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Best Dry As A Bone Poems | Poetry

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The Best Dry As A Bone Poems

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Happy Heat

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…,
forward was limitless.

Today the future is slightly bound.
Pretend puddles puzzle me still. 

Copyright © kathryn collins | Year Posted 2012

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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.





Copyright © YASEMIN BALANDI | Year Posted 2016

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The fall Of A Great Empire

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.

Copyright © Joshua Abel | Year Posted 2015

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Repeter Depuis le Debut

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

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2016

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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

Copyright © Morne Van Dyk | Year Posted 2015

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Devonshire Tea fur fower

Devonshire tea with Peter an' Beryl, beware, it's no the fact that Peter disnae care. But 88 years doon the track o' life, an' 84 years fur Beryl, Peter's carefree wife. Ma Bonny wife Gillian an' this Auld Yin, oot fur a drive wan day, fur a wee wee spin. Gettin' peckish a bit, fur efternoon tea, nice scones fur Peter, Beryl, Gillian an' me. Noo a nice wee cafe is called Sugar an' Spice, we hiv eatin' here before so we ken it's nice. Nice, but, the portions kin be a wee bit large, a lot fur wan person at nae great charge. In the wee Katoomba toon in New South Wales, Sugar an' Spice's food niver fails. we decided to share twa portions oan twa plates. thats' fower scones instead o' eight. Twa plates, fower scones jam an' cream, lotes an' lotes o' jam, too much it seemed. An' cream oozing o'er the tap o' the wee roon bowls. far too much fur fower, no too hungry souls. Beryl an me hud wan large square plate tae share, An' Peter an' Gillian's plate hud identical fare. Oan that plate anither dish wae jam in an enormous heep, The dish wis a least 3 inches by 3 inches an' 2 inches deep. Noo ah cut ma yummy scone in half, an' so did auld Peter's better half. Ah spread ma jam oan ma twa half scones, The rest o' the jam wis whit beryl owned. Noo Peter wis sitten oan ma richt, jist next tae me, an' a couldnae believe whit ah could see, The jam dish held o'er his twa half scones, scoopin' aw the jam oot the dish richt doon tae the bone. Hey Peter, whit arrr' yea dayin' wae aw that jam? Half o' it's Gillian's ya sully auld man, Did we no say we were gonna share? Aw Peter kid dae ,wis sit an' stare. Oh sorry, a furget summat , here tak sum back, starin' dumbfoondid frae whare he sat. S'okay Peter, we will ask fur some mair , Aye! Peter replied as he dropped cream--- iverywhare. Peter could yea leave sum cream fur Gillian as weel, did yea no remember we had a deal? Whit deal dae yea mean ? Yer tellin' me noo too late, the deal Peter, wis tae share twa portions, on twa plates. There sat Gillian wae twa bare scones, nae jam, nae cream, wee scone lookin' dry as a bone. An' Peter's plate overflowin' wae jam an cream, auld fly bugger no hivin' a clue,--- or so it would seem? We three just sat and hid a guid laugh, At the expense oaf oor Beryl's better half. There must be a lesson to be learned here, that insructin' Peter in future,------ you must be very clear:) The Auld Yin.

Copyright © Alex Gardiner | Year Posted 2012

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Alone in a Crowded Room

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

Copyright © Gary Jones | Year Posted 2007

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the black cross

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

Copyright © HONESTY OIMBO | Year Posted 2010

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An Ode to the Moon

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

Copyright © Elton Camp | Year Posted 2012

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Goodbye to home

  Sand in my lungs and in every nook and cranny possible, nothing out here not even a simple bush or tree. Everything is dead and dry as a bone. My own skin holds no life, rough and leathery like jerky. Desperate need of lotion, even more of a need for a place called home. This heavy helmet keeps the cooling breeze from touching me and this scratchy, too small for me uniform is thick and full of sweat.They never told you that you would come to a point where you wanted to die, they never said how many people you would see die, they didn’t heed you no warnings all they told you was that your army strong and a brave soul. The jeep’s engine dies and we come to a sudden halt, Sam gets out of the drivers seat and calls break. Break from what? There aint no break here, but we smile and take our helmets off and rest our stressed shoulders on the bars of the open rear vehicle. James hops out and pops open the button on his pants, struggles with the zipper and takes a piss, back to the wind but not back on us. Nick hands me his canteen and I nod with a thanks and take it quickly, my mouth is drier than a cotton field. Syrupy saliva the color of old tobacco form little bridges from the mouth of the bottle to my chapped scaly lips. What I would give for a ice cold beer, sitting on my porch with my woman by my side. I gaze out in the desert and imagine what life will be like when I get home. They will have a huge party waiting for me at the front gate and wash me with hugs and tears. Balloons tied to the fence, all blues and reds with dots of white. Food piled high on tables for hungry soldiers, smeared make up on all the womens faces. My 4 year old daughter running up to me in her favorite pink flower dress. I drop my stare from the clear sky and look at the man in front of me, his face caked with grease and dirt, his clothes dusted by sand and clay, sweat stains on the chest and even bigger ones that formed under his arms. He looks like the devil himself dragged him to hell and back, a shame to look how he looks, but we all look the same. He hunches over, helmet covering his eyes, hands together and elbows on knees, a stance for a dead man. I put my hand out to give him his water back and it takes him a moment to look up and retrieve it. He looks me in the eye for the first time, the green is brighter than any I have ever seen on a man. He gets a old beat up photo out of his chest pocket and hands it to me, a tall beautiful woman is smiling back at me with big brown eyes, almost like burned honey. Hair that falls over her shoulders like waves of oil. A small bundle in her arms, you can see the tiny hands poking out of the snow white teddy bear covered blanket. I look back up and find him staring at me with tears coming from his eyes like a busted pipe, he picks up his pistol from his inner jacket pocket, puts it to his temple and screams like a lost child and pulls the trigger. The sound of his skull shattering, if I ever dream again this is what it would be, it was a crunch like noise with a splatter to compliment it. Blood and brains paint the back of the jeep like frosting. I will never forget this man. Killing for peace is like ****ing for virginity, you can never win. I pick up his gun and look back up at the sky, I was never meant to see my family again. You can hear the bullets flying through the air from a short distance, grenades explode and bombard your ears. The enemy is running toward us, rising on top of the sand dunes with their arabian hunting knives above their heads and guns on their sides like a infant to its mother's breast, thats what they are doing they are hunting us like deer. Clutching the photo to my heart I raise the gun to my head, take one last breath and hold it, squeezed the trigger, the last death I will ever see is my own.

Copyright © Cat Way | Year Posted 2012

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Loves Worth

                                         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.

Copyright © Ronald Karzmarczyk | Year Posted 2011

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Mind in my Mind

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. 

Copyright © John Paluszek | Year Posted 2014

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Death and beyond

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".

Copyright © Ajay Shaan | Year Posted 2012

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Find Our Own Way

Was once on a road of drugs and lust
Dry as a bone and covered in dust
Then one day I’m so happy to say
Jesus Christ came by my way
Took my hand and walked with me
Telling of how a man should be
The words he said I understood
In my 9’ x 5’ neighborhood
The walls grew with my mind
Searching hard so I could find
Sought to find the path of peace
So my own insanity could cease
Now I live up inside the flower
Beauty of love and all its power
Being all I could ever dream to be
Simple, kind, loving, honest and free
Offer your soul to the Lord above
If you want to glow with his love
And if you don’t that too is ok
Each of us must find our own way

During the course of the journey
that is known as our life we will
be given the true chance of choice
at least once. The closer we stay
to road the less chance we have
of getting lost, I know this for it
was once my life. We all at one
time or another make mistakes
and it is imperative that we use
those moments to learn and then
to teach, to me that is a Poets gift.

Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2009

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how it feels

do you know how it feels, to be left all alone, forever rejected, and not in the zone? do you know how it feels, to be dry as a bone, can not get one number, no need for a phone? do you know how it feels, to be cold like a drone, nothing to give, and nothing to loan? do you know how it feels, to be skipped like a stone? girls never say hi, like their wearing a cone. do you know how it feels, to not have a tone? they would have fun, while I'd be in a prone. do you know how i feel? unwanted, unknown, I've accepted the fact, that i'm forever a scone.

Copyright © maxwell collier | Year Posted 2013