...
I've caught a glimpse, and thoughts would rise...
What lies beyond this fork in the road?
What lies beyond the bend, the turn?...What would we learn?
What course, would we follow
If just this once, we turned, and broke away from the ordinary...
Changed our direction...followed the unknown
Where the creek runs dry
And the banks are rife...
With chokecherry....and willow scrub
Where leaves are layered with chalk white dust?...
Will we ever know?
What lies beyond the fork in the road?....
As I turn my head, and watch my chance disappear once again....
Will I ever know?.....
_________________________________________________________________
Caressing the mind
And kissing
Glossy, smooth stones
Liquid rippling
Flowing over the bed
Hues of taupe
Sand and charcoal
With hints of lavender
Coloring the emotions
Wistful, willful, warm
Like the flavor
Of a rising storm
Resting on the sand
Brilliant like the sunshine
Glowing in moonlight
Smooth stones
Risking their stability
In the currents
Gracefully pouring
Along the edge
Of an emerald forest
Pines, oaks and birch
A leaf dancing
In the starry flames
Night’s radiance
Whispering to souls
In prayers of faith
Discovered on
The winds of a day
Bought by the songs
Of wren and robin
Frogs on mossy stones
Beckoning to the
Promise of rainfall
Smooth, lasting stones
Layered on shores
Of rivers and creeks
Awakening the bare feet
To memories
Of childhood days
Spent wading, playing
In the clear, cool waters
Alive with sinuous fluid
Waters surging, rolling
Across the mind
Who delights in praising
The Creator who
Rests these stones
Upon the shores
Of hope and faith
Love which praises
As it slides
Across the surface
Of these fluent waves
Both agile and gracious
Molding the stones
In their favor
L Contest
I’ve been lost for days now, an’ all the country looks the same.
I’ve been walkin’ ‘round in circles, an’ found my footsteps once again.
Me ‘tucker’ bags been empty for, three days an’ there’s this ragin’ thirst.
I feel my tethers at its end. I can only fear the worst.
I must keep these tired legs strugglin’ on toward the mirage up ahead.
I pass the bones of sheep an’ roo’s, an’ quietly shudder at the dead.
There’s not a livin’ thing around, ‘cept ‘Old Blue’ at me feet,
he’s lookin’ more like mutton now, an’ good enough to eat.
I stumbled to a creek bed, where red gums offered shade,
with one of my last three matches, a little fire was made.
‘Old Blue’ looked bravely up at me, he knew there’s nought to eat.
And I’m sure my old dog realised, he was the only meat …
‘Old Blue’ laid beside the campfire, but was lookin’ pretty scant,
for he never had his coat on now. He couldn’t bark or pant.
I thanked him in a sobbin’ grace … cut slices off him with a knife.
A real mate was me old dog ‘Blue’. I know he saved me life.
‘Old Blue’ deserves a medal, for the dedication he has shown.
He’d know that I was upset now, ‘cause I hate eatin’ on me own.
Old memories came floodin’ back, now I’m full I feel so sad,
as I recall the good times, ‘Old Blue’ and I have had.
I stared into the glowin’ embers, an’ watched ‘em slowly die.
With what was goin’ through me head, a tear fell from me eye,
I sadly eyed the little pile that had built up on the stones …
Thinkin’ ‘Gee I wish that Blue was here … he would’a loved them bones’.
Hiking a dry creek bed, at the mountain's base
I happened on an old grist mill, a prisoner
of time, serving life in isolation.
A few rotten boards scattered about
was all that remained of it's dilapidated Norse wheel
The broken millstone lay silent on it's bed
the thick green ivy walls, closing in.
Guarded by giant pin oaks and river ash,
yet one could easily see evidence of visitors.
I was trespassing, not on land
but on another time, another's dream.
What was most likely, once a busy road
for horse drawn wagons had become
a clearing for utility poles and wires
I did not enter but I stood there
envisioning yesterday. mountains on both sides,
creek of fresh running water and the
serenity of this lush mountain valley.
Then cynically muttered,..."Progress"
5/27/2018
Sat on top of High Lonesome Hill
It would scream, cry, lacked grease and oil
The lonely sound as the mountain wind would blow
Pumped ice cold water, thirsty cows would drink their fill
In the summer time, the Sun would boil
Still pumping even in the snow
Built out of oak timber
Many years ago, strong as the day was long
Storms come and go, still standing tall
Never missed a day of work since I can remember
And singing it's mournful song
For a bunch of thirsty cows, it was "Cattle Call"
The road there was an old dry creek bed
In the oak trees, the deer would hide
I would ride there on a buckskin bay
For hours of dreaming and resting my head
All that was yesterday
Windmill spin as you pump the cowboy's gold
With a piece of beef jerky, a no finer meal
If that could only happen again
Like the memory that only a cowboy can hold
That old spinning windmill wheel
It was Heaven without any sin
There is a place I long to be….
A fervent wish......I often see
Where I can close the book, take a breath
Close my eyes….and remember……...............me....
~
Where once again….I will find myself….
my forgotten self, along the sea…
There is a beach of pure white sand
An island in a far-off strand
Where I shall walk with happy feet
Where tall palms overhead will meet
Where green and scarlet birds will fly
Beneath a golden tropic sky
There is a spring, whose waters flow
Along a creek bed cold as snow
That I shall drink with eagerness
With taste of mint and watercress
To quench a thirst that I have known
Within my very flesh and bone
I have a world in which to roam
A tree a thousand miles from home
That I have never even seen
And yet I know it's branches green
Will give me shade some happy day
Beside a lake long miles away
My wish foretells a longing fate
And so I'll bide my time and wait
~
There is a place I long to be….
Where I can close the book, take a breath
Close my eyes….and remember……
me…..
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For Contest: Island of Fantasy
Sponsor: Nayda Ivette Negron
In high school, before I dropped out,
I’d sit by the creek bed
smoke cigarettes and grass with my friends and
say; “something is missing, man;
something’s not right.” But
Everyone feels they’re an outcast
at sixteen, sweet
potential bursting unseen
in the long dull mirror
of mediocrity.
Stoned, I’d contemplate the lay of the land:
Dad awaiting the losses of autumn
three siblings, strangers breezing in
and out, one sister younger,
thunder, lightening
the charge in our mother’s storms.
How to navigate that landscape?
Grief wound through dense foliage
my family’s deception
a gemstone buried
many years in acidic soil.
I finally unearthed that small hard mass
and revealed that who I wasn’t—
how I didn’t
fit, was at its root.
Now I tend my autumn garden
and walk its winding paths:
one of stone; my life as given
one of earth that kept that silence
each is someone’s secret tracing
soulprints toward home.
Sometimes, I can hear that happy, bubbly brook
bouncing over stones and under the wheel…that giant wheel.
It would drone along groaning a wooden song;
each night luring the brassy sun ever toward a distant skyline
by soft chattering of cog on cog and mesmerizing clockwork.
Other times I’m haunted by the gritty rasp of stone on stone
and swirling tendrils of fine dust doing a serpentine dance
through heavy air, reaching like so many ghoulish fingers
grasping desperately before dissolving;
coating my memories and that dusty wood-planked floor.
Yesterday I yearned for simpler times when
I would lazily strum my second-hand guitar
from a mossy log in the shade of our old gristmill.
Plucking those plaintive songs of young heartache
or gleefully accompanying cardinals in a nearby thicket.
But today all that remains is corporate.
Steel rollers chain driven by diesel motors.
A dried up creek bed cutting an over-burdened field
of chemical pesticides and fertilizers to grow
everything but food for my soul.
6/3/2018
Written for The Gristmill Poetry Contest
Hosted by Craig Cornish
All around looks cruel and starved,
and bleached bones define a stretch
of drought and death that halved
life for that lone, starving wretch.
Mountains have formed a background,
shaped by sporadic storms and rain;
a dry creek bed revives when drowned
where stands forlorn upon the plain.
One lone gum in friendless splendour,
where from a sapling passed the years;
stands without sibling contender,
to guard these vast untamed frontiers.
The passing years have left their mark,
with scars and wounds by elements.
Storms, fire and water stripped its bark
without concern for sentiments.
Life and death on widespread limbs;
decayed and fallen, yet endures
with glossy leaves and flowered rims,
to state still many years assures.
The sun that crisps the baking earth,
provided shade for travelling souls,
and sustenance in times of dearth,
or shelter in the dead limb holes.
Striving on through stout revival,
this grand gum rejecting failure.
Here stands the spirit of survival,
that represents Australia.
I stood before this gentle giant,
in silent wonder with respect;
observe foliage still defiant,
as hot winds blow boughs unchecked.
And so this solitary gum;
an outback artist’s wondrous theme,
becomes immortalized by some,
with a soft pastel colour scheme.
Murmuring praises, softly
A caress, burned into the stones
Blessing the glistening ripples,
Restoring faith to the downcast
Inviting the rhythms of eulogies
Honoring dreams, prayers, praise
Erasing the melancholic
Exciting the mountains, the rivers
Inspiring the stories of light
Falling over the night
Coloring the moon in haphazard glitter
Unblemished songs, melodies
Rich as the roaring waters,
Flowing over smooth stones, in rhythms
Radiating life’s laughing extremes,
Stilling the memories,
Restoring dreams of what will be
When hearts are revealed
And there is assurance of His love,
In each treasured spray of hope,
Each magnificent rhyme,
In the hills, the blessings, pouring
What is a ripple without its rhythm?
Charming the stars and the prayers,
Easing dreams from their hearts
Glowing in softest reflections
Amazing, His spirit embracing souls
Stirring the songs beneath the creek bed,
Telling each stone what it means to see
Beyond the waters, beyond the sand
Trembling with joy so lithe,
A story empty of doubt,
Drenches the heart in peace
And rains down praises to the spirit
Believing He is there, in the ripples
Affectionate caresses from a stream
Knowing the rhythms, playing gently
Entering the spirit with hope,
Gushing with faith
Rushing through the soul
Playing soft notes of praise
As the story is told
By sprays of laughing waters,
Revealing the music
Arising, roaring, troubling the heart
Without any doubt, there in the still,
Shedding dew like tears,
Creek winds its way through the night
Silencing the moon
Lending praise to each oak
Breaking through the skies
Starry eyes, prayerful
Praising this God who always knows
Even the water can’t stop singing
Breathless psalms, in each streaming note
From a heart who believes
He is here, comforting each soul who grieves
Consoling and blessing with a peace
That comes to the heart who sees
He is the ripple in every sweet stream.
Dachshunds - Poetry Contest
My Doll, My Dachshund
An old abandoned house in the country, is where we saved our precious hound
Covered in mange, fleas, ticks and whatever deathly smell she had found
I called her name; from out of the yonder she came when she heard my yell
We could see she was excited to be rescued and the car ride went well
Once we arrived home, it was bath time, eating, then sleep
For hours she snuggled next to me without even a weep
She was red, small, a miniature seven year old baby of mine
We shared everything together and talked all the time
We would cuddle in blankets when weather was cold
No matter the circumstance, she and I fit the mold
One day she came to me, however not feeling right
I rushed her to the clinic and sat there all night
The doctor informed me that she could no longer walk
I sat there stunned, desperately crying, I couldn't talk
Our only option, as you can imagine, was true
I held her in my arms as she went into the sky blue
She is buried by the creek bed where she loved to play
There is not a moment that I don’t miss her every single day
Not knowing if I will ever feel the same way as I did then
Hoping that someday, her little nose will nudge me again
01-07-15 Dachshund poetry-soup contest
For sissy, you are missed my pet.
Like a drug of dependence, this will keep me coming back
out along the Sardine Creek, walking on a wombat track.
I should know every cranny and hurdle in the way,
But secrets of the bush keep arising every day.
I am captured by a log with its copper coloured skink,
a family of firetail finches flying down to take a drink,
the scent of wild boronia drifting down a mountainside,
a wallaby amongst some wiregrass, believing it can hide.
I am no more important than a leaf upon the ground,
and no more influential than a feather that I found.
I do not have the power of the Admiral butterflies,
and feel I’m way too over sympathetic where death lies.
I am captured by the orange fungi, hiding from the light,
a flock of screeching mountain lories overhead in flight.
Maidenhair cascading, mingling with the waters flow,
and showers in the pollen where clematis creepers grow.
I am not to be the master, just one link that’s in the chain,
like the sand upon the creek bed, I merely am one grain.
Yes I am one single figure that will come and go with time,
where strength does mean survival; weakness the lethal crime.
I am captured by the creek and the bounty it provides,
the colour and its boldness or a sweet voice that it hides,
I do not have a vision for to progress or reshape…
Yes here is where I’m captured and I never will escape.
“No You”
Caught in a battle of wanting to be alone and wanting to feel how good love can feel
Stuck between what I want to do and asking the woman I love if she would like to join me
Catching the falling feathers of passing eagles as they travel from hunting towards their mate
I want to know what love feels like again instead of praying for a heart to mend with mine
Life for a man is meant to be staring into the eyes of the most beautiful angel God can send
Love is meant to be shared with that someone special that causes butterflies even after years gone by
Sweaty palms on date night as she walks into the room dressed for your eyes only
God I want the love I feel I’ve had before but it was just a taste of what’s to come
Share your heart with me, your smile, your fears, your sadness, your all
Allow our hearts to beat together as we mold our bodies in an embrace of eternal happiness
Let not our lips speak of loneliness but of togetherness, hand in hand, step by step
Let love wear us down till our hearts no longer beat and our lungs no longer breathe
As the water trickles through the creek bed let us lay and watch the bubbles float away
Either sunny days or cloudy skies, let our eyes focus on each other’s words of love we speak
Allow my arms to hold you as I tell you all the reasons I love you
For without love I have no faith and without faith I have no you
In the heart of my heart
I cry for you
in the harbor of my despair
I feel your emptiness
a land once yours was lost
stolen by men whose hearts were cold
and whose greed and hate knew no bounds
Prisoners on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation
where nothing lived
only impoverished people
Once proud warriors who traveled the plains
moving with the winds of freedom
whose tears have fallen upon sacred ground
to be swallowed by the Earth
stripped of your pride
stripped of your guns
A people lost in the wicked transition of time
kept like cattle, treated like dogs
Lonely the empty eyes of the Lakota
when the looked towards the sun
on a Winter December morning
seeing soldiers approaching
in the dim lit shade of sunrise
heavily armed on horseback
dragging four Hotchkiss guns
bringing death to two hundred and fifty
unarmed Lakota men women and children
on the frozen creek bed at Wounded Knee
where cruelity brought its bloody coat from Hell
When it was over vultures picked at the frozen flesh
left to rot in the cold like so much garbage
Twenty soldiers received the medal of honor
for duty above and beyond
for this massacre of innocence
Wounded Knee Massacre
December 29 1890
South Dakota
250 Lakota Souix massacred
by the 7th Calvery
Hotchkiss gun-gatling gun
9/19/20 contest A Historic Event