Best Ebbed Poems
The day Will Shepard shot my dog
His barn burned to the soil;
The flames licked at the Autumn sky,
The smoke as black as oil.
I dropped the torch onto the earth,
And felt the whole world turn,
I stood and watched Will Shepard’s barn,
I stood and watched it burn.
The day Will Shepard shot my dog
I set his horses free,
They galloped over grass and sand,
They galloped to the sea;
I dropped my whip onto the floor
And thoughts turned to my gun
I stood and watched Will Shepard’s herd,
I stood and watched them run.
The day Will Shepard shot my dog
I put him in the ground,
My bullets found his heart and brain,
He fell without a sound;
And as his lifeblood ebbed away
And light fled from his eyes,
I stood and watched Will Shepard leave,
I stood and watched him die.
And now I sit here in my cell
And through the bars I spy
The carpenter with wood and nails,
Who builds my gallows high;
My vengeance has been satisfied
As far as I can see,
For that old dog Will Shepard shot
Meant all the world to me.
My life, like the sea, ebbed and flowed,
A world littered with peaks and valleys
A painted vision like a chiaroscuro,
When times were sometimes light, others dark.
Yet one thing I can truly say
Despite the fact you often left and returned.
I was always blindly loyal to you.
I never looked at another spouse.
I admit we were neither Cherubs nor Seraphs,
We all had our shortcomings.
Despite that, you judged me on my few failures,
However, I had my successes too.
I worked hard and achieved much,
Alas that interested you not.
Eventually, we got married.
I remained a faithful soul.
We had our ups and downs, but I was loyal to you.
So when I die I only wish for someone
To write upon my tomb’s headstone:
He loved loyally.
I watch a golden sun slowly rise above the eastern sea and my thoughts naturally drift to her. I wonder what she is doing, and if she ever dreams of me.
A southern breeze gently caresses my skin and fills my lungs with salty sea air. The tide ebbs back and forth, relaxing me and at the same time stirring my curiosity. Does each incoming tide bring back the same water that ebbed away, or has it been renewed? And I wonder what it means to be truly born again
About twenty yards to my right a drifter rolls up his sleeping bag. His well-worn knapsack is stuffed with everything he owns in this life. I ponder: Has he ever been in love?
Ever felt warmth from the tiny hand of a child?
Ever beheld big brown orbs staring back at him whispering "I love you?"
For a moment our eyes lock. His are deep-set and steely blue, like the sea before me. Wrinkles are etched into his face from years of hard living, I guessed.
My thoughts once again turn inward. It is safe here on my side of the ocean. But have I really learned what it means to live, to swim in unchartered waters, to bathe in crystal streams heretofore hidden from my heart?
From a distance I espy the returning tide. Maybe I'll go out with the next. See where it takes me. Maybe, just maybe, I will learn how to swim for the first time,
again.
Melancholy thoughts
transport me across the sea
where the dream begins
* photo quote: "And so you see I have come to doubt all that I once held as true. I stand alone without beliefs, the only truth I know is you..." - Kathy's Song (Simon and Garfunkel)
A long hard look softens to the touch
life lines rivers that ebbed and flowed
the midstream upstream fight
has left its nicks and scars
but the brooks that babbled batting lashes
that sent splashes over laugh line rapids
and pooled in floods of pain
have all eventually
come to swirl
in the curled corners
of an ultimately unerodible smile
11.26.2019
The Metaphor of your Face Poetry Contest
Sponsored by John Lawless
Quietness upon the face,
Silence and loneliness,
Land before time,
Before living things existed,
Sadness as my waters ran through the earth,
Was my voice the only thing to be heard?
As I swelled and ebbed,
Swished back and forth,
Was I alone as I sadly moved?
Was my story over before it started?
I ran through the earth looking for life,
Through the mountains to the highest peaks,
Over the desolation through the land,
Congregated every teardrop into large seas
My tears filled every part of the earth
Sadness as my heart became an open ocean,
I realized that I had great power,
A gushing force as I quickly moved,
I was unstoppable and determined,
As my adventures of roaming became exciting,
The earth began to drink of my waters,
A great light shining down,
Began pulling me up towards the skies,
Something very dramatic happening,
Breathtaking!
As I hung around in great clusters of clouds,
Looking down upon the earth,
Beauty astounding and thrilling,
Until a great crash of thunder,
Crashed through splitting bursting into
Millions of tiny droplets,
I fell to the earth,
With exhilarating freshness,
Hitting the ground at great speeds,
Continued flowing on my journey,
Into the rivers then back home to my sea,
As I looked up to the sky
Great colors burst into a rainbow,
Life began creating,
Smaller than the eye could see,
As surely then up to the tallest trees,
Earth drank of my rivers
As the poetry in the river ran free.
01/05/2016
A final ugly bellow followed by the front door's slam and then. . .
the natural and sweet respite of silence.
She remained where he'd left her
and faced a pair of stony eyes staring back at her from the bathroom mirror.
Stoically she stood, anger-fingers pressed to the inside of the basin's rim.
A gall of indignation clutched at the inside of her throat.
Her whispered curses waxed into a scream, "I hate you. You bastard. I Hate You!"
Moments later. . . sad, kindred eyes met hers,
asking what they always asked, "How do you support this all these years?"
She gazed at the only one who truly knew and felt a rush of utter desolation.
Concentrated rage was channeled to a river of self-pity.
It spilled up and into the bile of her throat, erupting in her helpless gasps,
transforming into hard and bitter sobs,
and with this lament came gushing tears.
Nothing else existed but the woman in the mirror and the grief.
Some moments passed. She sniffled.
Further weeping now would take some effort.
She sighed the sigh of familiar resignation.
Glancing at her consort, red-eyed, in the mirror,
she turned the faucet on and dabbed a tear-streaked face.
The telephone was ringing, so as she went to get the phone,
she steeled herself
in case the flood had not entirely ebbed.
For the Catharsis Contest of Nayda Ivette Negron
"I wandered lonely as a cloud"
William Wordsworth.
I wandered lonely as a wave.
slowly, upon the ocean's tide.
O'er depths of a watery grave
alone, in current's wake I ride.
Always moving, I cannot stop
I rise and fall then curl and drop.
I've ebbed and flowed on foreign shores.
Splashed on boats with their sails unfurled.
From tropic isles to the Azores,
welcomed surfers around the world
and tried my best to settle down
in the port city of Cape Town.
My wandering days will not end.
I'm diluted from time to time,
still a wave but with a new blend
depending on the ocean's clime.
I like lapping on a sandy beach,
keeping just out of human reach.
Dolphins swim within my deep swells,
but I don't belong to their pod
and I cannot befriend seashells,
halibut, squid, lobster or cod.
I'm destined to wander and roam.
It's quite lonely without a home.
September 20, 2022
I Wandered Lonely As... Challenge Contest
Sponsored by Natasha L Scragg
As scented air aroused my misty mind,
a shadow broke the early morning Sun,
aromas wafting from the morning’s grind,
assured the senses morning had begun.
I felt an airy presence from afar.
Unnerved, I sought some comfort in my joe
when then appeared this early morning star
with beauty that would set the dawn aglow.
She passed with nonchalance and without glance,
and as I gaped, she simply stared astray,
her exit, with a whim and fickle prance,
fanned arrogance that whisked my breath away.
I contemplated thoughts of giving chase
though in a haze I let her slip away,
but like the Sun, this path she may retrace
and destiny could pass again my way.
And as the morning’s essence ebbed and waned,
her image kept returning o’er again,
the vision twisted aimlessly in vain
as sunrise caused her beauty to transcend.
I finalized my mundane morning rite
then pondered how its remnants would unfold,
and knew… that I had seen the Morning’s Light
and hoped once more its beauty I’d behold.
My spirit flew away to far off lands,
travelling over hills and vales,
o'er seas and deserts dry,
until it arrived high
on a cold chain of ridges,
where soft winds caressed my face,
freshness embalmed my inner self.
Perhaps that's why I saw her there, alone
lying on her back, gazing up at the sky
savouring the exquisite joy of silence.
For in that treasured tranquillity
dreams have room to spiral
from the depth of her eidetic memories
renewed and revived, never forgotten.
Out of that quietude she heard
the soft voice of her essence,
reflections of her life,
the joys of motherhood,
the fulfilment of love,
the pangs of parting,
the pain of illness,
the weakness of humanity,
the dreams and emotions
that ebbed, flowed and ebbed again.
I knew she left her home town
deserting her desolate living
renouncing all the humdrum of city lights.
No wonder she flew away
seeking refuge on a mountain side,
above a cascade of water,
lying on the sweet grass
that bordered the lonely stream.
For here she was at peace.
Relief tears trickled down her cheeks:
she could never really forget.
My spirit felt for her for I could feel
that deep inside her was beauty never bound.
I knew despite her tears,
she was happy there:
oh, that she could remain
on that pretty mountain nook
holding tight to hope:
happy amongst the heather
near the tumbling brook
for ever and evermore.
I Committed Suicide
I stretched out weary hands.
Melisa, who considered me
like a big brother, quickly ran away from me.
My heart writhed unto me;
I longed for a swig of water.
Noise danced, rumbled inside me in thunder.
But the whirlwind heard
the swoosh of the knife as my eyes blushed.
But why didn’t I die instead?
I placed the knife back
in my rusty pocket.
I recalled she told me,
“No, don’t kill yourself.”
“Stress is like chess;
either you play it, or it plays you.”
Vinegar boiled my blood,
though my bones
were hit by the daily rocks I ate.
My suicidal act was lured with its bait.
But why didn’t I die instead?
Swarms of flies consumed the skin of my throat.
My fleshes were allotted to stresses atop a fire.
My fur was tumbleweed and chaff before the wind blew.
My mouth became a thirsty land.
I turned blue. I cried sandy tears.
My ivory screams were smokes.
But why didn’t I die instead?
“Christo,” I heard as I reconsidered.
“Melisa bloodily committed suicide,”
an old man vociferated.
I fell to my knees.
The blood in my head was a rolling sea.
Reconsideration ebbed away.
I was a zebra running away from a lion’s teeth,
but in the lake, caught by the crocodile’s jaws of death.
My muscles fainted in decay.
My soul ran away from a fowler’s snare.
Wails went higher than an eagle’s wings.
But why didn’t I die instead?
Journey To The Unseen
Time ebbed like watermark
Life shadows the elusive dream
Eventuality ignites a spark
Reanimated beneath icy stream
Veracity illumines the dark
Burning deserts appear serene
Footprints ardently embark
A mystic journey to the unseen
His squarish jaw, waggles when he thinks,
holding his fingers entwined at his waist.
He stares past his silvery frame, sinks
into mind, until I break in and say hi.
His thin silvery hair, is plush with curls at neck.
He stoops over as if time has weighed in
I see him counting, saying what the heck
here’s a bird, a butterfly, noisy squirrels.
His hands have a pain in them, all webbed
inside, pulling muscles taut, but they wave
they stroke the air, my legs, the seas ebbed
the sand, the sky, building the future in mind.
And when he picks up his violin mistress,
he dances her, never still this man of mine.
His harmonica hoots the day’s stresses,
digging out his soul, bending him like grass.
Sometimes I have to silence his motions,
hold him close to heart, let him sleep.
But always he plays out his commotion
making me music, making him mine.
The greatest holiday gift I ever received
Goes back so many, many years
Before my life became turmoiled
And before my tears for fears
I was a child like many out there
Torn, strewn and split of kin
Mother and father in differences
Confused at seven, wearing their same skin
For I was one of the lucky ones
To a Highland Estate I would go
It's on the west coast of Scotland
Where my holidays desired me so
Secretly I internally smiled
For a whisper of where I was heading
To live with a movie star hero
No longer my life was in dreading
We were picked up by a man so fine
His manners were an absolute joy
Regimental he was in his approach
To me, just a seven year old boy
We travelled through the village of Plockton
Crystal clear waters edged to it's shore
I knew from this very moment
Being here ebbed previous family sores
On entering his house I was in awe
Movie pictures came to my view
They were images of James Bond
At seven I was totally through
A voice called to me
Hey James! sit down and I'll tell you me
Still in circles in walking awe
This is what he told thee
My name is Patrick Dalzel Job
In the Second World War I served
But this recognition I bestow
Humbles me to it's deserve
This honour that's been given
Was blessed by a colleague in war
What desired Ian Fleming to be so striven
Possibly, what we were fighting for
We served on the same destroyer
Fighting to make the future free
His tribute, in his novels I became
James Bond, it's incredibly me
Not many seven year olds have stayed with James Bond.
This seven year old Scot's boy has, maybe I learnt?
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Patrick_Dalzel-Job
How melancholy I yawn then sigh
When recalling who I was 2 year's
ago just before Covid-19 struck
I was doing alright getting bye ok
But fast forward currently to today
and I now feel completely different
As luckily enough for me though I have
not nor a close family member suffered
any ill effects had to be hospitalized
or far worse die
What I got instead is a sinking feeling
in the pit of my stomach and hole in
my heart that I fear may just be terminal
It's almost as if the world I thought and
have come to know throughout this
time has slowly ebbed the joy most
certainly has its in my rear view mirror now
And with it taken any hope a vaccine
or cure will be found in order to save
my fragile sanity from shattering
So i find myself asking who can and does
a Jester call when they themselves are
feeling down and in need of cheering up
And also at this moment I find myself
contemplating not quite sure if and
where redemption resides
But if it can't rain all the time
Better get busy living or busy dying
Said the Crow to the raindrop splitting
hairs on the Reapers scythe
What's kept you
For I have been long expecting you
Can't you see I have already packed
all of my baggage
Into the bin-bag's under my eyes
I am in this for the long haul
I view this hazy sunset God has made
and ponder what it means to me today.
One's memories of early life will fade
when energy of youth has ebbed away.
I lie beside my window every night
inside this home of many who, like me,
now face sunset and evening's waning light.
I know that soon my spirit will be free.
The younger folks who pity me don't know
the peace I feel. I seek the Father's face
each evening when the sun is sinking low.
He gives me strength through His unending grace.
The setting of my sun will be sublime,
for in the Father's bosom I will rest.
He's let me see the sunset one more time.
I close my eyes and know I have been blessed.