Best Desiccated Poems
On either side the boarded footpath lie
Still pools in swamp with sinister reflection
Dull images and scenes of life gone by
Suggest to heart a darkness and dejection
But did you notice, let the view beguile
Where sun now lights the pines in vivid green
And winter-stripped to elegant profile
The leafless trees’ bare symmetry is seen
.............................
The beech hedge brown and desiccated stands
Each leaf crisp dry from which all life has fled
In faded form the present aspect scanned
What chance that it may yet renew and spread
But did you notice, hid in twigs concealed
There, tiny buds await a sign to grow
Then full imbued with reborn life they’ll yield
A Spring apparel, bounteous life bestow
.............................
The nation now divided in contention *
Each faction faces others they despise
With hatred they wish for their sole ascension
To bring on their adversary’s demise
But did you notice that we still have choice
Where freedom reigns, select our destination
In Liberty we yet may raise a voice
And speak unchained in self determination
* Choose your own ‘nation’
Categories:
desiccated, life,
Form:
Rhyme
I’ve never been where they’ve been,
chasing the mirage in the desert storm.
I look into their entranced eyes,
see their vision transfixed on illusion,
the shroud of ruse spreads on the sneaky people.
The gleam of oasis out of their sight,
they lie on wasteland like dry shadow of trees
that have forgotten they were once green,
but I know they’ve lost their roots,
desiccated they've turned into wooden people.
Layer on layer of designed deception
morphs into misleading molds of crafted mask,
changing into chameleon skin on their faces.
Behind the smoke-screen I can’t see through
the veil created by the insecure people,
The light of reality doesn’t penetrate,
so they make their own darkened world,
don’t perceive when they turn into antiques,
but I know because for a long time now
I've walked in the museum of the masked people.
They build castles in the air within deep valleys,
no window of their mind opens on sparkling sky.
The sun rays don’t light up their bleak isolation,
their desolate souls remain obscure in the dark,
for the spent sun starts to set for the dismal people.
For them the harvest moon doesn’t ever rise,
they become gloomy splinters of the starless night,
not knowing why their dreams break in dark abyss,
but I know why no rainbow enters their heart,
for they’ve turned into opaque people.
Categories:
desiccated, dark, metaphor, symbolism,
Form:
Free verse
The Unveiling
Vision
A realization
Heartfelt revelation
Of survival amid isolation
And with the noblest of intention
To defy mortality and attain regeneration
Not every journey reaches its ultimate destination
Still one sigh respired diffuses throughout all of creation
Tenderly awaken a dormant realm of reincarnation
Distant voices chant hymns in unison
Resuscitating desiccated carnation
Such a magical rejuvenation
Of cosmic proportion
Sanctification
Affirmation
Union
Penned: 03/28/2022
4:12 a.m.
Lake Worth
Florida USA
Categories:
desiccated, destiny, life,
Form:
Monorhyme
"Confetti"
Dreams just dreams;
Sweet Neapolitan
Ice cream cool
Blueberry eyes
Strawberry Crush
Smiles
lick cherry ripe red lips
cheeks flushed
burning blushes
desiccated life
toasted
before stealing a
long kiss
you’re burning
supine
Mine
velvet skinned
all mine
(LadyLabyrinth/ 2020)
Categories:
desiccated, love, magic, romance,
Form:
Romanticism
You start out green and new, as a brand new shoot, nurtured by a ‘Loving Mother Tree,’ and surrounded by lush, growing sibling leaves all
In relative, naive Harmony.
You mature and grow into The Most Beautiful Version of Yourself, peaking a little too early, given the length of your life cycle.
After you’ve served Your Purpose (you were never told what it was), your kindly mother turns on you;
Once she nurtured you, watered you, and warmed you by sunlight.
You were whole and thriving and complete.
Now, She cuts off these vital nutrients.
All of a sudden, you’re given no light, no food, no water.
And no answers about WHY.
Your sibling leaves are going through a similar situation,
So they are of very little use to you.
Frankly, they’re every bit as confused as you.
You slowly starve and dry up until you’re officially “desiccated.”
Then, the Mother Tree drops you.
The winds of change blow you onto a completely random path, forcing you to intermingle with leaves you don’t even know,
Making one last splash as “fall foliage,”
Which you don’t even enjoy because you look so differently than you did in your prime , you barely recognize yourself anymore.
The next thing you know, you’re 5 miles down the road, in a Stranger’s yard (not even a nice one),
Being raked into giant piles and stuffed into suffocating black garbage bags,
Kicked to the curb to ferment a little while, and then
Carted off by some rather grubby-looking men to be burned and cremated.
By that point, you welcome it.
Categories:
desiccated, age, change, death, metaphor,
Form:
Free verse
The summer sun sucked the simmering sky desert dry,
clumps of grey cloud spawned by the moist horizon,
torn in thwarted winds of failed storm they tried to fly.
The clusters desiccated except for a pained lone one.
In the course of scorched and sad sail it could save
for the aborted summer storm a swelling tear drop.
The squall decimated and seared in the heat wave,
the molten grief dripped morphing into a raindrop.
At the edge of the wasteland a solitary tree grieved,
the parched foliage drooped, rains didn’t hear its call.
Still holding hope on the slim stem an upright leave
found on its wilted and sapless face a raindrop fall.
In the summer sky the adrift and saddened lone cloud
didn’t whimper as under the sun it felt its future burn
for quenching the thirst of a dying leaf it was proud.
Waned life saw in tear raindrop emerald dream return.
November 18, 2018
Categories:
desiccated, analogy, angst, hope, life,
Form:
Rhyme
In the parched life of desiccated emotions desolate
I didn’t know there was nestled a calm niche of bliss
in the recess of my petrified heart I couldn’t locate
where lay unperceived a beautiful concealed oasis.
The dried tears of a hungry child begging on road,
the stilled eyes of a stupefied mother of a lost child,
the silent sigh of a sick destitute resigned to God….
All these unveiled the obscure oasis for me to find.
From the depth of cool shade of my heart I collect
soulful of serene solace in full measure I can gather,
from the colored horizon of the new dawn I reflect
mindful of hues of rising hope as life’s live treasure.
These I give to those from humane feelings’ reservoir
whosoever need under the fallen sky in times helpless.
In my ears serenading breeze of the oasis whispers….
Rejoice kindling in dim hearts little candles of kindness.
November 21, 2018
Categories:
desiccated, analogy, hope, life, uplifting,
Form:
Rhyme
In the indifferent desiccated wasteland
obscure tufts of slender grass
struggle to rise from cleavage of ruthless rocks,
their tips holding the pearls of dew drops
sparkling in the shine of the rising sun.
I see in them the faces of children of fate
lighted by the waning smile of residual innocence,
although regrettably for them the sun rises
with no rays of hope, no tinge of dream,
for it has already set in the dark future horizon.
The infirm dew drops don’t bejewel the grass,
they’re tarnished by the dirt of our times.
In harsh winds of servitude
they toil, uncared and soiled,
they dry and disappear, ignored and abandoned.
In the glare of the blazing sun
the dreams of dew die premature.
It pains me, it hurts me
to see their blank colorless faces
carrying the vestiges of joy of juvenile splendor
flowing in tears, drowning in depth of obscurity,
Nobody helps, doesn’t hold their hands,
nobody cares, doesn’t take them to shore.
In my twilight hours
I wish to give the last rays of my sun
to the hue-less dews so they can glow,
I wish to drip the last drop of empathy
so their innocent smile doesn’t dry,
I wish to show the children of deprivation
the dreams of dew that never dies.
April 4, 2019
(This poem is a protest against child labor)
Categories:
desiccated, analogy, child abuse, children,
Form:
Free verse
Slow or fast
we think behind a slip stream,
a contrail of the gone;
of what went by a momentary window
long ago.
Asleep under a blacktop,
street-cars roll over my me-mind,
the crunch of old bones
crackles like thin ice.
I am recalling a time
now set in resin.
Desiccated bugs bite through,
gnaw at half-painted pictures.
Lost paths
for the somnambulant dead.
Elephants gather to revisit graveyards.
Alive in a memory,
but let’s not call this 'living,'
double, treble dipping
into the time-worn.
Such old imagining's will eventually
kill every analog clock
with their own internal hammers.
What am I writing now?
Yesterday and tomorrow sway
like old measuring scales.
Should I think like a Greek,
or a Jew,
arise and dance
shaking my head back and forth
as if awakening
to every fleeting pause?
This is what I am writing
upon the underside
of a road...
an odyssey of sorts
one taken by a horde of lemmings.
A talking point
indicating how I got here
recalling this and that,
but then again
nothing is now real forever.
Categories:
desiccated, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
In the parched life of desiccated emotions desolate
I didn’t know there was nestled the calm niche of bliss,
in the recess of my consciousness I couldn’t locate
where lay undiscovered the beautiful concealed oasis.
The dried tears of a hungry child begging on road,
the stilled eyes of a stupefied mother of a lost child,
the silent sigh of a sick destitute resigned to God….
all these unveiled dormant sensibility for me to find.
From depth of divine sublimity of my essence I collect
soulful of almighty’s liberating blessings in full measure,
from the heavenly horizon of the new dawn I reflect
mindful hues of godly awareness as my life’s treasure.
These I give to those from humane feelings’ reservoir,
whosoever needs under the fallen sky in times helpless,
devout breeze from awakened oasis whispers in my ear,
I strive to light in dismal hearts holy candle of kindness.
______________
January 20, 2022
Contest : Earth Life Purpose
Sponsor : Unseeking Seeker
Categories:
desiccated, blessing, god, life,
Form:
Rhyme
He Clapped For Us All
he could clap like it hurt his pink palms,
regarding us with sacred consideration
promises, words, meaningless, bland,
creations for every special occasion,
words waving like proud embattled flags
and he might rub noisy skin on cold hands,
like desiccated snakes in brown paper bags,
before describing some special acquaintance
yes, confabulations will fly to beat the band
and I, a child, supposed he smelled like laundry,
this holy man privy to the grand plan
with his coal tar soap,
black shoes so polished for Sunday
and we will sing like we mean it
sing with a singular
sing in the plural
sing for life, for death
sing against roof and wall
we sing, wise and fool
while he clapped for us all
Categories:
desiccated, words,
Form:
Rhyme
a pallid pool
leaves and flotsam
lethargic, desiccated
as if waiting for
a giant spoon to stir them
what if it all freezes
Categories:
desiccated, sad, water,
Form:
Imagism
An ant was dragging an insect,
At least 3 times its size.
Though desiccated, still it seemed
Like quite a lucky prize.
I watched its steady progress -
It would heave a bit and stop,
Hurry forth without its burden,
Double back where it did drop.
Other ants passed by, ignoring
All the effort being made,
On their journeys through the grass
As part of some unknown crusade.
Just like humans, who don’t notice
Someone doing all the work
While they play at being busy
Since it’s easier to shirk.
Categories:
desiccated, insect,
Form:
Rhyme
Desiccated in my torrid wasteland,
soil brittle and dry, turns to dust,
soars high on the wings of summer wind.
Some blows away from me,
some I gather in my sagging palm
for the skeletal roots exposed fragile
of my magnolia tree I reared with care,
year after tenuous year.
Each passing day engraved in the veins of leaves,
changing into verdance of memory.
The dust storm scraping the edge of listless time,
rose from the depth of dusky horizon.
The surge swept the dislodged leaves away,
in the rustle I heard them whisper…
‘catch us, hold us before we disappear’.
Through the dust swirling to nowhere
the last rays of the twilight sun filtered,
its spectrum soaked the vestige of soiled dreams,
streamed through the enlivened essence.
I now chase the drifting mirage,
morphed into the fallen leaves flying away
from my magnolia tree defoliated,
the boughs bare and unburdened.
Across the melting shadows of the clouds adrift,
through the golden beam of the setting sun
I’ll run until I reach the end of the garden path,
catch someday the fleeting leaves,
hold them until they turn to buds of hope,
slip through my weathered fingers,
fill the void where the ancient magnolia tree
in my pasture once used to be.
It will rise from the dust of pain,
and make me happy again.
March 22, 2020
Contest : Strand Choice N, Any Form, Any Theme
Sponsor : Brian Strand
Categories:
desiccated, hope, inspirational, life,
Form:
Free verse
I
Veins blue as death but they flow,
tributaries in a returning system.
They fork only when the mind
rides a lightly sleeping cycle
to a venous river
and there sinks within seeking a source
for it must be replenished, made to
travel on richer currents of air.
In such a reverie
blue threads splay, spread themselves
traveling to a nexus of stars on byways
stripped of any anatomy.
II
The girls and boys ride to school
ever faster,
a teacher fills blue inkwells
from a drip in his arm.
The children peddle swiftly along;
for on every desk
there's an apple for each of them.
In that fruit
a slow wriggling hex, a pishogue
sheds one desiccated skin after another
expanding its continuance,
but not so soon, not so fast,
not as speedily as the blue river runs
for it is the stream that feeds into itself.
III
That indigo atlas furrows a mounting gravity
through a chambered pump
for it has miles yet to cycle,
it surges and swells unhindered,
it crests and syphons
through transforming bellows,
around it pounds
unless that dark spell grows too large
and dams its onward course
then it may cease upon the morrow
or worse.
Categories:
desiccated, poetry,
Form:
Free verse