Best Embankment Poems
As sunrise silently
marinaded morningtide meadows,
our lips flowed like two streams,
merging within an exclusive estuary
so we set home upon the river bed.
At first we floated like butterflies in Babylon,
deaf to the squawks of mercenary crows,
blind to the creeping weeds,
which wandered amongst delicate petals
nor did I notice our submerging embankment.
As our estuary began to evaporate,
you left me stranded in the silt and mud.
My heart, once a blossoming garden,
evolved into a wasteland of sedges and sludge.
Still I wait for soothing streams to return,
but all I am left with is marshland of regret
and the silence of the butterflies.
A cat jumped in the river
to meet a fellow fish,
he wanted to be like them
it was his only wish.
He figured he could do it
he had everything it takes,
with whiskers on his front parts
and a tail a catfish makes.
He swam down to the bottom
while holding in his breath,
but soon began to worry
that this might end in his death.
His little heart was pounding
as he raced back to the top,
he determined if he made it
that he wasn't going to stop.
He broke the surface with a splash
and gulped in lots of air,
He climbed up the embankment
and ran like he didn't care.
He ran through empty fields
and to home ran all the way,
and when he got their safely
stopped to think about the day...
"I love to watch the catfish
as they circle down below,
they move around so effortless
and offer quite a show."
He wanted to be like them
so he thought, in blissful glee,
but then he came to realize
...'twas curiosity.
Their mesmerizing silky glide
and tantalizing tryst,
offered a temptation
that brings us to this twist:
The cat by then concluded
that it was to be his fate,
that he should rather have the catfish
on his dinner plate.
An echo of footsteps fill the serene salty air,
muffled thuds like faint taps in slow motion,
moving in a somber sonata over a creaking pier.
The bitter breeze is a harbinger of forthcoming storms,
but in an empty promenade the silence is soothing.
My anchor heart finds comfort at the sun shimmering,
upon a lullaby of waves calming the senses,
I lose my thoughts, almost forget myself,
as they softly caress moist sands,
sinking deep into trodden grains,
each ripple touching my hollow soul
like messengers of prophecies,
with sweet premonitions of pleasure and treasure,
but some resemble embers eternally burning,
leaving behind a directory of debris,
engraving intensely, as each fragment
weighs me down like burdens from a wreckage.
The mind ponders,
how I am a northern shore
whilst my life is a southern coastline.
What could have been and what will be,
what is mine and what is not,
what I actually deserve and what I have got.
In these internal fragilities,
we are like estuaries without an embankment.
But in this stillness the sunset is evidence
how the end can be graceful.
I gaze towards the ceaseless seas,
wishing the tide could carry me away,
but I am a broken boat left to rot
upon cold sands on a winters day.
Sunday Scribble
When winter’s end is imminent and springtime soon becoming
blackbird and thrush in noble song bumble bee busily humming.
Scent of air fondles the hazy morning scattered seed cultivates
memoirs of time, to ramble throughout lob wood and hear sweet
bluebells across the valley chime.
sweet song of nature
the sound of the butterfly
harmony at dawn
Hosts of yellow heads briskly swaying hillside meadows in unison
bloom, fussy rodents in jubilant paradise; Street House Farm in
nature’s plume. Pussy willow caresses the embankment; Ridding's
Farm basks in the heat of June, inspired scythe displays ancient skill
fragrant hedgerow sings dawn’s vibrant tune.
tears of dew sparkle
grassy stems in sunlight sway
a whisper of wind
Ocean of radical heather signify welcome waves of moorland mist, deluge of dewy tears fall on this place heavenly kissed. Wooden bench outside the old hay barn, where the sultry breeze in sugar hill dances, orchestrates the old folk with war-torn minds reminisce those given a life of second chances.
for to those this day
a touch upon rustic face
nature’s sweetest voice.
© Harry J Horsman 2019
The gurgling stream, sparkling in the sun,
had so much to say
Oh, so much to say
Rolling over rocks,
while curling, rippling, pooling
always moving forward
to places unseen from before the bend
Eyes and ears on the embankment
All watching, waiting, listening
The gurgling stream, with so many words
would never be expected to reach its destination
Only to be engulfed by waves in absolute silence
- memories never told. -
Heidi Sands
11/4/25
(C)opyright
My Freeway Angel
Caught between two cars
There was no lane between them
Who guided my hand?
Steering crazily
back and forth between them both
It was harrowing
At another time
I was sideswiped by a rig
on that same freeway
My car went sideways
to the front of a man’s truck
I had no control
I was being pushed
as the trucker slowed his pace
in his middle lane
Before the truck stopped
I wondered is this the end?
I felt strangely calm
My car then emerged
faced against the traffic but
on the embankment
A few other times
my tires had big bad blowouts
I came out unscathed
I’ve stayed uninjured
through all my mishaps but not
so lucky - my cars!
Have I been lucky
or is a freeway angel
looking after me?
For the Senryu on Angels Poetry Contest of Marvin Celestial
True story written with senryu syllable count. I would like to think I have an
angel, but I can't really say for sure!
Contest Description: 1 original, poem on the theme of true encounters with Angels
Only Senryu form will be accepted with the title "Angel / Angels."
I’m freedom’s beckoning call light as air, an elemental being
Set adrift beyond the universal light beam, a speeding
Bullet shifting, suspended by my own spiritual uplifts
Bending in the stratosphere by raw forces
Gravitational pull.
A streaming particle of matter flowing in the
Mystical elemental current of my own existence,
Untethered I’ve cut the silvery threads of the
Timeless, a creature of thoughts abandonment.
A unique butterfly of distinction, flying amongst
The light waves of illusion spreading my wings
Of clarity, touching the stars in gentle graces
Movement.
In flights liberation climbing levels of enchantment,
A swaying anomaly tossed, passed between earth
And sky, a castaways silhouette lingering afloat the
Breeze of sensuality, with the heightened senses
Of pleasure ultimate recklessness, I’m at liberties
Jurisdiction beyond the touch of man.
I’ve joined the flocks of the enlightened ones,
Moths drawn to the dreaming flame, that burns
With fuel of inspirational grace.
Rippling wings transcending, behold the marvel
Of lunar beings, evolving, rising beyond the
Embankment of physical resistance,
Translucent fluttering monarchs brushing
Against the gates of God’s kingdom on high.
Flying insects of humanity, buzzing in a whispering
Chorus ushering in lyrical verses praise,
Announcing the arrival of these ascended.
Reaching through the vaulted grates of heaven,
The lord’s angel reaches out to touch these mortal
Wings of inspiration, and harken to listen, as
The Soft music loaf’s upwards, flooding the floors
Of this golden divide.
At twilights intrinsic hour of contemplation these
Dreaming beings of enlightenment drift as floating
Confetti ever lightly descending, cascading into
Their mortal fleshes vessels beneath, leaving the
Realm behind, but oh what visions of inspiration
Have these butterflies of remembrance relate,
In poetic excellence, cannot be captured
Within the nets of mankind.
I’m freedom’s beckoning call light as air, an elemental being
Set adrift beyond the universal light beam, a speeding
Bullet shifting, suspended by my own spiritual uplifts
Bending in the stratosphere by raw forces
Gravitational pull.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Wandering the virtual
green fields of home,
I open the farmyard gate
fall into a haze of retrospect.
I see a “LMS Black Five” Locomotive
bellowing upon a utilized line,
ghostly sparks tantalizing
the embankment.
Below a paddock ploughed,
sown with scattered seed
to germinate this memory
of that time past.
I stroll the hoary lane
beneath a pale cold eve,
discover soft mist stirring
upon the low moor, in warps
of time, giving in to modernization.
Mile high bracken upon the Beacon
under a clementine moonlight,
in shadows drifting to and fro
like the tide upon the silken sea.
At the old cottage
in Sugar Hill,
I see a cut glass vase, sitting supreme
upon the polished surface
with rose, carnation and dahlias,
near by a collection of love
in all those wonderful bluebells
from Nesfield.
“In the old Jam Jar”
Entered 2022 Poetry Marathon mile 14 contest
Sponsor Mark Toney
13/9/2022
One big boom reverberates,
we shelter 'neath the railway bridge,
the swirling wind ensures we get a soaking anyway.
The Croal is roaring well above the watermark,
the nature lover in me hopes the smaller fish
will beat the flow and seek a sheltered cranny.
Peewits squeal, and wheel through softened skies,
as sunshine makes a welcome reappearance.
Drying out, we wait for trains,
our notebooks at the ready.
A record twenty-six come through,
some chug to local destinations,
others muscle by, non-stop,
to Carlisle and the Scottish Highlands.
We eat our sandwiches in silence,
underlining names and numbers.
Clambering up the embankment
and skittering down, as gravity
grabs then releases we fall in a heap,
and can't wait to do it again!
An impromptu game of catch,
throwing stones instead of tennis balls,
our laughter uncontrollable,
we trip and stagger home.
The warp and weft, the fabric of my youth
still reassures me with these moments of enduring truth.
The TFL Shaman- A Journey Home.
Raindrops trickle down the misty train windows,
Obscuring views of coloured graffiti,
Works of passion sprayed on to embankment walls.
Bright colours splattered onto neglected structures,
Wild Statements of art,
Arising from the urban ashes of creativity.
Serious and distant faces find the protection,
In-ear plugs and Smartphones, from a carriage,
Painted in soulless grey and from fellow travellers,
Silhouetted against stark Fluorescent lighting,
From contact that might demand a human response.
Hopeful eyes, searching screens for some outreach of love,
Social media, this agency of sometimes silent desperation,
Of outsourced spirituality,
Paper castles and empty rooms,
Designed to steal us from the very now,
This very now, that would wake us,
From a digital nightmare.
Suddenly the sunlight slips through dark clouds,
Transforming the soulless city grey
Into instant beauty,
Sunlight bounces of wet sparkling windows,
Shafts of white light scatter across sky and
Concrete Landscapes, highlighting and making special
For just a moment, the ordinary.
And against a quietness,
Only disturbed by the rumbling train,
Comes the faint voice of a passenger singing.
Awkward feet shuffle as people turn away,
But as she sings, this TFL Shaman tears down a hidden vail,
And for a moment we stand exposed, real,
Scared others might see our pain.
Next stop, Chadwell Heath a soft voice says.
The doors fly open, and the TFL Shaman steps off,
Her glowing Red hair lifting gently in the breeze,
Her Shopping bags cutting into her small hands.
Outside In the warm summer sun, a blackbird sings with all its heart,
Falling silent for a moment, and then sings again.
John Roberts
January has pocketed frosted dreams
Firmly tucked away, hidden under her black ice
Her treacherous blizzards torment the foolhardy
Many driving too fast on her hills should know better
In a heavily prayer-scented car
A risk-taking older cigar-smoking woman twirls around on the ice
Finally landing with a splat, slamming into a steel embankment
Her days on earth over now
bitterer than any rejected suiter, the incredible storm picks up
The woman's Ford is covered in mounds of wet heavy snow
This is a desolate road, people do not see the wreck for hours
Nine One One is called, but it is too late.
This smoke has words that escape me actually
The EMT says, as he reaches the scene
I see no smoke, his unaware partner replies
Not seeing the haze that is taking the lady’s soul to heaven
Here I stand.
Covered in mud.
Slouching about.
Momma told me not to come,
But the boys made it sound like fun.
We tied a rope to the tree.
Swung out over the stream.
I was the first to go in.
The water was cold and shallow.
The mud was deep.
How will I get home,
Without my Momma to see?
What an awful mess I made of me!
Foot by foot,
I lifted them out.
My shoes were gone,
Sunk in the ground.
Climbing up the stream embankment,
I blended right in.
Then I heard a shout!
"It's the stream monster,
Just coming out!"
I looked at my friends,
All laughing about.
Took hands full of mud,
Began to sling it about.
To this day,
None of the boys would say,
How everyone came home,
Covered in mud that day!
I have a river of my own,
A river, flowing
Naturally.
I see her in waves,
On her
Meandering trails,
Lonely.
‘River training’
Is a term I heard
From a very
Early age,
A father, engineer,
Left an imprint
On my
Coloring page.
His office talks often
Engaged terms
Like ‘embankment.’
Rhymes better,
Feels proper,
Along a way
Of atonement.
I was awfully apt
To color my river,
In times of my leisure.
It was always near
My house, my fun-walk,
With pleasure.
I fancy now,
I had a boat and
Knew to manage
That boat of mine.
Shed tears to lose
Inside my dreams.
And often dreams still shine.
“Wind Song”
When the rain came it raised a torrent
music, little by little, raised the levy
light pebbles rolled over one by one
took with them
all their
flotsam and jetsam
leaves ferrying Black Ravens carried on
Brook babbling
listened to the birds scrabbling
singing -
“I am the one!"
"I am the one!”
Fed them bread and thanksgiving
Fat and feathered their over fed pride sung
Red Robin turned with the Wind,
flew red currents away from the Aviary in full swing
Spreading wings, riding on their Wind Song
She sings She sings
(Lovejoy-Burton, August 2018)
"Home is where your story begins."- Unknown
1. Levy
impose (a tax, fee, or fine).
"a tax of two per cent was levied on all cargoes"
synonyms: impose, charge, exact, demand, raise, collect, gather; More
archaic
enlist (someone) for military service.
"he sought to levy one man from each vill for service"
noun
an act of levying a tax, fee, or fine.
"police forces receive 49 per cent of their funding via a levy on the rates"
synonyms: tax, tariff, toll, excise, duty, fee, imposition, impost, exaction, assessment, tithe, payment; More
historical
an act of enlisting troops.
"Edward I and Edward II had made substantial use of the feudal levy for raising an army"
2. Levee
an embankment built to prevent the overflow of a river.
a ridge of sediment deposited naturally alongside a river by overflowing water.
a landing place; a quay.
WATERFALLS, RIVERS AND DROUGHT
The frenzied forces of cold, icy streams
detonate explosively on the rocks below.
Their rapid currents wreak havoc
on logjams caught in crevasses beneath
the mist and rainbowed spray.
We blink in awe to see this
spectacular remonstration
of pretentious power abruptly
become whirling vortexes
of descending splash downs.
But then, almost as quickly, this despoiler settles
and begins to accumulate in multitudes
of rippling bubbles and froth
immediately bleeding onto the embankment
promptly losing much of its potential goodness
swooshed as sucking sounds
into the wild soils of the firmament.
What survives roams free and for awhile
flows in any direction, with no beginning, no end
as the river turns into riverlets
Eddying on without any selected steering.
The rains that used to drip down from the mountain top
cry to see the diversions of the most glorious river
dissipate and dry up knowing that the drought
which has appeared can not adequately supply
sustenance to a parched soil.
For that sunbaked soil to be reclaimed
the river must continue to extend its reach
and water the seeds of new growth.
and use its silt to fertilize the new life
that waits anticipating its turn
in creation's timetable.
CAK 6-04-2012 Revised 6-18-2013