Best Damming Poems
MAY OUR WATER FOREVER BREAK AND FLOW
As like the water, we were created;
In the breaking of the water we came—
And it is said that we did not come here
To be sitting or standing around for nothing:-
Indeed, we are here like the waters of rivers;
Like waters of oceans and seas—flowing to be;
And like the waters, we must ever be about flowing—
Flowing to ever be free from oppressive inequities:-
Strong flowing waters can burst damming dams,
And frozen ice melts in warm flowing liberating water;
And although slow deep streaming water evaporates,
Does it not eventually fall back down on oppressive ground?
Let us forever run and flow in physical strength;
Let us forever run and flow in mental awareness;
Let us forever run and flow in spiritual uplifting;
Let us forever run and flow in undying faith:-
God has baptized us in the water of His divine love,
Graciously dipping our heads in His divine wisdom,
Guiding us towards His shores of divine liberation,
That we may forever flow in His gracious deliverance:-
a diamante
water
aquatic, liquid
bridging, damming, subduing
oceans, pools, / yards, continents
digging, tunneling, conquering
solid, terrestrial
earth
Remember when you told me to sleep?
It was dark and stormy, and darkness was deep.
Embracing arms around my suffering shoulders, you listened.
Artificial safety surrounding, my tears glistened.
Those dreams haunted my every thought, mocked my sanity.
It was your firm voice that kept me alive, but barley.
Hadn't it been for my father's arms, where would I be?
These hostile creatures, eternally humiliating .
Daddy, you promised I would be safe,
Hushed my crying, held me tight, always awake.
Winds blew outside in a crazed frenzy.
Rattled my windows, attempting catastrophe.
Daddy, why can't I sleep when I'm told?
I can't think, and breathing is impossible.
You rock me back and forth, your fierce gaze keeping the monsters at bay.
Every night my bedside creases with your weight.
But Daddy... where were you that night?
You promised I would be alright!
Swore over my trembling body,
In my paradise of demented fantasy.
Father, this damming silence has returned!
Lies flowed from your mouth like ashes from an urn.
Because I'm not safe with broken windows and drapes.
Fissures and chips revealing the face.
Bloody traces of reality seep into my pillow.
Gaping from my wall, the trees before is not a willow.
Rushing air and grasping... things,
I'm trapped, Father! I can't stop weeping.
Shadows circled me, encased among them.
Carving knives steal my limbs, lost my fingers, yes, all ten.
Demons, Daddy is that why they laugh?
I can't see anything! It's a bloodbath.
You're gone, and I'm lifeless inside my mind.
I thought you loved me, and wouldn't leave me behind.
Too late, I see that you were a liar, a cruel beast.
No, actually.
I begin to question if you were ever near me.
Perhaps as a child, I was too weak, and needed comforting.
Or perhaps I needed a Father.
And you were my last hope of being a daughter.
Pain was my life, increasing my demise.
No daddy to love me, no hand that wouldn't deny.
I remember... everything.
My imagination of suicidal grief.
Today's churches are held in disdain;
sullied by scandals and outright crime.
The foundation of faith is aging,
undermined by lies exposed by time.
Salvation awaits those who believe,
so say scriptures, to appease the crowd.
Yet, everyone's labeled a sinner;
damming anyone who speaks aloud.
Religions feed off of frustrations,
Divinely steeped in their self-image.
And enforced rules of exclusiveness;
fuel, a dominancy scrimmage.
Once a week, on your knees for an hour:
describes most relationships with God.
For we seek spiritual blessings,
just in case God is more than a fraud.
Some say God's divine presence is clear,
for it's seen throughout all creation.
But amidst war, starvation, and death,
can it be seen, in Man's damnation?
It doesn't matter if God is real
unless you believe Him to be so.
But if you doubt, look within your heart,
and if you find Him there, you will know.
The echoing actuality. The pondering sea. The spheres of bouncy
As the protecting shells burst, the inceptions of desire begin fruition by disbursing their energies beyond their boundaries. Passionately exploring, this young fragile seedling crawls via moon's ring's nightfall. Affectionately acquiring a blissful blazing love by tune's spring's rainfall. As the guide from the valley of dawn awakens pulsating towards the frivolous summit, the enduing rays of hope gently disperse their wings inspired by the warmth of the heavens. Life and seeds, planes and trees flicker in the solar light, and frenzy shadows waltz in the twilight. Becoming, building, blossoming into the beauties, to arise amidst nurtured by the waters mist, bestowing a kiss by the azure’s sky. Dancing and singing to their own poetic melodies. But nevertheless, blanket silver chill solstice onset is always at nigh. Some decry for roots are beholden in sands crying in lands that quench for thirst. Others become wrench and accursed. Branches toil, and more find themselves weathering and crippling by the weighted burdens, recoil. Many suffocating in silhouette in a mountainous locus storm. Sounding and abounding in damming lightning and thunderous applauses of mistakes. Once an array of vines, now transformed hung on a rope. Trunks surrendering to parasitic whispers eviscerating all paths of hope. Flees. So, many lost achieves, grieves, fallen crimson leaves and the forgotten paints on the canopy. Overwhelmed by the fragrances of spoil. Decay takes hold. Mushrooms, tombs, and an open vacuum. Not all musings are equally fabricated. For only the foundation of the forest: the giant oaks, the massive kapoks, the ageless pines, and grand willows are the breakers of stone. Those are they who taste the breath of life. Whose arms reach and touch the sky, embraces the rain and abstain in the shine. Whose visions stand at the zenith peak of time
Updated 5/14/2019
there is value in your faith you only need to see
that now is the time to power up your God currency
when you overload a circuit board the electricity will shut down
as you have too much stuff plugged in and there's not enough currency to go around
you need to unplug all the negative things that are damming up your power flow
pull out all the anger, the bitterness and the hurt which is burning down below
stop using up all your energy just by being mad
power up the goodness of God and start living life glad
let your faith and trust in the will of God be your ultimate power supply
let the light of the Lord power you up and keep you spiritually high
prose and poem
Sitting quietly on a rock along my neighbor's forest trail, I studied countless creatures darting about. Were they aware of my presence? I listened to primitive sounds, clear messages I did not understand. What interdependence among plants and animals, I marveled at purpose evident but unseen. I sniffed the woodsy perfume of some wildflower and walking on down the path breathed the pine needles which strangely reminded me of air-freshener. As I returned to my home, I crossed the creek clogged with trash, a rusting tricycle, bottles, cardboard boxes ... slowing the flow of water, damming the natural course of the stream. My eyes greeted the comforts of home although the rows of houses blocked the view of the skyline and of course, trees were all but gone. Glad for the relief of a clean, private bathroom but inspired by nature, I went back and cleared the creek.
Sitting all alone in the woods,
pondering who God is?
Evidence of splendor confirms
all Creation is His.
Winding my way back to shelter
earth's praise quickly ended.
Man's disregard plainly in view -
heav'n is far more splendid.
A software programmer named Arty Fishal
Tried to design something beneficial
But his programming
Was rather damming
Not unlike intelligence, artificial
As they push their wannabe pie in the sky
In our face until we see eye-to-their-eye
But the more they push
That tells me their tush
Actually shat out the @#$%!, they call AI
We learn that it takes lots of borrowed money
To try making us believe clouds are sunny
So they’re giving a try
At slinging AI
Which is too devious to be funny
I found a photograph today.
Its discovery agitated my emotions
and I caught my breath.
There you were - suspended -
like some ancient fly held
eternally in amber.
Pose, expression, frozen - always.
I found a photograph today.
It awoke a memory long forgotten:
It was a hot sultry day.
We had travelled to our arrival
and we argued, our tempers
shortened by the blistering heat.
My neat linen skirt had creased
- like my mood - and you were rude.
What did you say? I can hear the tone
but the words are gone now and
suddenly unimportant....washed away
down the plughole of insignificance....
Gurgling then gone - lost in the
annals of broken promises and accumulating
hurt which precipitated our goodbye.
I look into your petrified eyes -
eyes that sparkled when I loved you
yet metamorphosed into damming hate at times.
Is your hand touching mine?
I remember when it did - tenderly -
I remember your fingers .... graceful somehow,
artistic, creative, piano playing, painting,
then hitting, hurting - same hands yet tender no more.
Same hands, there in the photograph, no, not touching.
I found a photograph today.
Its discovery rankled my emotions
and I held my breath -
like I did when you frightened me
with your unpredictability.
Your ability to swing from light to dark in an instant.
Yes, I found a photograph today
but its gone now .......
Torn to tatters and thrown into the wind.
Therapeutic in its destruction.
Aiding and abetting reconstruction
of a future without you.
You're gone -
washed away -
gone - down the plughole of insignificance.
Gone in the cleansing of reminiscence.
Gone, gone, gone........
....................... and forgotten.
On twilight's sinking bridge, Nyx's waves swell
With an ethereal wand casts, dark, bewitching spell
O'er deep crevasse, spreads her enchanting veil
A glittering panorama of lights ballasts infinity
Moonbeams, star streams, and planet gleams form trinity
With blipping dots, beeping dashes cosmic dust braille
Heavenly bodies over the dark seas parasail
Orion's silted bow the fiery bastions doth assail
Kneeling, Hercules with glowing club o'er dragon doth flail
Pleiades's gaudy sisters in blue-sequined dresses luminosity scale
Virgo's virgins spawn into egg; sterility to efface
Pisces's forked fish tails lock; damming each, corroded face
Aquarius's stout water pail brims with charms to engrace
Ursa Major's silver ladle dips deep into briny well
Ursa Minor's frail oyster spoon dips into pale ale
The Southern Cross's interceding lines point to holy grail
Constipation of the Mind
no words coming out
blah blah blah
blank page
whiten sepulcher
ink run dry
damming up the stream
the Beavers run and hide
Zombie effect is me
craving for brains, the life
source to carry myself
staple the bird down
cage the beast
silence the cries and needs
emptiness and voided
of any logic
reason,
Nothing to say
Nothing to offer
feeling dead yet alive
Limbo effect is me
floating, not falling
not really going anywhere
stay still
Meditate on life
Breath in
sluuuuurp
Breath out
wooooosh
actions require Mindfulness
Mindfulness requires process
the Willpower of the soul
to take charge and flap
its celestial wings to the
Open-embracing horizon
closer and closer I fly
wings melt and I do
finally fall, and sensations
return, I for that split
second completely embraced
by the warming light, totally
consumed, Moth in the flame, then
with the feeling of rushing
water and air, I return
Dark slay, dull darkness, sometimes reveals in any mind
No wonder it narrows the interior of creativity, that is hard to find
It beats and stones the remark ability of colors, brightness, and charm
They call it being stuck, stopped, and filled with harm
Thus, the end of the battle of blankness and flourishing, pours ideas
Into a never ending hole
Fatality following imagination is it's ugly role
Another damming event of stillness in the head, ruins the process
Of words to get inspired from what's creatively read
When uninspired letters are placed, the creative and true ones are being
Attacked and chased by the enemies who don't accept brilliant in art and writing
To the cameraman who through your distant lense
sees one man with another's wife,
and clicks and silently uploads, to expose,
and so to make those lives implode.
Who do you see behind your shuttered home?
With wife away and children gone,
no prying eye save God's alone,
yet, still you pick and throw first stone.
To the journalist, seekings idle chatter
and thinks it does not matter to craft
your print for more damming slant,
that glint of gossip, that careful hint
arising from unguarded natter.
Let’s take a lense and see your life, alone,
and how you sniff that chalky line;
and while you pick and throw that stone,
drink just one more 'fore callng ‘time’.
To the editor who holds their coats,
while dreadful damming work is done,
do tell us how you treat your wife,
and your daughter, and your son?
Show us all, expose your lives.
Before you seek those speckled eyes,
look to the logs that are your own,
before you cast your wounding stone.
sitting there watching the microwave and myself in it
looking from time to time
at the time
with music vibrating the computer behind me
making the world shake
this room and this time which is full to the top-mark with obligation
and this time in which I glance green words speaking askance at the terminal end
and my neck strains around my shoulders
bearing all the stress that I have been shoving up there
like some beaver damming, beating back
the high to low entropy force inside from busting.
my imaginary horse bucks me up a ridge and I see it then,
a view which was ever beyond, past the edge of the bush-hedge
is a field of red arrows cast upon the rusty ground
and it’s anachronistic in how I feel up here on this ridge,
looking down and outward at a great red basket emptying its blood into the prairie
and I am opening my mouth to eat the path it chooses.
How does an orphan
Vocally display the need
to runaway
What it's like throwing a
coin into a wishing well
Too curse a spell
Grow not skin but shell
Seek the face of one's mother
In every single damming crowd
Never destined to find
Walk emotionally blind and love less
As comfort less as a sleeping bag
At the bottom of a concrete step
on a hailstorm mattress
And worst of all feel it's somehow
your own fault
Surely i must have done something
wrong in order to deserve this
As not even life itself wishes
me nor my stolen tossed coin well
As still it remains laying rusting
green in a Roman fountain bath
Green with envy yet eternally blue