Best Dikes Poems
Many times the ocean
has saved Nippon, pearl of the sea,
an oceanic symbiosis a speck in a fecund see.
The dikes of man such miniscule plans to hold back the tide.
The throngs, each and all crawl across the thin skin of volcanic soil
or rise with in the hump-backed alps of remnant cones.
Yet, the sea rises to reclaim its own
scour the pallet of man, refine, burnish melt, reform.
With pen and sword kanji drawn, samurai born
with knife and bone entrails torn, honor tested
tested by the hand of He,
tested and found worthy.
The children of the Divine Wind
rise above the tsunami, as one, unbowed.
I live in the land
where seas are high
and soils are low
where dikes and dunes
are border posts of
safe and sound
I live in the land
where sea levels rise
and soil levels sink
where boats look down
on red tiled roofs
and tops of trees
I live in the land
where sand and clay
replace the rock
where houses on piles
stand straight and strong
in shrinking peat
I live in the land
where poets have sung
of slow moving rivers
in infinite lowlands
where painters have praised
the grey kaleidoscope above
Sedimentary and metamorphic rock
From earths mantle or crust
Host of tungsten granites and diorites
Intrusive extrusive and hypabyssal
Of batholths sills and dikes
Eruptions of subaerial volcanoes
Continental crust
A pacific ring of fire
4030 million years old
Neptune
The king sits on a wooden throne on a turf of
dry land, his country has been swallowed up
by the sea, turns to his premier and says; why
didn´t you ask the Dutch for help, their flat
country has been beneath sea levels for many
years... and as a result they have grown to be
the tallest people in the world, this so they
look over dikes and keep an eye on the ocean.
The king takes off his green wellies and asks
for dry socks, a flunky puts them on, but sees
the king has webbed feet and wonders why.
The monarch knew his country would sink,
and was prepared, his kingdom will be big and
limitless.
Innocent child,
wake up from your rainbow colored dreams,
listen to the red feathered rooster,
it crows the early dawn's burden,
hang on me,
dance along with the swaying golden weeds
among the fields of corn,
watch the trees of blue and gray,
follow me on the dikes of rice fields of amber green,
look at the scarecrow,
it looks like death,
open up your eyes to the sad realities,
the common farmer of tattered clothes,
his pockets filled with mud,
he is a prisoner of a violent semi-feudalism,
with hands wrapped in callous,
bleeding while tilling the bone-dry land,
he works like a slave for his landlord.
Little child,
even the plain smells with fog,
moistened leaves keep on falling over your head,
but never close your eyes,
do not be scared to see the toiling man's stomach,
it has been empty for ages,
he is nailed on the cross of ferocious poverty,
dying,
suffering,
yet our politicians live in luxury,
do nothing but to corrupt for eternal power,
they keep on pretending as common farmer's saviors,
but they are actually scarecrows,
the angels of death,
do not trust even you admire them with sugar-coated words,
sooner they will give you the worst blow.
sweet child,
open up your mind to the relentless cruelties of this world,
the common farmer's skin is burning,
still toiling under the hell of the sun,
sweating with blood,
and his eyes are flowing with tears of agony,
yet the government does nothing to give him a decent life,
he goes to church every sunday morning,
confessing everything about liberation,
asking for freedom from the madness of hunger,
but he realizes not,
people around him,
including laymen,
also are victims of brutal political corruption.
Stinging sensations dancing across my staring globes.
Unable to blink.
The deep brown of the mud puddle
may reflect my aching heart,
oozing pain,
but I can’t see.
I don’t know.
A lead weight thumping away
longs to be free of its prison.
Why does it feel so heavy?
Why does it seem so full?
As if all the sorrow in a 5’4 frame
could be centered in that one little organ.
What is a heart
that it should wish to fly like a bird?
No,
leave soaring to the winged, freedom
to those who are free,
enrichment to the rich and give
the pitiful their pity,
nothing more.
A treacherous thing, this heart:
it does its job with a grumble and a sigh-
but conspires to drown the townsfolk
in their beds.
For it has some strange connection with the holes
in the dikes
that keep the ocean,
keep emotion,
tucked away.
There's gonna be a Freaker's Ball,
tonight at the Freaker's Hall.
Everyone's invited one and all,
so come on ladies grease your lips
grab your hats and swing your hips
and don't forget to bring your whips.
I'll take you to the Freaker's Ball.
Blow your whistle, bang your gong,
roll up something to take along.
It feels so good it must be wrong.
Freaking at the Freaker's Ball.
All the fags and the dikes are boogying together.
Leather freaks are dressed in all kinds of leather.
The greatest of the sadists and the masochists too
screaming "Please hit me and I'll hit you!"
The FBI is dancing with the junkies
and all of the straights are swinging with the funkies
across the dance floor and bouncing off the walls.
We're all freaking at the Freaker's Ball.
Hard hats and long hairs are kissing each other,
mother with daughter, son with mother.
Smear my body up with butter
and take me to the Freaker's Ball.
Pass that roach and pour the wine.
I'll kiss yours if you'll kiss mine.
I'm a gonna boogie till I go blind
freaking at the Freaker's Ball.
RAINS
Rains connotes many things
Rains from heaven is a blessing
A natural phenomenon
It is God’s wish that keeps us from drying
Rains is life giving.
Why does one tears, perspire and urinates?
Why do we produce artificial rains?
To survive
For an Ophthalmologist, tears from the eyes
Is the simplest form of cleansing body temperatures
It comes naturally to cure.
Rains are like tears from the eyes
Rains make lives live and alive
Rains are like tears console the heart, mind and spirit
Suppressing our feelings long subdued
If not allayed the worse comes to worst case.
Rains make the environment fresh
Rains wet the barren sand and dampened forest
It brings new beginnings of lives
Another contract of lease
As after the rains come the sunshine.
However, rain, rain go away come another day
As it swells the heart, the sea, rivers and lakes
It looses the mountain rocks to slide
Fills the canals, drainage and dikes
And causing floods and drowning men and nature.
Could it be God’s wrath because of our abuses? The scientists think otherwise!
Massil with Carn Mor Dearg
you rear up in massive bulk
Devonia volcano with collapsed dome
proud you stand against darkening skies
Many to your summit climb
wary of your cloud chambers
us mortals tremble at your storms
forked lightening flashing deadly bolts
Venomous mountain your Gaelic name
at your summit a series of ring dikes
your slope longest and steepest in this Isle
wide open your vast plateau, nay shelter here
Dropping to Glen Bennis Nibheis as you descend
be sure to visit the Glen's distillery for a dram
savour Usige Beatha" a taste of heaven for sure
Look up and wonder at the beauty of Beinn Nibheis
originally written 03/09/2013
As most of you will know Beinn Nibheis is Ben Nevis which in Gaelic meaning venomous
or malicious mountain, in a 5 year period responsible for 13 deaths. Usige Beatha means
water of life in Gaelic Massil means twinned with
I have felt the storm cloud’s roll
glimpsed the tempest churn itself.
Watched rivers swell, dikes overflow
by light of lightnings quivering glow,
a bright, forbidding unnatural clef.
Thunder by thunder rumbled aloud.
Yes, I have feared the dark storm cloud.
I’ve born witness to the wind storm's might
I've trembled as the bowing trees.
Gale whipped seas to unmarked height
blinding panic under shuddering fright,
even the sun flees winds like these;
he is a coward, (I too have been)
when face to face with a storm of wind.
I have touched the hurricane’s soul
my blood stirred to a choking clod.
I’ve taken all the storm could throw
torrents of rain and frightful blow,
it’s like touching the tears of God
as His judgment oppressed the proud.
Oh! I have suffered the great storm cloud.
Smelt Spelt
Smelt Spelt
Smelt Spelt
Taciturn brown blackened smelt under wrapped green elephant ears laying in a
pool of fluid leaked on a bed of brown crusty spelt in points of poverty in the
chastity belt of time.
Every thirteen feet as described in the tenements of Leroy there is a firepit for the
use of the fishermen of Longest town. The Dutch Harbor has a dike. She patrols
the area. Checking the outlay traps. She is lonely. The water is held away by the
dam. The Smelt lay near the dam and are trapped rather easily in used clam
containers hauled up with the dikes help she uses a belt and gathers all the
smelt into a kept cooler. The Spelt is harder it is thrashed. All the fishermen
named Leroy meet and thrash the spelt until it can be felt and gathered into
boxes and then kept beside the kept cooler full of smelt. They wrap the smelt up
in the spelt up inside the ears of elephant. When it roasts slowly in the firepits it
makes some fluid. This is drained into a giant crock pot and there is soup for the
entire village of Leroy and dike has more than enough as well.
And every one in poverty and chastity is fine they smell. They smell the smelt
spelt in the ears of the elephant plant.
Smelt Spelt
The crimson hue in the dusk.
A girl with nasturtiums.
And the streets are starting shaking
like dikes.
The sea is tiptoeing.
A picture of a Golden Age.
And of my heart.
On the sea breezed side of the mountains
in my share of the Land of the Free,
you will find me midst beautiful flowers
beneath a grand evergreen tree.
In winter- time it seldom freezes,
and our summers are cooled by the sea.
With soil that is richer than Midas,
it’s the life of a farmer for me.
The wonders of nature surrounding
are abundant and varied and wild.
We’re shaken now and then by an earthquake.
So far they’ve been modest and mild.
In the past our rivers have rampaged,
bringing riches from out of the sea.
We’ve tamed them with dikes and taught them
more hospitable neighbors to be.
The orcas swim up to the shoreline
and then go right back to the deep.
That I live in northwest Washington State,
is no longer my secret to keep.
By: Joyce Johnson
it's so cold
but yet
i'm covered with a quilt
My soul quiver
Awaiting for you to
Come and seal the compassion
That rise in my heart
Love and trust
Helped build
But why you leave me
TO wander off to the night
With them hookers hustlers
Pimps,hoes and dikes
who hate you
Don't care
The ones who stole your life
Yeah' and left me
Covered in these
Lonely nights
in fear
A Sea Dirge
I once saw, where the horizon ends,
a ship ploughed the sky.
White tears on pale blue,
I saw the waiting darkness;
I knew, before any others,
it would be a starlit night.
Look, I said, but it was too late,
the ship had cast anchor
behind a cloud loading mist
for Dogger Banks,
and take onboard discarded dreams to plug
the dikes of Amsterdam.
Sunflowers on mythical sea
and red flying fish,
my ship is bound for the Saragossa Sea with
cargo of old sailors,
here they come to stalk in fog of the forgotten.