Best Dredge Poems
12 BARS
Twelve brazen bars, one frozen lock!
Confined, sublime, an ancient Roc
endures inside a barren cage,
her catacomb in sundown sage.
Of former days there is no trace
except displays of fallen grace –
Twelve dreams, abiding in her place,
are free, inhabit yawning space:
12 DREAMS
... of wings unfurled, and seething eyes
that dredge the depths of dawning skies,
divining clouds that cling below,
once ice, dissolved in morning’s glow;
... of clutching winds that carry free
above an anguished leaden sea,
dispersing dust of distant stars
midst chunks of chain in slave bazaars;
... of swooping to a silent shore
to perch beside the ocean’s roar,
at last to feel the sobbing breeze
message the leaves of rooted trees;
... of stalking strays and twilight tramps
within the fog of lighthouse lamps
that blink forlorn through caldron nights
in search of shades of errant Kites;
... of darkling vast deserted lands,
with shadowed stones on windswept sands,
where ghosts of Moorish maidens lost
disgorge faint groans in mourning frost;
... of blotting out the bloated moon
while feathers beat a banshee tune
and glimmers dance and prance aglow
upon a pearly pale plateau;
... of tasting cool torrential rains,
beyond the realm of binding reins,
and sipping freedom they exude
in quiet drops of solitude;
... of vanquishing a galley crew
aboard a ship of midnight dew,
beneath the pierce of seagulls' screams
that mock the strands of scarlet streams;
... of sating once an aching craw
with tearing beak, with ripping claw,
and echoed by an eldritch screech
while feasting on abandoned beach;
... of restive thoughts and weary wings
that drift on haze in smoky rings,
obscured within the opal shroud
of her resemblance in the crowd;
... of croaking caws in broken rhyme
in winter woe, in summer clime,
while building nests of sundown sage
beyond outside a barren cage.
The future holds no premium
For a person brawling with their past.
There are no birds in last year's nest.
There are no rememberings to unmask.
Memories are the fruits of our existence
Where some bloom and some may die
When exposed to an aura of understanding
Life's lessons shall provide.
'Tis Human to learn from our mistakes...
Making bold of life's infections
Slathering a healthy dapple of forgiveness
As we sinners surmise a new direction.
We should freely right past wrongs...
Banishing past transgressions to the night
As the journey may task our very soul...
So it's best to travel light.
I no longer fear a backward glance
Or the breeze of yesteryear.
I have made my bed and here I lie
With a spirit crystallized and clear.
I ignore the minions who dredge my past...
Casting forth their hellish stones...
As I eagerly embrace one of God's greatest gifts...
Which is a future yet unknown.
The End
Going through some old things that just had to go,
I came upon something that nearly got tossed.
Memories came to me from long ago. . . .
I thrilled that my treasure was no longer lost.
Toys come and toys go. In the 60’s, one fad
was to own an odd doll not seen much today.
This doll had long hair and was scantily clad
but wasn’t a Barbie with which I would play!
Its body was squat and it had a pug nose.
I probably loved it because it looked droll.
Its hair could be orange, green, yellow or rose,
but if you don’t know yet, that doll was a troll!
How I wish I could dredge up some memory
to know what was happening inside my head
as a pre-teen with friends and what it might be
that we did with those dolls and what fun things we said!
The trolls that I owned must have been at least four -
both sexes so they'd make a small family -
their hair different hues, each a doll to adore.
But one day they no longer mattered to me. . .
I can’t say where all of my playthings got stashed.
When I left for college, they vanished from view.
But knowing my mom, they must have got trashed.
She doesn’t hang on much to things like I do.
Now four decades later, I looked at my prize,
bare naked and smudged but its hair still jet black.
It stared up at me with its cute amber eyes.
I couldn’t believe how I got that thing back!
It somehow had ended up in my new state.
Good luck for that troll, I throw few things away!
That doll would be learning soon of its new fate
and meet other troll dolls with whom it would stay.
Just like Peter Pan, I refuse to grow old,
and new trolls I’d bought with long bright spiky hair
when troll dolls again in the 90's were sold!
But I had to recall where I’d stored them….. oh, where??
(I found the dolls and added the old one to the new collection,
but my daughter's family moved in with me a few months ago.
My daughter is a clean freak like MY mom is (apparently it skips
a generation or something), and my daughter took my troll dolls
and put them out of sight somewhere so currently they are floating
around who knows where!
For Paula Swanson's "Yard Sale" Contest
Adrift is smoke, that rises into the shape of a question mark...
Blurring the vacant night, with a ceremonial arc
Tomorrow, under a different sky, in a brand new way
I will wake up to a different sun, and to a wistful song of yesterday
'Though, I cannot find a star, through the drowning dredge of rain
Tonight the moon, left behind, wears a bitter frown of blame
Like a crying mother calling, with a voice of great devotion
A whistle's wailing sadness, resounds my own emotions
With tear-stained eyes, I witness the reflection
In view from where my heart once lived, a dismal day's rejection
I feel the rumble of the wheels, and a tumble of my heart
With a tremble, as the landscape is swallowed by the dark
The snake-like chain bends eastward into constellation courage
With strange misshapen shadows, streaking illuminated passage
Raindrops mimic my own heart, upon the window glass
Spilling over imprints of all the futile questions asked
I find my throat is swollen, and my will too worn to speak
Beside me, rudely flaunting, is a taunting, empty seat
Like a sickle for harvesting a lonely star…
Smoke sketches the sky with the shape of a question mark...
____________________________________________________________
Submitted for Craig Cornish's Contest
8/13/13
Gold Dredging
Early morning first light
Camped on the rugged, mountainous terrain
Out of our warm sleeping bags and tent we crawl
To the smells of pine and clean fresh air of the mountain
Wood starts a sizzling, spitting, crackling campfire
For early morning hot coffee and a warm breakfast
I Dress in tee shirt and swim suit,
Hubby is in his wet suit
We walked down to the creek
Pull the dredge into the creek and get it started
When he hits bedrock where gold might be hiding
I stand beside the sleuth watching the
Gravel run over the riffles
I make sure the riffles stay clean
So the heavy gold
Will deposit behind them and on the mat
I see the flash of color and utter excitement
I yell, “We've hit gold,” impatient
With my tweezers and small jar
For safekeeping and
I keep on cleaning
When the day is done, tired, wet, and weary as a drowned rat
We clean the miners mat into a bucket
By the campfire we sit and pan our gold from the black sand
After the hard day’s work we undertook, it is wonderful
To see all the sparkling gold dust in my pan
The same warm excited feeling
I felt when my husband placed
My gold wedding band on my finger
12/27/2014
" I Smote Thy Heart"
by~ Richard Pickett
Upon the morrow, I shall take aim
with this slender feathered shaft at the heart of thee,
it shall pierce thee in the coldest of manners. Thou shalt
know from whence it came. From my sorrow, said sorrow
left upon me by the daggers of thy withered soul.
Beguiled by thy mask of innocence,that thee wore
as brilliantly as the Barrister, pleading before the magistrate.
Thou shalt plead mercy of passion, I once possessed only for thee,
that I remove the bolt from thy heart. Yet... I shall smite thee,till
thy blood runs as cold as the stone upon whence thy lie.
by~ Poet Destroyer
Strike on whom my ears deceive,
your sadness pierce ye 3 times therefore.
Straight liketh dagger of dragon teeth under thy heart.
A grace alone thou sprouted in remoteness ways.
If it ware not thy heart, ye fancy, into thy face
I have besidis all thy pain
No thing to want if it ware not Mad
Hold on to all things even as ye see, in every angle.
Nothing doth matter; thy aim shall endeth all sorrow
I have founded but makis me happiest thou ever was,
Thou shall not beggeth, taketh the dagger
Now thou its to late, smote thee very slowly
Thee hath my heart in deep shallow waters ;
Bloody lips do what ye list and dredge thee not
Smote thy heart, I care not,
Love whom ye forget, my sweet innocence.
Wherefore I pray mercy or shall not.
But love whom ye fear no God,
Do what must,
My tears shed thousands of grains of sand.
Morrow, will soon cometh, shall I hold
as you taketh away, from your
~ Femme' Fatal ~
A collaboration with * Richard Pickett
I close my eyes
locked in a millisecond
the moment before the bow
touches the strings
where silence has a tremor
and wraps me in darkness
until I hear its particles
vibrating against me
the bow wrenches
from the depth of the bass
a groan from the earth
as if waking a millennia of slumber
the first note
long, rich and haunting
now coming to life
now ready to speak
legs crossed and hands limp
pay attention
to the sources of discomfort
tension in the neck, anxiety in the chest
fatigue in the limbs
heaviness in the core
let this weight sink
pull down through me
melt through me
let it drag and seep
through my bones
until it submerges
into the ground below
transform to roots
connect me
grow deep into the soil
until the energy is revitalized
until I am reminded
we grow from this intricate system
no different from the forest and gardens
spreading, connecting, entwining
the earth is booming
the bass its voice
chanting, singing, commanding
a mantra in a language I don't understand
but with a pulse
I can feel
and it is telling me
I have all I need
visualize one by one
sources of emotional exhaustion
with each dredge up the full power
of all feelings
feelings long suppressed, feelings of fear
allow body and mind to swim
one last time
before I breathe in and blow them away
my body is lighter, sitting straighter
a tall blade of grass
swaying as one
looking across the field
up to the cliff's edge
and over the sunlit ocean
taste sweet scent
of wind
stretch to feel
soft earth
open eyes
to unending sky
focus
on what it means to be alive.
Starring into the dross of amber brew
no face see I reflected, simply hollow I.
The stein of crystal tells no fortune spare,
nor one of bounty, yet what is true?
With drink, I dredge the pain of life anew
and wallow in the grain of cheaper wares,
degrade myself and blame fate, for my strife,
ignoring all God's gift, so loud I cry,
as salted tears stain trails of my despair.
If only, I had been a better wife
I'd not be sitting here.
Form: Curtal Sonnet [A precurser to the Italian Sonnet]
abcabcdbcd c [10 1/2 lines]
In the corridors
of my mind and endless passages
I hold the scars that are the road map to my soul
and where words thrown at me and used as weapons
dwell in the cracks.
Fear and sorrow are like chains holding me prisoner
and I must exhume them from the darkness
disinter and expose them
from vast deep voids where they hide
in the fissures.
And the drum of time is beating and I must pierce
through the hollow shadows to dredge up
this cancer twining !
The path is endless
as I dig and chip at the darkness
leaving no door and no emptiness unchecked
as I follow all the contrived tunnels and atriums
as time is ticking.
The forest of my life is at stake and my sky is gray
but this is an excavation unfathomable
oh, through chambers silent
no matter how difficult and weary
I will crawl seeking.
This fear and sorrow is holding me back from being me
so, I will leave no rock unturned
for I must unearth ...
the darkness dwelling within me !
______________
June 21, 2021
Poetry/Verse/An Excavation
Copyright Protected, ID 06-1365-926-21
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, This or That, Vol. 4
sponsor, Edward Ibeh, Judged 07/27/2021
First Place
A step too far, brings right of passage to a ledge
Fluttering at cliff walls, pushing life’s brittle edge
A sheer instinctive thrust, with no trust to pledge
Now or never moment, undermines fear’s wedge
A chick leaps off, flailing frail wings fail to fledge
Featherweight of hope meets a ten-pound sledge
Crashing straight down, no safety net to dredge
Next guy flaps like mad, landing softly in a hedge
As I stand tentatively on this ledge,
I begin to wonder
if they'll bother to dredge.
I doubt it,with a river so wide,
not for yet,another suicide.
Then I contemplate the rivers depth
and how it undoubtedly
will steal my breath.
As my legs begin to tremble,
I look back at how my life did resemble.
As I'm thinking of my final seconds,
a hand,quite close,
waves and beckons.
I go to jump and end it all
but something grabs me
and stops my fall.
Several saviours are now pinning me down.
Why did they stop me?
I wanted to drown.
catalyse of chalk
circles sooted box, reveals
the vortex inside
stakes open her eyes
pries into her private life
draws blood with madness
insists a deep cut of ties
a vampire’s bite sucks
glistens under moon-lightning
with darkening of iris
the rectangle shut
and discomforting inside
the satin lining
that swaddles her until when
feeds the lack of blood pressure
buried in the earth
instead of mausoleum
means she is fated
until flood rains dredge her up
bitterly famished and ripe
her tormentor’s plot
enjoying her plight of pangs
and her screaming fangs
that engulf her first victim
she begs a silver bullet
…and who will shoot first
the gun, with no reflection,
or the too-white teeth?
does lover want to join her
or distribute her ashes?
the two quick rounds nail
tormentor, his protogé
bloodthirst vanishes
end of bad day, sky’s crimson
and the hungry are looming.
I feel the rumble of the wheels,
and the tumble of my heart
Trembling, a look outside,
as the landscape fades, and quickly grays,
to become swallowed by the dark
Adrift is the smoke, that chokes the sky, that I must leave behind...
Blurring as the evening light, is sighing, quite resigned
The steam has fogged the prairie plains
and I can't help but cry again.
With tear-stained eyes, I see my own reflection
I've left the world I knew before, that left me so rejected
I sit upright, my corset tight, I must get through the night
My muscles are stiff, and I am weary, afraid
The train heading west.....where the crimson sky fades
Where the grasses will sway, and the cattle will graze
and a stranger will pay...to share farming ways
I hope he will share a smile and be kind
What is ahead, only the future will find
Tomorrow, under a different sky, in a brand new way
I will wake up to a different sun, and to a wistful song of yesterday
'Though, I cannot find a star, through the drowning dredge of rain
Tonight the moon, I have left behind, wears a worried face again
I pray the sun will rise anew, and fill new skies above
I pray the life, and the stranger's hand .....will be the one I love
__________________________
1/24/15 "Railway Journeys" Contest, Sponsored by Shadow Hamilton
Experiment, the worth of kings,
no bonafide adventuring
not impinge, glory, noticing,
the trial of "over" ~ SING, BUT SING!
And over, 'til the mode be right,
that last decision, still up tight.
I've felt it oft, all nerves on edge,
have gone too far, my reasons dredge!
It is Inventing, cant resign,
the pulse of difference is my rhyme,
I'll just dive in, for one more time,
then still dig in, this idea's mine!
What closer skill can Man divine,
than right to change, with purpose fine,
not to relinquish my own kind
but build with vision, some new find!
To heal some soul . . . . from mortal bind!
Working with Inventors from the Midwest, some Immigrants, some of the ideas we saw become developed were ~ The radial tire, the round swing, round hay bale,
vise-grip, portable phone, highway breakers, tarps for Semis, ethanol plants, water cleaning equipment, faux diamonds, negative ion air machines, compost ideas, turn signals for autos. We worked on Patents in Omaha, Nebraska ~ Inventors from Denmark, etc. Ideas built America, Corporations like Sears Roebuck, helped the little guy. Let's get America back to those "ideals!"
BACK TO NATURE – JOURNAL XVII
The frogs, the turtles have returned
The river has been cleansed
And I can see some fishermen
Wading out round the bend
Thank heaven those in high places
Have honored their pledge
To clean up our once fair Bawasee
Have brought in a dredge
In these last few I would dredge up my past,
Clean up the errors of years
Be of better vision
Back to nature at last