Best Gullies Poems
Gullies scar brown earth
Hurricanes bring erosion
Of both soil and lives
A cruel Jack Frost blows icy floss
(in front of spring a’ burstin’)
while shiftin’ sheaves of withered leaves
near freezin’ streams a’ thirstin’.
A pack reviled runs roamin’ wild,
the alpha wolf wakes howlin’
then scents a lean and lonesome scene
while on the lurk a’ prowlin’.
A cloud revolts with spangled bolts,
and starry skies start closin’
as wild geese soar beyond death’s door
neath naked moon a’ posin’.
Electric shafts, like fractured rafts,
sail night’s cathedral caldrons –
their cracking curse makes herds disperse
in random splayed and sprawled runs.
A she-wolf sighs with hungry eyes;
the ancient wolf waits, bayin’ -
with weary back, he’s lost the track,
his bandied legs betrayin’.
The brood’s somewhere in shrouded lair
with mama left to mind ’em -
the wolf, a’ drag with empty swag,
is on his way to find ’em.
The pack rejoins with weary loins -
perhaps its days are numbered.
In evening’s night, he’s feeling tight,
with aches and pains encumbered.
As morning nears, with shaggy ears
(one droopin’ down, hung over)
he’ll set the course with renewed force,
for, yes, he’s still the rover.
When snow enshrines the timberlines
and skies are ripped asunder
though young, lupine, they’ll stifle whines,
as gullies fill with thunder;
mid echoes in the mouth o’ death,
they bid farewell the lair
while panting puffs o’ crystal breath
float, hanging in the air.
Their path is black (they can’t look back
for herds long gone a’ missin’)
as dusk profanes the snow-bound plains
the sinkin’ sun was kissin’.
Neath northern lights, with barks and bites,
he keeps ’em all in motion –
the speckled scars of fallin’ stars
display the night’s devotion.
The sky’s a’ blushin’ in the east,
and hollow wind’s are sighin’
while buzzards freeze in gallows trees,
a’ roostin’, rapt and eyein’.
These ghouls of prey, they’re spooked away,
like tumbleweeds a’ blowin’,
by tilted head, white fangs tipped red,
and warnin’ wail’s a’ growin’.
...... Continued in part 2 ......
The two-lane road stretches
through a shimmering glaze
to the horizon, passing
smokestacks of mesas spewing
clay and maize in vaporous mass.
I hear the sibylline whisper of rain
through emerald brush
and serpentine hiss
of slithering sand.
The acrid smell permeates
evergreen and purple sage,
carries the aroma
with fine dust.
I point my thumb west,
a prayer for a willing traveler
to whisk me away
from the cumulative downpour
when the desert paint
floods umber in the gullies.
The base camp was my youth
I stood alone, ill-equipped, looking up.
The challenge before me, gullies filled with tangled unknowns
and sharp lessons.
My guides had abandoned me, left, tight lipped
no map, no promise
little hope
and so I started my ascent,
faltering, stumbling, tightly gripping
any friendships I could find,
skinning my knees on setbacks as ages passed
until I found myself peering over the summit,
elated.
But in the distance
oh God.................
another mountain
and at its base
another me
For contest 'Mountains', sponsor Julia Ward
I can not help but wonder
When God created the earth
How did He think of all the things
It takes to make it work
I know God is God
And He knows all things
But the things I've been a witness to
How do they work I mean
The lava boils deep in the earth
Why does it need to leave
And when it does break through the crust
It becomes a volcano to us
It has destroyed all in its path
What of the hole it leaves behind
The cavity eventually caves in
And then the mountains do begin
Mean while the surface heals itself
The wind and rain step in
The soils that are blown and washed in
Help heal the scars again
What of the ash from the volcano
As it infiltrates the air
As it settles it brings death
Such as ASH FALL in Nebraska
Where the rhino's met their end
And what of the earth quakes
As the earth seems to shake in pain
The cracks that they leave behind
Form gullies and ravines
The oil, the gas, the silver, the gold
The floods, the tornados, the drouths, the cold
Fires caused by lightenings sting
Are all under Mother Natures wing
The animals before man's time
Lived and died as was designed
And still the earth went on and on
And healed it self from dusk to dawn
And now that man is here
It has to work harder
It is there to heal the wounds
That man seems to father
Then we have the food chain
Land and water both provide
And if man doesn't watch his step
Fathom waits outside
Now and then it does rebel
It gets the upper hand
Tornados, blizzards, hurricanes
Volcanos and desert sand
The scars the wars do leave
Mother Nature does her best
If only we'd learn to live in peace
She could take a rest
And all the stupid things man does
Like building homes along a high cliff
Then when Mother Nature does her thing
Bet you can guess who takes the blame
The heavens, the earth were made by God,
And for eons they did survive
Then God created man,
If they don't work side by side
Neither of them will abide
I guess I answered my own question
I just had to use my brain
Thank You God for all Your help
I hope it's not in vain
Aspen, ponderosa pine, blue spruce
pink glacier-cut rock, scree, ravens
gray jay, peregrine falcon, hawk.
We climb to 11,000 feet in three days,
camp at Lawn Lake for three days. Alpine
tundra. Elk, bighorn sheep, marmot.
Tileston Meadows, ticks in grass,
rock face of Mummy Mountain.
Binoculars show pink cracks in gray rock.
Stoke gas stoves, play cards.
Boil water, set up tarps, lay out
sleeping bags, hang bear bag.
Watch crescent moon slice into
Fairchild Mountain. Moonlight
makes a mosque of the rocks.
Yellow aspen splash in dark green
spruce and pine. Gullies where streams
slash during spring snowmelt.
One rock, feather or flower worth
more than money. Need no wallet,
keys. Just clothes for fur.
All day climb toward saddle to see
what's on other side. One hawk floating
among bare peaks and over valleys.
Wind at 13,000 feet
turns to sleet. Turn back from peak,
take boulders two at a time down.
Winter moves into mountains.
Then we fly from Denver to New York
where it's still summer.
Oh let me roam where the scenery's green,
Where the willows droop down and the bell birds teem,
Across the gullies where the wallaby's been,
Just let me roam.
Oh you've got to be where the water falls,
Where stands of stringy barks grow so tall,
The kookaburras laugh and the magpies call,
Just let me roam.
CHOROUS
Oh let me roam far from the city
Where the roads are dirt and the bush is pretty,
I just want to sing this roving ditty,
Just let me roam.
You've got to see where the mountains peak,
Where the wombats fossick for the food they seek,
The platypus swims along the shimmering creek,
Just let me roam.
See the vivid colours of the rosellas dash,
In between the gums and the mountain ash,
Where the rainbow trouts make their jumping splash,
Just let me roam.
Out west, near Black Hills, over South Dakota way,
On land where layered rocks records eons before –
Some thieves rode the badlands that hot steamy day.
Rough riding rustlers raided a ranch; stole a boar.
Those thieves took, tackle, grain, food, and wine grapes.
Two rife and rifled cowboys planned to settle the score!
Rugged and fearless with sweat on hot napes,
They rode where the rattlers and bull snakes call home.
Both galloped fast and hard … must not let thieves escape.
But they stopped with their horses when they saw bison’s roam.
Felt stillness; saw vastness; amazed, each life reshapes.
The wilderness teaches with its silent, “Shalom.”
Paused, distantly viewing weird-wonderful shapes.
Great towers of fossils that give wildlife a home.
Two soul-searching cowboys ponder nature’s landscapes.
While prairie dogs and cottontails run for the loam,
The bobcats and vultures look down on the plains.
And turtles stay still in their portable home.
The Bighorns and badgers walk gullies in rains.
Meadowlarks sing songs while pretty pronghorns prance.
There, valleys hide critters in flowers and grains.
It’s a desolate land; so, it seems at first glance.
Plenty of majestic views extending for miles,
Masking deadly dangers that stalk the great expanse.
But back on the ranch families stock up woodpiles,
They tend to the gardens, feed chickens, and cows.
Their work is quite hard but they manage with smiles.
The villains still steal and the farmers push plows.
But two soul-searching cowboys made Heavenly vows.
Copyright October 12, 2014
Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: Cowboys in the Badlands -
Sponsor Isaiah Zerbst
Across troop ship bow the cliffs drew nearer
and into harm’s way mighty battalions drove -
men and mule upon cold waves of terror
stormed the beachhead landings on Anzac Cove.
The digger Dogs of War unleashed again
an Expeditionary Force by sea,
in hallowed ground of brave infantrymen
lie the bones of Empires in Gallipoli.
Great southern blue, red and white standard stars
in battle hymn out of Commonwealth port,
where the flame of liberty fiercely chars
every bleeding heart whose sons fell and fought.
A hundred years ago soldiers in a world at war
battled on a foreign shore
for King ‘n Country, God ‘n Corps.
The battle was lost, the Great War won,
their sacrifice laid bare, their duty done.
We march at dawn for mate and vet
and to remember the fallen Lest We Forget!
Sappers, farmers, salesmen, drovers and clerks -
young men and boys their slouch hats wore,
and in steep gullies and ravines fought the Turks
like when on the velt they fought the Boer.
In muddy trench and bunker riflemen joining
charged the lines on Ottoman ancient land,
loud shellfire through dead night and dawning
fell in great battle Anzac’s finest stand!
On Lone Pine, Dead Man’s Ridge, Chunuk Bair
the battlefield told a colony’s tale,
beyond those cliffs soon would her bugles blare
in Palestine, Fromelles and Passchendaele.
A hundred years ago soldiers in a world at war
battled on a foreign shore
for King ‘n Country, God ‘n Corps.
The battle was lost, the Great War won,
their sacrifice laid bare, their duty done.
We march at dawn for mate and vet
and to remember the fallen Lest We Forget!
Raise the flag and let us honour the slew
whose battle is over - the glory and the ghost
of those men of valour in distant graves who
stood their ground and stood their post!
Written: April 2015
Wagon ruts--those cut backs
Of roads along a ridge
Heal in natural obsolescence,
Heal with rock and wash ripping gullies,
Bearing gnarled root
And jagging teeth of jutting quartz,
Heal with rain and wind
Flinging seed darts to stubble thickets
For holding in a mountain's side,
Heal and vanish from all those
But that old man whose weight
Was of the time and purposes
Of wagon ruts.
Just before the ridge there sat a wooden bridge
And it's planks had been in place a year or two.
In the grass almost forgotten was a log which had gone rotten
And was hollow end to end the whole way through.
Inside the rotten log there lived a lonely dog
No-one loved him so he didn't have a name.
He sat there all forlorn and watched a golden dawn
Scratched his ear and whimpered in his shame.
He trotted into town just to have a look around
And to see if someone would like to love a pet
But when he drew up close people slapped him on the nose
And a bruise seemed all that he would get.
Battered, bruised and confused and a little bit bemused
He slowly limped his way back to his log.
I'd be a faithful little friend right until the very end
He went inside and cried, this little dog.
One night a raging storm which was really not the norm,
Swelled the river flowing underneath the bridge
And unknown to the town the flood was flying down
From the slopes and gullies of the ridge.
The little dog just ran to warn the nearest man
Of the danger rolling downwards in the dark
And the town began to shout as they got the people out
Thanks to the little dog's frenzied bark.
With the morn' the flood had passed, everyone safe at last
But the little dog was nowhere to be found.
Then came a cry, a sobbing voice screamed, Why?
His little body lying lifeless on the ground.
An iron bridge painted brown now sits above the town
The rotten log was long since thrown away.
Pride of place on the bridge is a plaque for little Midge
And the sacrifice he made that stormy day.
THE EYE of I
What is life? What is love?
The eye of I took it in…
The material rolling sweeps highs and lows--valleys cuts, grooves, gullies and gorges eye engorge crevices of porphyry
heat flies from the ravines
places the eye cannot see but the soul can visit-- living matter,
infused with tissue thoughts generated externally electrified internally
the sweat that beaded on the brow drips and spatters, absorbs the entity under
What is the breathing open petal life… radiating respiring
One throttle to quell that respiration, bright lightening beauty gently fusing into glow?
Brightening as I faster
Turbine-whistle I your master
beating, spewing, thrusting, ignition transference… body grue and stifles?… Gone
She stiffens the radiance of the face pale, milky, alabaster, clammy pore-less beams the lips and cheeks rubescent now. Smoothes, and transition into deep hues of blues, violent violets, ebony black. Hardens, stiffens stone then softens? as alabaster
Deterioration, matter, entropy all so naturally
Squall has past--the quondam respiring takes long respite..
The eye of I took it in…The material rolling sweeps highs and lows, valleys, cuts, grooves, gully and gorge I engorge crevices of porphyry
heat flies from the ravines folded as petals from
places the eye cannot see but the soul can visit
of living matter, infused with tissue thoughts generated externally electrified internally
The sweat that beaded on the brow drips and spatters, absorbs the entity under lies the breathing open petal life… radiating, respiring?
The fingers trace and fall in place the Etowah infused with breath
The sweat sinks in, absorption energy transfers electricity thoughts
Cabachon crescendos!
All the while the living, beating, breathing, entity flutters, shutters, smiles.
Water flowing downward from the hilltop
Meandering through gullies and the fell
Even bigger mountains for the backdrop
Where it really starts so hard to tell
Reaching a low cliff it becomes airborne
And plunges to the pool not far below
Down there in amongst the thriving buckhorn
Where fish live in the depths and lesser flow
Colours dance in spray that rises swirling
And wetting all the plants for yards around
Then duck and dive, and begin the twirling
Accompanied by crashing water sound
The strength of nature has me in its hold
A power that has been since time untold
January 31 2020
I am struggling a bit here, totally new to me. If I did not get it, so be it. I would like a hint where I went wrong
They were straight of limb as the bullets flew
Made up of true blues and fair dinkums too
When they landed on that bloody April day
They were told to push inland to ensure the stay
The fighting was fierce and brave men fell
Australian, New Zealander and Turk in the hell
The bravest men fought the hardest fight
And went inland further than others might
They fought and they died showing they had pluck
The Turks told of wounded men not giving up
Struggling it out to the last bullet they fought
And were left lying facing the foe as they ought
In the end when they evacuated ANZAC Cove Beach
With those brave men lying in the sun out of reach
The Turks left them as the sun bleached their bones white
As the days turned into months into years as we won the fight
In 1919 Charles Bean led the Australians back to Gallipoli
And they searched the battlefield from beach to the gullies carefully
The bones were gathered and were identified for some
As the graves were lined up and headstones stand in the sun
These men who came from across the world for a war
Are now part of the Legend of ANZAC for all to explore
But I wonder on those windy hills where they stayed and didn't flee
There are young Australians looking out quietly to the sea.
© Paul Warren Poetry
Dusty
He meets with elusive witches
Spanning deep gullies and ditches
Cracked faces to suture stitches-
The whimpering teething child
With body seething hot and wild
Soon he sleeps with pain mild.
With ease he digs out sore tooth
That fouls the wretch’s mouth
To remove a cyst from “th’ rooth”
Suffering ill-timed complex labour
He swings a miniature sabre
Retrieving breech future blubber!
Dusty’s offers invaluable solace
To they who in disgrace grimace
By the knowledgeable embrace!
****
He’s a little more concerned
With scrub and putting up patches
Or seeing patients stir in fitness
And to mend the ailing wretch.
Relieve or solace a man who gives
Removes from an ailing heart
Pain, misery and a load of gyves.
With needles so thin and sharp
And a handful of bitter pills
Music of the soul Doctors harp
To postpone execution of wills!
When Dusty’s around in a show
Terrified by his paraphernalia
Illness and misery cringe or bow!
Prognosis and its efficacy
Is measured by number of graves-
Much Dead scrap you’ll see
When a mechanic misbehaves:
Child with a body simmering hot
Dad with his usual aching head
Sweet Mum with her hell lot....
**Dedication to the Dustcoats, I mean Doctors!
JM
21st Nov’ 2013