Best Crevasses Poems
We Are One
Dear Ancient Sister
I hear your distant calls finding me on a gentle breeze
You have lived in my dreams for many seasons
My voice
Your voice
My soul
Your soul
And our Coming of Age
I have always known you...
I have heard your
Quiet whispers echoing in
The night coming close to me
I call to you ...
Let me be a part of your breath
I have always known your wounds and sorrow
I see the light and magic in your eyes...
The pain you carry so eloquently
I see your reflection in the clouds above
Carrying your soul wound on your sleeve
I see the deep crevasses and lines
In your grandmother’s hands
I hear the secrets beneath the earth of
Your grandfather’s footsteps
I see your reflection in the twilight
Of the evening... against pink watermelon hills
Your voice beckoning me onward closer to you
I see you in the moon and stars
Your buckskin dress adorned with
Ceremonial beads
Abalone shell against your forehead
The dirt beneath your moccasins
Grateful for the kiss of your dancing feet
I hear the echo in the distance of songs
The Elders sang...
During their passage here
You are born into a woman
Before my eyes and heart
Before your tribe
Before nature
A wise new feline
A mystical power with endless allure
A force that lifts and unites us all
As one
Your rays blessing us and leaving
A welcome imprint on our hearts
My Ancient sister
I drink in your wisdom and grace
I fly on your wings
You have shown me your world
Watching you dance
Becoming you for moments in time
Your silhouette etched by
The wild flames behind you
A glow radiating into
The night sky
The stories of your Ancestors
Filling the air with
Words and lessons and song
Notes sung into clenched fists
With bloodstained hands
The children and animals
Sensing all that was
And all that will ever be...
The call of a distant bird
The thumping of your cane on
The hungry earth
Keeping time with
The movements of your body
You will look back on this
Day as you walk with the
Same cane down the path of
Old Age...
Your wisdom
Cupping your heart gently
Ancient Sister of mine
I am in gratitude for
Your strength and courage
The kiss of your words and
The teardrops of your loss
Susan Lawrence
Copyright 2020
Original Artwork
Susan Lawrence
The Pilgrim’s Ghost of a Thousand Heavenly Dreams
Looking through a magical dewdrop we now see an enchanted
Chandelier, liquid-sparkling pure, where a mystical quicksilver
Mirrors a living-moonlight reflection of a thousand radiant stars.
These stars are heavenly focus points that reflect the celestial
Magnificence of Almighty God’s prescient intention, whereby all
Cosmic music forms a clockwork of ticks-tocks of a certain vision.
This vision streams and sounds throughout the cosmos entire on
Star beams with the dimension, power, and force of Almighty God,
Whilst casting a glorious panoply of light that illuminates the darkness.
The reach of God’s eternal light into this deep-dark void of the cosmos
Is known as “The Pilgrim’s Ghost of a Thousand Heavenly Dreams” that
Has an undeniable metaphorical place in mankind’s collective psyche.
This ethereal, eternal ghost by God’s own direction on our mortal Earth,
Allows for mankind’s curious interest in exploring the deepest-darkest
Crevasses of the oceans and the silent sacred secrets of the cosmos itself.
This ethereal, eternal ghost as resident in mankind’s consciousness fuels
Man’s desire, as divinely inspired, to see ourselves as a mirror-image of God
Himself, fulfilling God’s desire that our souls shall ascend one day to Heaven.
Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid – A Collaborated Poem,
Copyright © All Rights Reserved – October 10, 2018 (Tercet)
Flightless, the smallest such bird,
he’s hopping about madly now,
dexterous little feet grab what they can -
he lost his beak decades ago
to a merciless marauder drone –
here, some tiny, thorny little twigs,
there, a footful of leaves nearly blown by
among better leaves flown by.
The wind is relentless,
he’s never known it more violent,
but he hasn’t known it any calmer either.
It’s already blown tons of wisdom
whistling past and around him,
that airborne car nearly hit him,
the airborne fridge was even closer,
but he’s lucky to be small enough
to be narrowly missed
and able to find little crevasses
to hide in when he needs a rest.
The smallest flightless bird,
he might take involuntary flight
in the clutches of absurd winds,
but somehow he stays on the ground.
The frayed old edge of a dog-blanket
is next across his path,
blown from the prison out south,
and he’s got it ! He grabbed it !
Well done, flightless little rascal.
Everything he’s gathered
will be the scrappiest little nest
ever known to man or bird,
he’ll clumsily patch it all together
in the smallest tree
(he, of all birds, needs a small tree),
small as his greatest preconceptions,
strangely anchored by the deepest root
known to brainwashed man or tree.
The wind, so crafty, is drunk with power,
it might blow that mountain
against the side of a bigger mountain,
they’ll both be scarred
for a good few minutes at least.
But that ragged little nest will be built
and he’ll simply never leave it,
he’ll make it scrappier by the day.
19th December 2018
Waist deep in an icy clear blue mountain lake
Under the watchful gaze of the Grand Tetons majestic grandeur
Snow peaked summits reaching clouds where they join the rising sun
A more beautiful place I could never have imagined, even in my dreams
Casting sunflower yellow line patiently over and over
As the icy blue drops of water race back down the line so gracefully
As though they can't wait to return to the secrets below
The rhythmic snapping of the rod echoing in the still quiet morning
My fly floats by the place among the crevasses of rocks where rainbows hide
Beneath the icy clean blue water
Here we are you and I, sharing this place, eye to eye
Watching you dart from side to side, every color of the rainbow
Reflecting, bending, gliding
A rainbow in motion, here right beside me, all around me
You jump as though proudly displaying your beauty
As I gently hold your rainbow magic in my hand, thanking you for a perfect day
I leave you to return to that hidden place where rainbows stay
©Donna Jones
The paint recalls, layered and petulant, groans
mindless in its ground, it decomposes.
Granules of hematite, pale traceries of gypsum,
the crevasses of cave wall are soot soothed.
Layered and petulant the palm of man appears
charcoal dusted, amongst the antelope and bison.
Do you hear the drum’s call, the hollow
wail of bone flute, the slap of bare feet,
the drone of chant?
Red-lead or orange crystalline roars atop
the gummy white in Pharaoh’s tombs.
See the deathly desert and the blood of power
as it paves the way; ochre, gypsum,
copper blue, groan mindless in its ground.
Do you hear the drums call, the hollow
wail of wooden flutes, the rattle of the tambourine
the clink of bell, as bare feet dance entranced?
Decomposed, composed, each grain
calls to mind pale traceries of the ages left behind.
Soot-soothed, charred coal outlines the faces
of God and man upon the walls of time.
First Published by Mused 2013
Inviting and magnetic the towering awesome sight
A perspective of domineering rock and icy peaks
It challenges, dares and beckons with unfolding beauty
Stretching upwards into shades of blue and puffy clouds.
Along the winding sloping trail I make my way, the easy
Lower tract encased in green, till rough terrain appears
Then stimulation is released when steep ascent arrives.
I climb and breathe the pure fresh air, intense intoxication
It is so peaceful all around, a place for meditation.
The time goes by. I look for holds and make full use of spikes
Intent on concentration. The wind comes by and contributes
To the hazards of melting ice and hidden crevasses
The weary limbs in need of rest; a keen lookout for falling rocks
An avalanche of crumbling doubts that slows the pace...
Subdued exhilaration when the going gets too hard.
At last the top is right above. An added burst of strength
Dispels the peril of defeat. One final forward thrust
Victory is mine. The summit reached I gaze in awe
Surveying with pride my sprawling kingdom down below.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Contest: Pinnacle
Sponsor: Anthony Slausen
Night spills over the day like India ink from a well
bleeding into the deep crevasses of hill and dell
running into clear cold streams once shimmering, bright
painting Prussian blue the trees on the high chaparral.
Night edges the golden hour of Autumn days so bright
merging with the harvest moon, the solstice at midnight
melting in to sleepy hollows, pale and bloodless blue,
cajoling colonies of bats to bank and soar in flight.
Night caresses the winsome lovers silhouette.. adieu
as its hold is weakened toward a shade of baby-blue
A painter's pallet is the night of hues, shades of light
the sovereign signs of fantasy as darkness ensues.
*Interlocking Rubaiyat where the rhyme of lines 1,2&4
of verse one are taken from the end word of line 3
in the verse before, the last verse returns the end rhyme
of line 3 ;)
My soul is lost
upon ice-blue crevasses so deeply!
help me my blue elephant
that lettuce is brave
like electrons always saying hello
and never goodbyes!
You slip on lice and break your arms
it's all so SCHIZOPHRENIC: tangentiality!
stilted speech and phonemic paraphasia
are mainly broken-minded poets
who use both sides of a pencil
-+95% of black eyes kill 5% of rabbits
and the bird whistles in Japaneses:
"sei shin bun retsu byo"
( mind split disease)
where logic and proportion falls
between the King & Queen
AND ALL ANGELS go to 7-Eleven
in their heavenly garments to buy
hot dogs and slur-pees
and writing is a socially acceptable
form of schizophrenia...hmm....
such is the paradox of delusion
and how are you? When you walk down
a sidewalk to the abuse of verbally
abusive birds chirping loudly how
dull and stupid you are. So you move into
a homeless shelter and make new friends!
:: 10242015 ::
Ideas Trapped By An Inactive Mind
Your mind is hidden in darkness
Thoughts trapped in deep crevasses
Their screams echoes through deathly shadows
Attacked and strangled at their every move
The struggle against invisible shackles
Drawing blood as they fight their captor
Demons search for ideas ripping them apart
Stripped skin strewn across an evil world
A world created from depression and mania
Leaving the ideas disemboweled in the frenzied heat
Blood, skin and guts boil under the demon’s breath
Screams of torture and pain fill the void left by random thoughts
Still alive they choke on the stale sulfuric air
Waiting to die while hoping to be saved
A quick mind lights the darkness
Giving new life to near dead ideas
The strongest fight while the weakest wither and die
The rise through the darkness
Rising into the light they look back
They see the lost ideas dying beneath them
They care about what was lost
What ideas will never see the light of day
And they grieve as they come to light
And they will be told and retold
For that is what ideas are meant to be
Shared by the entire world not killed
Murdered by an inactive mind
Oh! the blaze of light and color
playing power of vibrant luster.
with a rainbow hidden in its soul
she's a princess, a spectral cluster.
Rain seeping voids of crevasses
cracks of porous silica rocks,
amorphous tiny spheroid balls
an effulgence perfect Goldilocks
A gem that forms in million years,
sensuous palette of random pattern
like a Christmas tree she glistens,
a chrysanthemum flamed lantern.
The Opal stone, oh !.. too sensuous
a salsa dance of sequins and beads.
purple in passion and golden in love
she brings the peace, the world needs.
Dated 15th May 2019
Sponsor -Line Gauthier
Contest Name:
TRIBUTE TO A PRECIOUS OR SEMI-PRECIOUS GEM
Placed 3rd in the contest list
Also featured 3rd in best new poem list.
They say the gods do not subtract from man
the portion of his life spent sailing ships,
but she, the sea, brings ruin to ill plans.
Though harsh, this raucous mistress well equips
the one who seeks her true, with all his heart;
a bond is forged that naught else does eclipse.
To plumb her depths, to know, without a chart,
her crevasses, the cycle of her tides…
A jealous love, she’ll not abide apart.
Take care, o man, in making her your bride!
How glorious, to glide her bosom’s swell;
Let diligence and honor be your guides.
The man who faithful tends her, chooses well,
but woe befalls the careless infidel.
—————
for the Five Stanza Terza Rima Poetry Contest
sponsored by Milton Hankins
written 07/14/2022
In a weightless state of tranquility,
paraphrasing relentless thoughts of motion
in my head into words, which 'til now
have laid dormant in unsung verse, waiting
for you to shine brightly upon them.
Freshly painted impressions mark
the beginning of halcyon days, where gulls
hover just above waves that barely
kiss the shoreline, burying tiny toes
beneath the coolness of wet beached sand.
To what shall we compare thee or can
your effulgent beauty be measured
by metered stanzas of verse taking form
on rice paper and egg shells so that the yolk
slips out draining lucent into the earth's core.
Your wisdom surveys the high seas,
coursing through cavernous veins that harbor
quietly in safety channels, as zephyrs
challenge moist underbrush among youthful
lips, blowing innocent kisses in playful semblance.
Oscines sway in sync beneath heaven's domain,
bathing in rays of sweet luminosity,
as sun-drenched fossils rise, reborn,
reclaiming their gaiety to shine unobstructed,
teething along crevasses of incandescence.
Embrace these Sun days, reflecting
on fireside chats and old storybooks,
reciting euphonious tales that burn mellow,
rising to greet the eyes of omnipotence
with chants of celestial song and dance.
And to this place we call rapture,
let wings of sober doctrine reveal
where grace resides within Sol's castle,
waiting for the children to come forth
with clasped hands in joyful unison.
Such days will greet warmth openly,
without hesitation, so the orbiting
star becomes ever more pliant,
allowing whatever name you choose
to objectify it, to stand always...
Bright, within itself.
She is a scryer, a seer, prognosticator;
but no crystal ball for her...no.
She uses her blue eye instead;
a dragon’s eye.
Found in an inactive volcano,
former dragon’s lair;
three thousand years of age
still unmarred,
still functioning.
Revealing
past, present and future;
hiding nothing, eye scans time;
beware, it sees all you do.
Nothing’s hidden.
Seek out the scryer,
ask any question;
even before your first utterance,
blue dragons eye enters your mind
scanning crevasses of your brain.
you harbor no secrets.
WATERFALLS, RIVERS AND DROUGHT
The frenzied forces of cold, icy streams
detonate explosively on the rocks below.
Their rapid currents wreak havoc
on logjams caught in crevasses beneath
the mist and rainbowed spray.
We blink in awe to see this
spectacular remonstration
of pretentious power abruptly
become whirling vortexes
of descending splash downs.
But then, almost as quickly, this despoiler settles
and begins to accumulate in multitudes
of rippling bubbles and froth
immediately bleeding onto the embankment
promptly losing much of its potential goodness
swooshed as sucking sounds
into the wild soils of the firmament.
What survives roams free and for awhile
flows in any direction, with no beginning, no end
as the river turns into riverlets
Eddying on without any selected steering.
The rains that used to drip down from the mountain top
cry to see the diversions of the most glorious river
dissipate and dry up knowing that the drought
which has appeared can not adequately supply
sustenance to a parched soil.
For that sunbaked soil to be reclaimed
the river must continue to extend its reach
and water the seeds of new growth.
and use its silt to fertilize the new life
that waits anticipating its turn
in creation's timetable.
CAK 6-04-2012 Revised 6-18-2013
this will be good and slippery
in a whistling fall from grace
feel free to edit in a picture of your choice
the more grotesque the more accurate
while glancing at your wrist watch
over and over when you knew
your 30 seconds was up centuries ago
we agree to be controlled
he said speaking in archetypes
here then is my plan for world conquest
say Bob that was some intro
right you are Nick
and just what the tired evacuated
non combatants at home needed
you know Bob our audience should be issued guns
right you are Bill the results would be immediate
h-h-h-howdy there f-f-fans
g-g-glad to see you all p-p-packin
ha ha ha ha ha good one Bill
who does your thinking for you by the way
OK you've been briefed
if I wrote as few words as possible
the page would be blank
and useless as a postmodern hit man
speculating on the utility of spectacles
driven by a fear of the ordinary
in an ideological trance
at this point it could go either way
even reality is an approximation of reality
but there is no question of stopping
onward he plunged sarcastically
into a semiotic twilight of the gods
everything red shifted in a bar stool curse
too many crevasses on this ice berg
blinded by white phosphorous
receptors wide open overt and undeniable
incorrect labeling why is it a necessity
would you know your number
if your number was up
he stood before his firing squad
snickering and giggling and rolling his eyes
got a last cigarette
I have to smoke I'm a witch
the squad broke up with laughter
pissed their pants
and shot the lieutenant
if I'm in this much trouble now
God help me tomorrow
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/