Best Desiccating Poems
Just see
How fearlessly
Sunshine is seated
On the gravestone
And the caring breeze
Whispering to the loneliness
So absolute
Beneath the tombstone
A paleolithic stone
A meaningless silence
Guarding utterly alone
The desiccating non-existence
Here lies she
Neither sad nor happy
Decaying gingerly
Enriching the earth
Are all doors locked
The moment we breathe our last
Then why the philosophers and scientists say
Energy is neither created nor destroyed
Happy earth
Taking her in with mirth
Smilingly giving birth to
Green pink and yellow
Coz her face chiselled
Poetry in her dimples
Aggression in her pimples
She made the flowers bloom
Where there was just thorn
Dried hay on broken bricks
Rude words from unwashed mouth
All stared with amazement
Yes when she had her words and breath
Flow of life like a brook
Never dreamt of lying buried
Knew her life in wavelets only
In her looks
A cup of morning tea
A mug of evening coffee
Fountain pen and notebook
One who gave so much
To life and society
Will stop stay put and still
Useless skeletons?
In death too
To herself she is true
Providing nourishment to soil
Making room for red and violets
I look in wonder
You are still writing poetry
In these flowers of skeletons
Colours of desiccation
I am sure next spring
Here in this green cover
A Cypress will grow and spread
A recognition of yours rieker deeds
Now the afternoon is still here
Moments are tender and pale
Shadows are coming and going
Stillness of accumulated past
Intense is darkness
Beyond death of life
Like when a love
Suddenly ceased to exist
As I remember your face
I earn freedom from this cold ice
Your warm cheek and palm
Are still a vibrant support
In death you lie down here
Stay reassured
In life you are in our thoughts
Whenever a candle goes out
Whenever we run out of candles
We look for you at our centre
You never disappoint us
Ever lighting us a candle
This way death awakes in life
Cypress grows on lonely graveyard
This way shadows of deer and cheetahs
Rise in life to engage our eyes
_____________________________________
September 15 , 2017
Poems that paint a picture 2 Contest
Sponsored by: Silent One
Categories:
desiccating, death, grave, green, life,
Form:
Free verse
Sun Furnace desiccating.
Man and Beast moving,
In crazed circles of Corral Mirages
Seeking shade.
Moisture-less Sky and Land.
Buzzards, certain of,
Meat Jerky repasts.
Timing air currents,
Until the Western Buffet
Is finally stocked.
Categories:
desiccating, death, western,
Form:
Cowboy Poetry
The Choctaw
never taught me what the
Choctaw would’ve taught me.
The Australopithecine never taught me what
the Australopithecine would’ve taught me of.
The Memories, these Memories,
our Memories are fading songs in
an echoeless cave.
The listeners have tired,
moved on.
The choir sang, regardless...
...for a time.
And, in time, the silence overcame
the joys of recalling and the calling out
was no longer met with the
Response.
The ochre greened-over,
the iron dust fell from frost and
puddled dryly on the floor.
Summer winds, hot and desiccating,
soon scoured the walls and ushered out
the swirling cinnamon sand.
The drums beat to mineral-rich cave-dew,
on occasion. A sometime rain that formed cones.
They stretched with weatherings; sometimes taut,
sometimes loose. Their stories lost, nothing taught.
In time, their skins followed their long-lost bones into
the buried burned and carved, now-broken empty bones
Home. The silent tumulting earth. The cold overlay of the
Singeing Beneath. The singing stalled. The echoes bounced for a time from
voice to ear to wall to child to child to wall to stone to dust.
The stars never taught me what
the stars might then have taught me.
The dreams and dancings, the tremulous and then-credulous
tremolos, the inspirations of ululations, the song-stories of
peoples, of healings, of wilds, of ways...now silent.
This silence, in this echoless cave,
is the most wanting, most missing,
Sound.
Sound I’ve ever heard.
The cave never taught me.
The music never taught me.
The drum never taught me.
The dance never taught me.
The cave never taught me.
The fire is out, the embers lost.
The handprint remains on a wet wall in a dim corner in an out-of-the-way
scree-field crevasse just past the Cree field impasse.
The teachers are gone.
The ancestors quiet.
The cave never taught me.
The silence may
yet.
Categories:
desiccating, philosophy, silence, student,
Form:
Free verse
In the wasteland of the deserted life,
chasing the mirage with desiccating desire,
I walk on the tormenting trail of strife,
suffering, I submerge in the sordid mire.
When dreams go down within the abyss of time,
the light of wisdom illumining the soul I see,
attain the state of devout consciousness sublime,
harmonized with the divine sensitivity.
Released from the clasp of the karmic destiny,
I try to transcend the limits of time and space.
From the mortal being I strive to set my soul free,
perpetual peace I yearn to embrace.
From the high pedestal of ego I alight,
understand the meaning of life I miss,
as I look within with the spiritual insight,
the portal opens to the sanctum of bliss.
I’ll see the pristine petals of my soul unfold,
bloom like the divine lotus within, I’ll discern.
Its essence will enter heaven I’ll behold,
merge with the supreme, never to return.
_______________
February 2, 2023
Contest : How Does The Soul Enter Heaven
Sponsored by : Mystic Rose Rose
Categories:
desiccating, analogy, heaven, spiritual,
Form:
Rhyme
Gaping open raw war exhales vapors
In the frigid gray stillness excavating
My souls for the unseen harvest
Reflected in the leaves desiccating
Through walls of fogs pale faces stare
And disappear like a random shiver
Like a slick violin string vibrating sad
-ness like a portent of a sickness open
-ing shaking thoughts of unknown frontiers
Full of four-dimensional forests and coasts
Where skeletons recite rhapsodies ravenously
Waving flags of unjust defunct empires wildly
In the encrusted fear demons lend severed gospels
Like laughing children without love keeping records
Of my actions and their forgotten complexions
Waning in the humid cold touch of misgivings
But the voice warbles without ceasing warnings
Releasing doves bleeding as they fall asleep
Descending into a valley where darkness shines
Limbs of unrequited hope desperately lunge
For the throat emanating light salvation
Indiscriminately reaping and sowing dreams
Seeming real as wounds which never heal
As flies hatch treasonous larva in the gash
And a new century is born and scorned
Now and forever have arrived starved
Demanding blood on the altar of profusion
Crying in concrete homes hallowing illusion
Until the last angel breaks illumination...
Categories:
desiccating, imagery, imagination, spiritual, visionary,
Form:
Free verse
a tsunami catapulted cruising skiff
skyward landing with quiet thud
across undulating infinite granular waves
formerly solid state rocks and minerals
optimism vibrant upon initial unforeseen
crash asper for test dummies
foundered as undertow fostered diminishing hope
initial faith for survival quickly ebbed
nsync with retreating tidal wave
pessimism dreamt fantastical holograms
farther from beached berth
immediately transformed into quicksand,
while off in the distance
a glimmering chimera
(the first of many) appeared
amidst the desert sands one mirage
after another falsely broken promise
buoyed drained salvation
quick decision decreed each man for himself
thus disseminating banded bruited "brothers"
condemnation, damnation, excoriation, fulmination
hurled at cosmic creator thwarting intercession
dehydration, exhaustion, ingratiation, jubilation
foretold merciless portentous demise
witheringly desiccating lovely bones of mine
no doubt raw elements of nature wrought
fate worse than death sans, cabin "mates"
lost among expanse of whittled quartz
across chronometer measuring millions of years
now subjecting one measly mortal i.e. me
to cruel unforgiving, unrelenting,
unwelcoming petty coated junction
blistering hot wind obliterated
fellow travelers convoy deeply
within diabolical dunes
eternally erased doom
awaited for 21st century explorers
to discover scattered wreckage
both beast of burden, outrigged contrivance
and starry trekkers, who vanished without a trace
a handful of scrappy rapscallion existences
blotted (like ink, oil, or other liquid sponged),
where subsequent seasons
of wicked bewitched slow torture
akin to being raked over hot coals
exception made for this interminable sufferer
at the whim of sadistic
persona non grata evil spirit
n'er obliterating diehard survivor instinct
a foreigner to yours truly
but atavistic primitive fight or flight
witnessed relieved whence absently blinking
this life married to indiscriminate
clamped, harried, styled devilishness
evaporated in thin air
upon tentatively opening myopic brown eyes
horror, twas boot a dream.
Categories:
desiccating, 11th grade, 12th grade,
Form:
Blank verse
In the desolate desert of my forlorn life,
I wander across the desiccating dunes you make.
Enticed by your impulsive mindscape,
I saunter in the sandstorm of the dismal time.
My longing languishes to lie
in the sensuous shade of the oasis of your love,
sheltered from the abandoning squall,
away from the dreary bleakness of the wasteland.
The yearning lost in the debris of the broken heart,
I amble sullen with the silent sense of sorrow.
My emotions swirl like the dislodged sands
in the tide of remote time when you were mine.
The transient flame trajectory of devoured desire
furrows in my mind a blazing trail of craving,
I wish I could tread the track of the shooting star,
even if it fades away like the flicker of your love.
Sleeping at the desolate edge of the lonely night,
I see you shine as a star in my dream sky,
sparkles for a while and disappear forever,
I feel disheartened, I haven’t dreamt enough.
I drift now across the dire topography of denial,
the sun of desertion has smoldered my desire,
Realizing mirage designs delusion with sands of time,
I wish somebody would’ve told me.
________________
March 8, 2023
Title chosen : Wish Somebody Would've Told Me
Contest : Pick-A-Title, Vol. 35
Sponsored by : Edward Ibeh
Categories:
desiccating, analogy, desire, lost love,
Form:
Free verse
caves of agony
hold my captured force fed form
weapons befriend and kill me
blood sport brings death's teeth
the desiccating sun burns
my short sword and shield hold sway
what care I for wealth
freedom but a word unclaimed
a surly jest made by God's
only through death freed
may Hades receive my hosts
coin less beggars to Charon*
fodder for hells cages
I as they will live
victim and victor dancing
savior and devil howl "nay!"
for winning means hell
scared gladiator rise again
your feathered helmet gleaming
victory or death
*Charon is the boat man who ferries the death to Hades/ Hell
but he will not cross your soul without being paid.
Categories:
desiccating, death, funeral, death, death,
Form:
Choka
A Second to Work
With a hand that ostensibly
Caresses a fingerboard and bow gently,
Yet really holds with force,
Holds with vim and plays with vigor
The strings stretch and impart their somber discordance,
Turns out Wagner tunes into self,
Turns on raw terror, awe and fear
Awe with sorrow intermingled, the soul knows the notes no words can effect,
They tap the ear— touch the soul,
And Oh,
To play second fiddle
And fiddle with time, as the tune pours out,
A cosmic symphony that Wagner knew and shared with you,
That Nietzsche wrote
That I know,
That to be second to
To know the seconds in time
Lost to frivolous pursuits
To know that we have all but toil,
And work cursed to toil
And labor eternal under a relentless desiccating sun
To know that love comes second,
to toil
is the saddest condition of man.
Categories:
desiccating, humanity, life, sorrow, work,
Form:
Free verse
Broken by the vultures on a desiccating line,
that slithered from Missing, on a road without the signs.
A motion for a moment caught the never-watching eyes.
They haven't seen Missing and no one heard the cries.
A shape begins to form over the rising of the vapor.
The one who takes life's missing and cuts them with a razor.
The apathetic townsfolk in this god-forbidden place,
refuse to sieze the moment and check Missing for a face.
As night begins to burn the shadows into open skies,
a light begins to scrape them off the ground where Missing lies.
It shined down on a missing face that's pasted on the windows.
A mark was from a razor and there's feathers from the pillows.
They've taken and emblazoned them and shapes begin to clear.
The shape that's in the vapor has a face that's full of fear.
Missing has been found but it has always been too late,
for anyone like Missing doesn't have the time to wait.
Categories:
desiccating, death, missing, society,
Form:
Couplet
In the desert of my forlorn life,
across your desiccating dunes I wander
enticed by your volatile mindscape,
I rise from the dust in your swathe.
My longing languishes to be
in the shade of the oasis of your love,
in your arms, sheltered from desert storm,
away from dismal bleakness of wasteland.
From the desolate tree of yearning
I am a dislodged leaf of dream,
rustling with the melancholic tune,
on its journey to the depth of abyss.
I drift across the dunes of denial,
as the scorching sun smolders my desire,
mirage on sands of time designs delusion,
breaks my heart, I shoulda seen it comin’.
_______________
February 1, 2023
Contest : I Shoulda Seen It Comin'
Sponsored by : John Lawless
Categories:
desiccating, analogy, desire, lost love,
Form:
Free verse
Dusk marks stygian depths of this eldritch eve quay grim specter beneath the moon's silvery sheath surf cleaves with a hiss as the banshees keen weave lure to the thicket where shadows deceive yet beckoning thy breast beat.
Chains of ghostly twilight night's tapestry entwine if thou doth believe in such things so they say but leave unsaid many torrents pages gleam.
Cries rend the still air as the murder takes flight knot a feast for the lone but a bouquet for the blight groan from the depths where the dead invite soil splits yielding to the revenant's might.
Eyes petrified on the unhinged portal align not with the stars but plucks them to place upon the earth their nova as railroad spikes.
The cadaverous stir with a clockwork's mock life stalking then seizing in the frenzy of strife macabre feast laid bare by the scythe flesh stripped to bone swifter times the end of the knife.
A ghastly veil descends on our fate malign but the white rabbit hops by forgot the time.
More hands breach the earth as we share a glance darkling tide engulfs the crypts in its dance bare beak boned and maliciously advance craving the sweet succor of mortal for the footfall gets a chance.
Sinew snaps beneath the crows feigned design as the clocktower booms now its our moment to shine.
We thought it all the same indeed all the same virtue the sustenance we seek to claim desiccating avenues in our ravenous game plucking orbs and muffled cries our fame.
Muffled by the water's choke the seams come undone banquet of minds as we delve within eyesight burst forth trailing viscous kin guts unfurl our spiraling sin as a whole we dig in so that their demise begins corpulent scribe pens as we extinguish his line pier to peer the husks a feast so refined flavor so pure it ensnares the mind in time he chronicled a myth intertwined a servant's hand if memory serves me kind.
Categories:
desiccating, bird, dark, death, gothic,
Form:
Free verse
YOU'RE NOT ALONE
You lose your way in the desiccating desert
where moving mirage in life is an illusive irony,
sandstorm scatters the shards of broken heart.
Look out, you’ll find the calm oasis in me.
In the opaque stormy night you’re a lone traveler,
don’t see in the dark the end of the trail of agony.
In the horizon of hope waits the dawn not very far.
Look out, you’ll find the new sun in me.
In this lone line I tell you, you’re not lonely.
July 24, 2018.
Categories:
desiccating, analogy, hope, inspirational, sympathy,
Form:
Rhyme
Lanza Del Relampago,
Feel from the sky on the wings of a crow.
Desiccating the dismayed spring,
And Illuminating.
Me on my cheerless lies,
And darkened eyes.
For evermore it is overlapping in crimson tears,
With an un-blissful joy that no one can bear.
For feelings left unsaid,
Is a sin that no mortal should thread.
Categories:
desiccating, life
Form:
Rhyme
Be wary of the ebb of tide
that strands your woes,
bone-dry up on the high dry side.
See how the winds of sorrow do blow.
Right over the mud flats of despair they go.
Desiccating all remnants of life,
that the flooding tide brought in.
Leaving only a trickle of fickle fate
to bleed back down in rivulets into the sea.
Woe betide the stench of mud exposed
wafting up to sting the nose.
Woe betide, the heart torn forlorn,
By sorrows deep, and sad burdens borne.
Oh, woe betide, the weary worn soul,
That struggles through life's endless toll.
Each step a stumble, each breath a sigh,
Strangling the hope out of dreams, that die.
So get back up, stand up straight and tall
in the muddy ooze beside yourself
and call the tide back in.
Categories:
desiccating, depression, hope,
Form:
Rhyme