Best Drying Up Poems
When my fingers hurt
the pain binds and forms
at the base of my greatest fear
I never knew fear
Until it knocked on my door
So fierce that
What words were on the tip of my tongue
Are drying up into dust in my mouth
The taste that lingers a lifetime
a sickness summoned for the saints
to strafe the fear growing inside the soul
My heartbeat escalates to full speed
But my body is numb to the floor
And my mind is in a twirling tornado
Tears of fear rush down into streams
When my fingers hurt and I can not write
this fear beckons to my mind
as I use the verbs to clear the nerves
Can you hear the drops of my tears
Drumming to the beat of my fear
Categories:
drying up, anxiety, fear,
Form:
Free verse
I heard echoes of scurrilous snarls,
from my conscience as it spoke
contemptible remarks aimed at me.
What shame those words delivered.
"Fatuous one, why does your hand quiver,
mimicking the trembling lips of a child in fear?
You dare call yourself a poet,
but you're nothing more than a joke."
Guilt is the culprit that tunnels my mind
as my passion for poetry shrivels on its vine.
Withering like a flower, my empty heart
has stripped my soul of its craving to write.
It's my own foolish notion
that causes me to shiver.
I weep over my planted seedlings.
They thirst, and their mournful cries I hear.
Abandoned by their mother who begot them,
and for this I'm filled with remorse and regret.
That mocking voice invaded my aching breast,
when again, it ridiculed me as a fool...
"A self-proclaimed bard who gives up the task.
You should put down the quill and live in disgrace."
There is no saving grace for me.
No nourishment for my verses to thrive.
My heart is broken, drowning in memories.
Without the will to live, how will it survive?
It only drums in rhythm to keep me alive.
Rows of sprouted thoughts have withered.
Parched and dying, drying up in a field of grief.
While I, their neglectful sower, helplessly sit
as time elapses and I watch them expire.
I’ve fallen between the gaps of missing lines
into an abyss, my fingers charred in a fire.
I can only water the seeds of self doubt
with salty sweat from my furrowed brow
and over fertilize them with tears of frustration.
I do not seek salvation or redemption.
Damnation will out.
My ink well of impetus has sprung a leak
or maybe it's a new watering hole I seek.
I have not a drop to quench their thirst
no morning dew, nor afternoon shower
to give my wilting buds reprieve, a relief.
I've tried to save them all, or was it just
a half-hearted attempt made in vain?
Not one more rhyme can I rescue from pain.
I'm suffering from loss. All hope is gone.
My fear is that I cannot express myself
in what was once an emotional voice.
No wonder my pages remain barren and blank,
except for the blotches of spilled ink.
My parchment lies in a state of immortal decay.
I relinquish my quill to a better hand than mine,
setting it free and praying that I be forgiven.
For the folly, I've only myself to blame,
this pillaged poet.
Categories:
drying up, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
Touched by a moonbeam
Touched by a moonbeam with you I glide
I can now drink from a well of stars
staring out at this night’s friendly guide
my spirit knows no more bounds.
Touched by a moonbeam with you I glide
your warm glow melts away my core
drying up all tears in its outpour
in your orbit I am now released;
your presence pacifies my fears
ripples back the years
as my eyes search your face
by this secret light,
the light of the moon.
Touched by a moonbeam
with you I glide
swiftly on this path of elation
I crave your affection.
Dawn its gift of light I bid delay
a blissful encore I’m asking your way
for a touch of eternity in your embrace
I felt dear moon, dear friend,
I’m touched by your graceful ballet
the waning of your rays
I beg you to stay, beg you to stay.
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
(orchestral part with soaring music)
Touched by a moonbeam
with you I glide
swiftly on this path of elation
I crave your affection.
Dawn its gift of light I bid delay,
a blissful encore I’m asking your way
for a touch of eternity in your embrace
I felt dear moon, dear friend,
I’m touched by your graceful ballet
the waning of your rays I beg you to stay,
beg you to stay, beg you to stay,
for a touch of eternity in your embrace
I felt dear moon, dear friend
I’m touched by your graceful ballet,
the waning of your rays
I beg you to stay
beg you to stay.
note: Dear reader, I beg you to try and slow down your reading so that you can match the pace of the reading to the music. (I have tried to match my lines to form a lyrical piece. ?)
The composer, by the way, is Brian Crain.
Categories:
drying up,
Form:
Lyric
APPETIZERS
It licks it's raspy way across the land,
and peeks around and drools at our abode.
A plume of ash to blacken every man,
and leaves our children standing in the road.
Devours hot crackling sounds in baby's ear,
with lullaby of death, it encroaches.
It swallows cozy shelter, dock, and pier,
drying up our lake as it approaches.
Then feasting on all creatures great and small,
it spits out raw bones, or glass, and metal.
No blaze can chew on such metallic squall,
nor munch the bones of Grimm's, bravest Gretel.
A ravenous and lively old fire beast,
pops us down as hors d'œuvres for the feast.
By Edlynn Nau
© October 14, 2017
Dedication to the people of the 17 California Fires: with special love to Mendocino County, Lake County, Napa County, Sonoma County, & Santa Rosa.
Categories:
drying up, death, fire, loss, Lullaby,
Form:
Sonnet
Can you taste the turn of a season
writing a new page on your heart
Can you smell the burning of reason
usher a new age into your art
Can you see the drying up river -
mind-induced matters no longer thought
Can you hear the cry of a giver
giving to a war no longer fought
Can you touch the mind of a poet -
emblazened eyes that see through your self
You might do such, but your mind cannot know it
the mind of the heart dwells somewhere else
Heart or mind, which do I follow
what is the food on which I thrive
Fact or feeling, which should I swallow
which one will keep the soul most alive
The mind is ever prone to wander
from its chains it would be freed
Its absence makes the heart grow fonder
for the two are twins indeed
Written 20 Dec 2020
Categories:
drying up, heart,
Form:
Quatrain
In midst of night,
When I was deep in slumber,
The memory rattled,
Eyes sunk with fear,
Saw the houses crumble,
The trees tremble,
The thunder storm made me nimble,
The ocean in fumble,
Tried to reach me and hug me in grumble.
I went slowly to the balcony,
Tried to reach out to see this mesmerized agony,
The agony was far from imagination,
It’s a terrifying situation,
God is slowly destroying its creation.
The waves shook the landscape,
The geography is jeopardized,
The houses drowned,
And with it are the people,
Cries of the birds,
Made the atmosphere filled with shrill,
The painful and subdued voice of the animals,
Made it sure of their fatal deaths.
The water is beneath,
Thunderstorm is above it,
No place for shelter,
The houses gradually decreased,
With water slowly increased,
I saw human beings floating in it,
I knew some of them, were also in it,
Saw the animals gradually going deep in it,
Trees are getting shaved,
Houses are getting razed,
The plateau near my house is gone beneath.
The things happened so quickly,
And it was so horrifying,
that I forgot my own situation,
Now I am in pain and sorrow,
for what I have seen slowly,
Happening beneath my eyes.
With this grief and agony in my heart,
I turned back to get inside the house,
But I was knee deep in water,
And the water is rising faster,
I am late in making my action,
Now my life and my existence is in jeopardy,
And with the flashes of the scenes running back and forth,
Made me cripple,
I wasn’t able to run,
I gradually gave up to the faith,
But when I saw the death creeping near to me,
A terrible fear ran through me,
My face became pale,
And the blood started drying up,
I started weeping and prayed to spare me,
But a dark shadow engulfed me,
And a terrible wave galloped me.
I was desperately moaning,
Then suddenly my eyes opened,
My bed was completely dripping from the sweat,
For few minutes I couldn’t make out what’s going on,
But then I realized that it was a dreadful dream.
I closed my eyes and prayed to God,
Thanked him that it was a dream.
Categories:
drying up, life, loss, natural disasters,
Form:
Rhyme
When my fingers hurt
the pain binds and forms
at the base of my greatest fear
I never knew fear
Until it knocked on my door
So fierce that
What words were on the tip of my tongue
Are drying up into dust in my mouth
The taste that lingers a lifetime
a sickness summoned for the saints
to strafe the fear growing inside the soul
My heartbeat escalates to full speed
But my body is numb to the floor
And my mind is in a twirling tornado
Tears of fear rush down into streams
When my fingers hurt and I can not write
this fear beckons to my mind
as I use the verbs to clear the nerves
Can you hear the drops of my tears
Drumming to the beat of my fear
Categories:
drying up, fear, pain,
Form:
Free verse
I heard echoes of scurrilous snarls,
from my conscience as it spoke
contemptible remarks aimed at me.
What shame those words delivered.
"Fatuous one, why does your hand quiver,
mimicking trembling lips of a child in fear?
You dare call yourself a poet,
but you're nothing more than a joke."
Guilt, the culprit that tunnels my mind
as my passion flower shrivels on its vine.
An empty heart has stripped my soul
of its craving need to write.
It's my own foolish notion
that causes me to shiver.
I weep over my planted seedlings,
their mournful cries I hear.
Abandoned by their mother who begot them,
and for this I'm filled with remorseful regret.
That mockery invaded my aching breast,
when it ridiculed me as a fool;
"A self-proclaimed bard who gives up the task,
should put down the quill and live in disgrace."
There is no saving grace for me.
No nourishment for my verses to thrive.
My heart is broken and lost in memories.
Without the will to live, how will it survive?
It only beats to keep me alive.
Rows of sprouted thoughts have withered
dying of thirst, drying up in a field of grief,
and I, their neglectful sower, helplessly sit
as time elapses and I watch them expire.
I’ve fallen between the gaps of missing lines
and must retire.
I've watered the seeds of my self doubt
with salted sweat from my furrowed brow;
over fertilized them with tears of frustration.
I do not seek salvation or redemption.
Damnation will out.
My ink well of impetus has sprung a leak
or maybe it's a new watering hole I seek.
I have not a drop to quench their thirst
no morning dew, nor afternoon shower
to give my wilting buds a reprieve in relief.
I've tried to save them all,
but half-hearted attempts were all in vain.
Not one more rhyme can I rescue from pain
and suffering loss. All hope is gone.
My fear is that I cannot express myself
in what was once an emotional voice.
No wonder my pages remain barren and blank,
except for the blotches of spilled ink.
My parchment lies in a state of immortal decay.
I relinquish my quill to a better hand than mine,
setting it free and pray that it may be forgiven
for my folly, for I've given it no choice.
I've only myself, this bereft poet, to thank.
Written January 24th, 2021
Judged N/A 2/22/21
Contest Open Poetry !
Categories:
drying up, poetry, sorrow,
Form:
Free verse
The unpredictable yaw of rolling seas,
as in life pummels us from side to side
randomly dictating its capricious ways
lacking logic the tossing grips us and seeks to take our lives
Death, like the ghost of Christmas past,
comes and expresses a tale of coldness and desolation
under the guise of light the dues it extracts from the living
accumulate like wrinkles on our faces the years pile on
The uncertainty of pandemics sends people into despair
mental frenzy engulfs societies
people wring their hands with worry
what happens if I get sick and lose my income?
At night I hear the sound of eighteen wheeler trucks rumbling
On the blacktop toward companies that make copious profits
past the foothills where coyotes cry nature's lament
exacerbating my approach to a precarious and worrisome future
Sometimes, I feel like a watermelon cut in half
exposed to the desert heat slowly drying up
or a taco at Christmas time or a paraplegic in a footrace
exposed in those places where I don’t belong
Leisure time for the working stiff is so elusive
yet now all I’ve got is time and plenty of it,
but there’s no leisure in it only worry
and does not give me needed rest
The yaws of life
seldom deviate from its variant course
but like ships at sea rising and falling in a tempest
our minds proceed at an ambiguous yet dangerous speed
With our hearts frozen in a delirium of past disappointments
they vanish the happy times into the ether of regrets
still we cling to those cherished happy time memories
when Life was more accepting of our youthful indiscretions
Our Ship of Life moves predictably toward an unknown horizon
unsteadily shaking us from side to side, up and down
like loose apples bobbing in an ocean
with our paths uncertain unfolding as we hold on.
Copyright © norberto franco cisneros
Categories:
drying up, life, perspective,
Form:
Didactic
A saving grace from
The stormiest weather
A sun to shine down upon
Drying up my sopping tears
To place them in a basin of
Your love
Categories:
drying up, life, love, sad,
Form:
Extreme temperatures
Melting of glaciers
Rising sea level
Wildfires
Forests' obliteration
Draughts
Drying up of lakes and rivers
Desertification
Hurricanes
Storms
Floodings, and
Landslides
Is the vocabulary, Mother Nature uses, to
Pen ts stern warning to Man:
" Oh, you thoughtless being, mind your ways and revere,
my eternal laws of harmonious cooperation and coexistence
otherwise, unable would I be to provide for your subsistence."
-
© Demetrios Trifiatis
26 July 2023
-
For more than two weeks the temperatures in Greece have been around
40 Celcius. Sometimes, like today it is 45.
During this period wildfires are raging across the country. It comes a day that
our firefighters are trying to contain more than eighty fires.
-
Categories:
drying up, death, men, nature,
Form:
Free verse
Before I first crawled from a mythical ocean
light years before history began to take itself seriously
I was told to spin new myths.
The dead-not-so-dead gave me buckets of myths.
“This is your mission,” they said, “carry these buckets
one by one to a place called, solid footholds."
The buckets had water in them
for myths need an aqueous environment.
Because they swam in the same bucket
the myths became mixed, some copulated
spawning more myths.
In a dream I was told that if the place called
solid footholds ever ran out of myths
it would blow away in a cloud of dust.
Until now the buckets have not run dry,
been spilled or wasted
but the place of solid footholds
is drying up for want of more mythical tales.
I am not the only myth carrier, there are many.
If you are one of those then carry buckets
to the place of solid footholds
before its footprints are gone forever.
Categories:
drying up, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
Some pretty brown birds nesting on a tree
Prank frequently at my other room balcony
Apparently, they were once the main culprits
Of messing it up, bringing a variety of leaves and twigs
They also build thin nests behind my air conditioner
When an egg drops, they may reckon I’m aborting their daughter
One day, I wondered what had sprouted on the floor
At a grimy nook, not quite far from my door
When I looked closely, I was so skeptical
It was a great masterpiece of these clever winged pals
I was so certain that it was not a moss or a grass
But a vine bearing flowers with pretty purple petals
After a week, it revealed exuberantly itself
A lush vine of string beans, I didn’t sow by myself
Was it dropped by those birds or sowed by an invisible elf?
Oh, if it has grown taller than my room, I must have cried for help!
As it crawled and climbed up to the balcony wall
In fascination, I deigned not to ask questions anymore
It climbed up freely to a wall’s faucet as its sturdy trellis
And feasts proudly, spreading its huge and verdant leaves
In tandem was the bearing of its long string bean fruits
Heavily laden, their numbers had no hints – that was a bird’s hoot
I harvested thrice while my smiles were all in glints
And had a delicious vegie salad twice from my lovely magic bean
My last harvest was meant for the next crops
I took all beans from the fruits just for drying up
The brilliant brown birds will no longer need to drop
New seedlings from their magic beans are now growing in pots
I thanked those kind creatures for the magic beans they’ve given
Growing them in my concrete room balcony was like a dream
It wasn’t a fairytale at all, I’ve already given myself a pinch
And my balcony even magically turned into a mini vegie garden
Jan. 31,2015 11.15pm
By: LG
-This is a true story: an experience last July, 2014
First Place
Contest: Magic Beans
Judged: 2/14/2015
Sponsor: My all time favourite and loving poet sis, PD
Categories:
drying up, nature,
Form:
Narrative
MOUNTAIN SKIES
I want to feel the mountain top.
Kicking my last shadow to a complete stop.
Swallowing the clouds in the sky
No one to get me down from this mountain high
A shallow grave I dug, when I feel the need to hide
A danger zone, where all UFO's collide
Now, I found a sweet place, when no one is around
High on this mountain, hidden in this castle, I cannot be found.
Watching all that slithers from top to ground.
The smile you once put on my face,
Is now lost somewhere in the mountain trace
Finding myself paranoid without truly amazing grace.
This out of balanced place, is drying up my cries
A boundary, beyond the castles and mountain of lies
One cherished memory of your hazel eyes
Somewhere near heaven's broken walls
No one but God, can hear my calls
My pain flows above mountain waterfalls.
After trips, I have fallen down
Inside I feel as if only I own this ghost Castle town
No need to save me, from the moat when I drown
Just one last AIR BALLOON RIDE
Beyond the castle on every mountainside
A kiss of death sealed up high
Far away from what I use to call, Cloud Nine
~Finding A New Castle In The Sky~
By;-)
Categories:
drying up, absence, adventure, art, blue,
Form:
Free verse
Tree is sad; Wind, upset about the loss of a friend.
The Tree asked the Wind, "Why are you so sad?... We can't be like this all the time!"
Wind responded, "I feel so empty because Rain has not come back for a long time."
"I am more empty from top to bottom. My roots are drying up like a drought. I am more hurt than you," said the Tree.
"How can we invite Rain to come down?" asked the Wind.
The Tree replied, "You have more power than me. You can travel far while I am only stationary. Use your strength so we don't all die!"
The Wind realized what his friend Tree said and left the Tree for a while.
The Wind blows the waters on rivers and seas so hard. The waters were delighted and exhaled its happiness everywhere until it reached the sky. The clear clouds felt overwhelmed for being noticed as lovely. The nimbus clouds saw and felt the clear clouds' ecstacy in the sky and invited other clouds to share their emotions of love. All clouds gathered together. Moments later, Rain above all clouds and sleeping for a long time started to drop.
Everything down under, rejoiced for the many drops of love sprinkled by Rain on the ground.
The Wind and his friend Tree thanked Rain for its kindness.
"There is harmony everywhere when love is expressed, inside and out."
(Prosebite)
Categories:
drying up, blessing, earth, rain, river,
Form:
Prose