Best Dried Out Poems
Oh, flower in this crannied wall,
how did your roots prevail and sprawl
from seed that landed in a crack-
so shallow, small, in woods set back
from warm sun rays, to grow in shade
with vines about you- old and frayed?
Your blossom glows a vibrant red;
you stand out bright among the dread
of tangled sprays and dried-out brush.
Your velvet petals boldly blush
just like a ruby- precious stone-
shines on a tarnished ring, alone.
My Cinderella, come with me-
this fine glass jar- your slipper be;
a perfect fit, it shields your foot
of roots now clean of forest soot.
Soon, fertile soil you'll thrive upon-
a princess rose on my green lawn,
beside a prince who grew so tall-
and too was rescued, roots and all.
---------------------------------
February 5, 2023
2022 Poetry Marathon Qualifiers' FINAL Placement Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Mark Toney
A blustery breeze blows through the half-opened window
of this secluded second story loft
sun rays pulse upon the silken fibers of your hairs
as my once dried out paint brush comes to life
The blank canvas sprouts wings
as your spirit dances in shades of
soft browns, vibrant yellows and seas of blues
capturing the essence, grace and beauty of you
curves so smooth and sensual
eyes inviting and intoxicating
cheeks a rich rosy red
little smile calling me home to
share in the solemn secrets of your bed.
Your emotions are evoked in each stroke I take
Your dreams and desires asleep, dare not I wake
"There are those to whom place is unimportant,
But this place, where sea and fresh water meet,
Is important ---"
From "The Rose", by Theodore Roethke
Chilly late October;
thin morning fog banks
the roadside, cloaks
a trickling bayou...
in the thickets of dense trees,
the wispy tufts
top man-high
goldenrod, Queen Anne's lace,
dried-out thistle stalks...
A school bus, solitary,
yellow, passes on
skinny black asphalt
where wet spots reflect
the newly risen sun.
Rustles of high,
green cane fields and
intermittent bird songs
interrupt pervasive quiet...
Timelessness, and solace --
calming, soothing --
a Louisiana bayou:
Bayou Sale.
In the beginning it was dust
being tossed around in the wind with no direction
wandering for a home that could not be found alone
laid out on hot pavement dried out and seeking
then the rain fell upon, mending together to form clay
bringing forth a new life form
from which by itself was alone and dead
water shall be made available to all
which shall give the texture to work with
few will absorb into a ready substance
seeking to be like the lamp stand which set the example
washing away the stones which caused it to separate
the Potter shall embrace with guidance
pouring the perfect mixture on a solid foundation
for this new creation to be molded
for all has been brought forth to press on
Just as clay while being formed into his creation
will fall and try to go on its own
for it has no support within itself
and has to be known it can not do it alone
but he watches closely and with his hands
he continues to mold and patch all things right
for he knows its path and direction
for only by staying in the center of his hands
shall it be raised up into a finished product
set up to be baked by the fire to purify
which then can be filled with overflowing water
March
Sweet, bitter March,
last year tears haven’t dried out up
till now and yet you
are already at the door,
knocking lightly!
Sadness is still flapping over my head like
a frantic goose, what have you brought with you
to silence its primordial honking?!
I can see your hunched silhouette against the wall
Of my waiting, standing awash with shame,
wringing your empty hands desperately!
O' March , anniversary of tears and smiles,
Memories are pacing around nostalgically, sniffing
the withered roses, leafing through the pages of books
trying to put the haphazard leftovers of a once
beautiful image into shape…
The hurricane that accompanied you once
has subdued, leaving behind a nerve-tearing silence and
a deracinated life!
Don’t wonder; rootless hopes are still roving
over the corpse of a long dead dream, taking
strength from the ever pulsating stars…
March, March , embracer of birth and death,
the breath of eternity has abandoned
your rosy-cheeked child..
The resonance of its happy giggles are
haunting the vacant hours of night, sending me
reeling of longing!
Its face emerges from among the clouds of years, an angelic
Vision imprinted on the face of a mourning moon!
My neighbor Ken loves to display
those tanned, boney ribs on the bay ;
He thinks it's really darn cute
to look like a dried out mute...
While ladies roar out, 'stay away!'
--------------
John Freeman’s Personal quotes
5/21/2015
Sol hung in the western sky,
in the western sky Sol hung,
like a dead man on a rope
when dying time has come.
Watch how you tread in the desert,
in the desert watch how you tread,
the vultures soar high on the thermals
as they seek out the dying and dead.
Take water to drink on your journey,
on your journey take water to drink,
there's a lack of sweat, on that you can bet,
but you've dried out more than you think.
Plant your feet with care when walking,
when walking plant your feet with care,
the horse crippler cactus is waiting
to take you unawares.
Pass by the brush with caution,
with caution pass by the brush,
the diamondback lounges in shadows
but his strike comes on with a rush.
Disturb not the stones on your travels,
on your travels disturb not the stones,
a scorpion may surprise you,
their sting goes down to your bones.
All is not dread in the wasteland,
in the wasteland all is not dread,
but vultures fly high on the thermals
as they wait one and all to be fed.
All is not death in the desert,
in the desert all is not death,
beauty enough for the seeker
to take away their breath.
The old, relaxed; we pour ourselves a glass.
There is no need to stretch or change our way.
We know the flavors here; the only task:
ensuring it is just like yesterday.
Like sediment, this attitude does weigh;
we lie immobile, deign to be disturbed,
exchange bouquet for residual gray,
our appetite for joy, completely curbed,
our thoughts reserved to naught but that which is deserved.
Thus, when it comes along, we’re unprepared;
our skins are too inflexible to grow.
The thought of making room just leaves us scared,
so we eschew the new for what we know.
That which does not comport, we must forego,
and in this way, we struggle to survive;
our aging, brittle walls, like Jericho,
must be torn down to breathe, to come alive,
for we were meant to stretch, that we might truly thrive.
A leopard cannot shed its spots alone;
a dried out husk cannot make itself new.
The old man must be utter overthrown
before with new wine he can be imbued.
The old skin, by a Word, banished from view,
no longer to restrict and much annoy;
a transformation occurs through and through:
the old man dead, a child of God, a boy
who bubbles forth in endless, effervescent joy.
----------
Musings on Matthew 9:17
These are Spenserian Stanzas, 10A:10B:10A:10B:10B:10C:10B:10C:12C
I search within these grains of sand
Sifting slowly through my hands
Seeking that one special key
to unlock the tomb of memories
All the footprints washed away by tides
but once upon a time still lives inside
Calling back the endless pleasures
Waking thoughts of bygone treasures
I still wring wine from dried out roses
and sculpt hard rock in limber poses
I can still find sugar in the ocean salt
when time rewinds and my mind comes to halt.
For once a dream I dreamed came true
I walked along these shores with you
The love we shared still whispers on the sea
this sea of endless memories.
What do you think?
Nothing. Again, nothing.
I am as colorless as clear water,
as reflective as a mirror, as empty
as a room everyone just left.
What do you feel?
Nothing. Once more, nothing.
I am as passive as a stone,
as fluid as a stream,
as shallow as a saucer...
Why do you lie? I do not lie --
you see my exposed shell,
the walls inside which I have
become dessicated, shrunken,
hard, withdrawn -- a dried out oyster,
a clam, a snail -- a distracting
polished whelk.
I lie here, naked and exposed, splayed out upon
an open plain, under the hot, African sun, still as stone
slowly decomposing. My life fluids have drained away.
I am a massive hulk of dried out skin and bones
my large trunk lies flaccid at my side, my great
ears are rotting at the edges. I smell of putrid waste.
Do I detect a presence in my midst? Do I hear a sudden
gasp? A muffled cry? Are your eyes widening, pupils
dilating in horror?
Do come and see my wretched state. For I was hunted for
pleasure, for mere sport, discarded like a worthless penny
shot down for the hell of it.
Why is man so careless? So callous? For we beasts are at
your mercy. You mourn for me today, but will you care
tomorrow?
I lie here, naked and exposed, splayed out upon
an open grave.
Written on 4/8/2016
A ball of twine, a washing line
A bag of peat, an old dust sheet
A rope
Some wire
An old flat tyre
A roller-skate, a garden gate
Some dry grass seed, a millipede
A sack of sand, one glove, left hand
A torch
A mallet
A painters pallet
A cracked fish tank, a broken plank
A headless gnome, some dried out loam
An old bike bell, a snail shell
A spade
A fork
A champagne cork
The dogs toy bone, a traffic cone
It's cleared away, it took all day
I find it is, quite safe to say
It used to fit, But who knows how
My garden shed is empty now
Winter morning light filters through lace curtains,
Reaches down, spills onto the corner kitchen sink,
Through east and south facing windows.
The glass jar, the scrub brush and pad in plastic butter dish,
A down-turned, empty yogurt container,
The pink plastic rinse pan
Keep company around the sink's edges.
The dried-out, yellow dishrag
Straddles the stained white porcelain wall between
Its twin chambers. Home.
The three-track cribbage board,
Deck of blue and white checkered "Boardwalk Casino" cards,
Awaiting friendly competitors,
The gilded "Fiftieth" anniversary photo frame.
Adorned with golden bow, glass-winged butterfly,
Displayed proudly on the fireplace mantel.
The couple with their Papal Blessing,
Sharing in the holding. Home.
Morning light streams through
Aged lace curtains, into the living room,
Over the fireplace, bricks set years ago,
Solid as the blessed couple.
Solid as the Home.
She struggles with the details of conversation,
And asks, as she does each time, "Arrr you mare-eed?"
Trilling the r's, after greeting me
With her Mother's heart, "My Myzeleh Surptizeleh"
In her heavily accented German voice.
"Howv many cheel-drrren you havf?" Home.
The dated, yet functional, lime-colored shag carpet,
Symbolic of their stoic, conservative, old European ways;
The lace doily on the end table, photos of a grandchild,
A son, a daughter; and one of them, too. Home.
The pink plastic Rosary ever present
On the coffee table in front of the well-worn sofa.
Her days spent there,
Sometimes sitting, sometimes lying.
The beads close at hand, atop a book of Prayers.
Crocheted adornments on the walls,
A wooden decorator spoon,
A picture framed pair of swans,
With them all those years. Home.
Abandoning yesterday,
time morphs into tomorrow.
And steps over dying dreams,
drowning in tears of sorrow.
When love abandons the scene,
fantasies morph into lust.
For untethered from my heart,
trust; has eroded to rust.
Paradise turns to desert
when the wind whispers your name.
For I'm reminded you left,
and now, nothing is the same.
Tattered, dried-out memories
tend to crumple at my touch.
And blow away with the wind,
not counting for very much.
The sun continues to shine,
and the sky's still just as blue.
But my reason for living
disappeared when I lost you.
And one day when the world has noting to show
All the plants died and the oceans has dried up
The memory of animals ever existed would have been faded by far
Cats and dogs, pigs and cows, whales and sharks, hamsters and rats, mice and snakes
Deserts as far as the eye an see
No person in site
No babys crying and no spoiled brads throwing tantrims over something he cant get
No lillipols, sweets or muffins
No baking and dancing
No singing in wild karioki bars
Most of all no heartbraks no love
No crying no pain
No hate, dissapointments no trouble no drama
No gaining weight only loosing
Cracked lips and dried out eyes
No emotion no warmth
No memorys just a faded sound of a peep
Call, emtyspace, tears, sadness, relieve
And on day when the world has nothing to offer
No one to hold your hand
All plants have died and oceans has dried up
The memory of animals was harsh and sad
By far the most dreadful memory...
Erasing faded distant unclear
Deserts as far as the eye could see
No person in site
What goes up must come down
What goes down rearly comes back up
I wish i could have held your hand the day u stepped into it
The day your life suport went down and didnt come back up
Call, emtyspace, tears, sadness, relieve
Hand holding first day of school, first dance
I know i probably shed my first tears on you
All i can remember these days is crying over you
Hands holding foreheads touching eyes looking lips touching
That should have been our position
That should have been ours
One day when the world has nothing to show nothing to offer
No plants, animals or oceans
No people woman nor men
Not his or hers nor mine or yours
Defnitley no maybe's
Where yes means yes
Where no means no
No hesitation or overthinking
No turning back
No looking back
No....
Where i would envy death
He walked with you, i couldnt
He held your hand, i couldnt
He heard you say your last words
He saw the last light out shine your eyes
He felt your last breath on his face
The day you stepped into my world of memory