Best Dry As A Bone Poems
Imagine an oil stroke on a virgin canvass
an image coaxed out by a velvet hand
pas de deux artist and brush
here comes the wind
and suddenly, I appear out of nowhere
Imagine my memories invisible as air
a non violate kiss somewhere out there
here comes the image,
of a two step process, the artist and I
wonderfully etched, I pop up;
Imagine my visage, aging flower of old
existing in a turbulent rotation
eyes of a cougar, soul of a lion
I am Virginia Woolf the writer
like a binding book I appear pressed
Continued survival on a canvass of dry,
parched as a stone in a pocket, alone...
An alabaster jar
Amongst the discard
Embedded in the mud.
The fisherman
Well trained in the ancient art of picary
Catches a halibut
In the morn
It is the noon. The river is all but gone.
Dry as a bone. A bona fide state for a river under the baking sun.
The harlequin fish now ARE all dead.
The cavities once called a river
Now await the rain for life to return in its core.
Still the alabaster jar
Among the discard- waiting to be fished out.
Next to the last alive pair of toads in amplexus.
Oh the river
The supreme life giver. Calls for Anuket!
Times are desperate.
The sun is hot. The rain won’t fall.
Amethyst stones on its cracked banks
Glitter and reflect its sad facade.
The fisherman sits and grieves for the dry river
His eyes transfixed in the limestone.
Alas his halibut is still fresh
In the bucket. He reaches out and fishes out the alabaster jar.
Happy Heat
I had no Huck Finn
sort of existence except
for summertimes
at the lake.
Walking the state road,
tar melting like licorice
as I worked it with my shoes.
air shimmered ahead.
Sure I saw puddles,
I was always fooled.
Upon approaching the enigmatic sizzle,
it was dry as a bone.
Now I step back into youth’s
mirages where life was glucose,
easily digested, and I never looked
behind except to see how far I’d come.
In my place of distance,
the simple sound of leaves
in the wind flailing to escape
undulating branches brings me back.
Oh I am happy now
…. Yet…,
Then….
forward was limitless.
Today the future is slightly bound.
Pretend puddles puzzle me still.
Répéter Depuis le Début
The Pink Studio, by Henri Matisse, 1911.
Perception fuses like melted rose quartz,
fuses on the lens of Matisse’s puzzled eyes
like the naiveté of childhood returned to age.
Melted images rose in two dimensions,
rose in repetition, mothering the pieces.
Quartz, genteel rosé, shown in transcendence,
fuses on the lens of Matisse’s puzzled eyes
on naysayers & followers, his morphosis reigns.
The stimulus silent, light’s effect returned, burned
lens now open to the madness of pattern, pieces
of left brain obliterated; right reinforced; art,
Matisse’s obsession oozed from his pores
puzzled synapses explored and explored,
eyes dry as a bone, from sleepless nights, sigh.
Like the naiveté of childhood returned to age,
the Madonna appears, or the muse Aphrodite reborn,
naiveté sexless tasted clean, pure, purged in white.
Of the patterns outside, he’d reproduce those within
childhood wide-eyed he approached & there he
returned again & again paying homage to the core,
to reiterate images in pieces of two dimensions
age left the left brain obliterated – reinforced the right.
Melted images rose in two dimensions.
Images, giving meaning to negative space,
rose ground beneath the pestle of repetition
in loops, sockets, knobs, holes, tabs, slots & keys
two halves male-female, left-right, up-down
dimensions all an idiocracy depicted his fright,
rose in repetition, mothering pieces,
in loops, sockets, knobs, holes, tabs, slots & keys
repetition reiterated, quartz ground beneath the pestle
mothering the pieces of two dimensions,
pieces of puzzles conjoining parts triangularly staged.
Quartz, genteel rosé, shown in transcendence.
Genteel, childlike, Matisse adored illumination, art
rose with repetition, a mothering of the pieces,
shown in the dance, in stance, in transfigured delight,
in loops, sockets, knobs, holes, tabs, slots & keys,
transcendence an illusion, of optics, of light.
First Published in Ekphrastic: writing and art on art and writing 2016
Sitting absolutely alone
In a round room of riled people
My brain feeling dry as a bone
Staring at a silent steeple
They’re sleeping upon a hill there
In a shadowed silent graveyard
Still, just resting lacking a care
The smooth granite stones standing guard
Charming clouds floating close above
The sounds of calling gulls and surf
No competing or push and shove
In a plot of well trimmed green turf
Safely absent from the rat race
With constructed reality
With make believe smiles on each face
Sleeping through perpetuity
A seldom soft fleeting footfall
Leaving intermittent flowers
Stopping for a tad to recall
Then receding like spring showers
Smiling, I return to the room
The backbiting and bickering
Critical deadlines that still loom
People fretting about nothing
Oh! A mighty empire that was built
Beneath thé shield of the sun,
Thé empire that glows of victory,
Home of great mortals that dined with glory.
Oh! The empire that marching of it warriors,
Makes the soul of it foes tremble,
Losing their confidence for war makes them humble,
For fighters flee,but war goes after thèm.
Oh! The proud mortals who confronts,
Souls of weak creatures in warfronts,
Fought bravely to achieve their desires,
But forgot the hints that desires also expires,
Oh!Then time came, when great warriors,
Now aged warriors, only fight to defend their interior,
Survival their foremost goal,
Property and properties burning into charcoal.
Oh! Their weakness now a book of roll in the mouth of many,
The forces of nature, now feeds on their walls,
The great empire now as dry as a bone,
In the memories of men, their dormination is gone,
Nothing is hidden under the shield of the sun.
A beautiful mind, one of a kind
Kept alone, river of love as dry as a bone
Hidden from society, protected from it's immoral notoriety
With no purposed intent, a conversation with unexpected extent
An act best described as divine, two lonely souls intertwine
Causing apprehension at first, both groomed to expect the worst
An explosion of attraction, fulfilment and soulful satisfaction
Perfectly calculated chemistry, flawless like an act of wizardry
Forged from lonely contemplation, defences destroyed by recent reflection
Most priceless gift of hope, hastened by the hart's grope
Reignites a forgotten fire, once fueled by lustful desire
Now an untainted yearning of late, for the soul's perfect mate
With the splendor of honesty, the most wonderful dream a possibility
With distance the test, love will conquer with no contest
A Fairy tale unfolds, with the best still untold
A lesson on what we can achieve, when we are willing to BELIEVE.
Morne van Dyk - 25/02/2015
I SPOT a lofty black cross
Standing conceitedly on a rock-strewn mount,
Where nothing akin to a tree can be seen,
Murky clouds hovering over it,
It is on this cross that she will
Sacrifice me for the sake of love
I OBSERVE dry as a bone grass,
That left chasing precious emerald existence
Because the master of life-rain
Could not depart the lucrative comfort of cloud nine
To reprieve underprivileged earthlings;
As the sunburned grass sever to shreds,
I perceive her love for me fading
Radically till nothing of it remains,
She tramples upon me unfeelingly
WHEN I raise my eyes to meet up hers,
Tears COURSE down my cheerless cheeks,
In her face I discern weariness, withdrawal.
She appears dull and outrageously sorrowful-
Conceivably I am a great irk to her,
She cannot let me feel her lips once more.
NOW alone I contemplate smoke rising,
I bathe myself in the glee of solitude,
Shrewd that hours of night must go a way
Paving way for hours of dawn that must also go a way;
That the putrid soul of mine
Possibly will one day be rapt and inspired
Though she has departed from me
An Ode to the Moon
By Elton Camp
Oh lovely moon so shiny and bright
Many lovers you will inspire tonight
They gaze at you, get filled with desire
When two hearts so wildly are set afire
Though the object that they look upon
Is lifeless, dusty and as dry as a bone
But thoughts of this there is no trace
As they admire your pock-marked face
See that crater lying right over there
It’s rugged and totally devoid of air
Though lovers admire what they see
A place of death the moon would be
Very fitting symbol of human love
Is this object that hangs far above
It has a dark side that they didn’t see
After marriage, the lovers will agree
I got lost in a book
somewhere in between
the opening line
and chapter nineteen.
I couldn't get out.
There wasn't a way,
trapped in a plot
that was strictly horseplay.
You better send teams
who are willing to search
for clues in a murder
committed in church,
where money is missing,
and candlesticks too.
Poor Reverend Reicker,
found dead in a pew!
I need a stiff drink.
I'm as dry as a bone.
Police everywhere,
and Detective Malone.
He's asking me questions.
What? When? And why?
My mind is a blank,
and I've no alibi.
Everything's here...
all the parts of a novel,
the setting, the crime,
(I'm starting to grovel)
clues for the clueless,
a climax so close.
I'm an innocent bystander,
in bed, comatose!
"If you aren't the killer;
if you aren't the crook,
just how in the Hell did you
get in this book?"
"It's the fault of the author.
He's just too damned good.
He scattered the words,
And I went where I could."
I’m torn away and lifeless
In a pixilated display cover
Not caring or feeling
Except showing my own past as a lover
Taking it all in stride
With nothing to hide anymore
The self realization is gone
What’s left is how alone I feel
Even with a body next to me
There’s something quite surreal
I can’t shake the idea that I’m not where I’m supposed to be
I’m afraid and alone
Dry as a bone
No motivation or anticipation
Can push me further into what I should be
Can’t someone push me for once?
Can’t anything touch me enough?
Why can’t my tortured mind
Ever get conscious desires?
I get what comes and nothing more
It’s black and bleak with no sign of retreat
Who can step away from this monogamous feat?
I took the higher ground
Pretending to be something proud
But I’m lost
In the mind of my mind.
My love wants you here, now , but I wait,
I think, I dream and I contemplate;
what in the world do I have to offer,
what do I have worthwhile in my coffer;
but alas, my coffer is empty,dry as a bone,
to give you your worth,I must get a loan;
then i think, I don't need tangible things,
my love for you is so true that it rings;
I will give to you my heart and all my love.
the most treasured prize from God above;
it is more valuable than any object on earth,
and I give it to you, for all it is worth;
it is yours to have, hold, cherish and care,
as soon together we'll have our love to share.
Hours transpired like every other day.
Perched on the trees, sparrows chirped,
keeping the dreadful silence at bay,
and sunlight across the land, whipped.
Laid there on the grassy lawn,
was a lovely lass dressed in a corset.
Smelling the blossoms like a fawn,
enchanted was she by nature's best.
Up the hill ran a hysterical lad,
his face as white as a sheet,
shattered her heart to more than just a shard,
and made her swoon to her feet.
Minutes rolled to hours, and hours to days,
and there she sat like a stone.
With her eyes so lifeless and cold,
her once rosy lips now as dry as a bone.
Draining her blood was her soul,
turning her visage as of a ghoul.
Neither did she eat, nor drink,
as she stooped over life's brink.
Deep down was an endless bottom,
which her rotting psyche couldn't fathom.
The day came when her eyes lit up,
like a hopeless spark in a dark cavern.
She let go and set her eyes on the stars afar,
and said "I'll be there wherever you are".
Rocking boat with the motion of the ocean,
My ocean, Unsettling Ocean, but the boat
Does not rock by way of the waves, it rocks
Because the occupants have nothing to do
Other than tilt the boat from side to side until
They die, waters unnaturally calm, flat,
Disturbed by unnaturally small ripples from
The rocking boat, disturbed by disturbed
Minds in the rocking boat that are wondering
Where they are, why they are there, if they
Are even alive, if they are trapped on the tight
Curve of time. One man jumped and returned
Dry as a bone, like he never jumped at all,
Another dipped down to drink and found his
Throat dry as a bone, like he never drank at
All, then they all jumped and returned dry
As a bone, like they never jumped at all, and
They all were in shock and awe. Tranquil
Bear trap, this rocking boat, and they concluded
That Death's scythe was simply lodged in
Their throats, hung up on the tendons—soon
The water will start to fall, they said, as the
Seafloor is taken away and all their heads fall
Off and roll, and the unnaturally calm waters
Will never feign being natural again.
Whenever I would go to my mother,
Regardless of the bother,
Prices of sweets, housing, jobs,
Dangers on the street, or other bits and bobs,
She would give me advice so bold,
Before taking me to the land of old.
Back to the days when she was a child,
The days in which prices were mild,
Her father out doing all kinds of work,
Yet the politicians were still selfish jerks,
Back when bread and beans were 50p,
Back in the time of the old Queen.
She would talk of the greatness of the country,
When the people were as free,
As the air between your hair,
She would of tell of the care,
Of all she knew towards each other,
Before I would finish talking with my mother.
At least with my mother there were no lies,
Unlike my father in which it was like a spy.
Uncovering it all just like Holmes,
As he spoke of his old home.
Or all the crimes he did in school,
Just to try and seem cool.
My father's old school nights,
When he had a whole school fight,
When he was punished for being bad,
With a belt just like his Dad.
The atrocities that would make you cry,
If they weren't all lies.
When I am old and starting to tell,
Of my youth, and this world of hell.
Where no one can afford a home,
And birth rates are as dry as a bone.
The threat of war on the rise,
And this is only if I am alive.
Instead of thinking of my years to come,
Or when my origin had begun,
We should fix the world of now,
And lets not ask how.
Banded together, we have the key,
To fix our society.
To change the future.
So we can say "Back in my day".