Best Gully Poems
And We Call It……
Sprinkles, drizzles,
Mists and downpours;
Torrents, cloudbursts
Liquid sunshine;
Showers, deluge,
Mists and squalls,
Gully washers -
Thunder showers.
Pelting, pounding,
Soaking, drenching;
Dancing, pouring
Cats and dogs;
Bursting, drifting
Floating, falling,
Coming down
In buckets.
Comes in summer
Rides on thunder,
Comes in autumn
Twirls on whirlwinds;
Comes in winter
Plays with blizzards;
Comes in springtime
Floats on breezes.
Puddles, pools
Of standing water;
Dripping eaves –
Filling gutters;
Celebration
For umbrellas
And we call it…..
RAIN!!!
Categories:
gully, rain, weather,
Form:
Free verse
A short walk from the road
you are deep in forest.
Tall mountain ash form
pillars that hold up space
and keep a cathedral
of shade within its walls.
High overhead, a canopy
of leaves curtain the sky
in prayerful whispers.
Tree ferns crowd a gully
where fallen giants bridge
a creek carrying a trickle
of mountain tears.
You keep your silence
not wanting to intrude
on another's grief.
Sometimes you can hear
lyrebirds perform their repertoire
of mimic song. One, they say,
can copy the sound
of a chain saw, another,
the long drawn out whine
of a siren as it races
towards a fire.
Categories:
gully, bird, fire, nature, tree,
Form:
Free verse
Yellow crops of sandstone,
Jagged mountain peak,
Red display of waratahs,
A meandering bush creek.
White display of flannel flowers,
Bottlebrush with orange cones,
Beautiful fronds of tree ferns,
Blue gums with crafted tones.
A frolicking roll of mountain mist,
An ancient windswept cave,
Green moss upon the velvet rocks,
Falling gum leaf gives a wave.
The tinkling sounds of bellbirds
Run echoes round the stream,
A yellow-tailed cockatoo
Circles back to where it's been.
The buzzing of a bush-bee
Comes from near a fallen log,
A croaking sound pervading
It's a golden striped tree frog.
This bush display persistent,
Wallaby nibbles grass nearby,
A lyrebird shyly into view,
Kookaburras sit in branches high.
The melodic sounds continue,
Chirping birds with colored plume,
Gorge of coolness calling,
Mountain gully, nature's loom.
kidscomedypoetry.com.au
Categories:
gully, nature,
Form:
Verse
Child like Journey
On a gurney.
It’s not funny.
For the money.
Its not phony.
Room for Bunny.
Not be naughty
Must go to potty.
No much folly.
Fell into gully.
Must be worldly.
Were is mommy?
Feel so cuddy.
Gives me plenty.
Full of jelly.
Knows my belly.
It’s not silly.
Brother a Bully.
My noise runny.
My feet muddy.
My friend Holly.
I remember honey.
Makes me jolly.
Like toy trolley.
It wants hilly.
About my tummy.
It’s so bloody.
Feel so weakly.
I am Sleepy.
Were my buddy.
Would be lovely…
Categories:
gully, body, child, journey,
Form:
Rhyme
Words he formed.
Shells, pebbles, sorted by color
Straight grey lines
Curved watery blue
Rosy dots
Sand dollar phrases
drifting, floating, resting on the shore
Gathered decorative patterns
garland and seaweed
Expressed feelings
hand dug gully around
his small world filled with
salty water
And he lay down
safely on his island
Awaiting the surf, the tide,
pure white ripples of hope
to wash away the pain
Words he formed
with his fingers
folding air around
simmering sun
finally realizing
his thoughts had meaning
as nary a cloudy day
could be seen since…
He sent out his heart
It flew for him
Sent out his soul, surfing
in rhythmic coastal stanzas
lapping a lazy shore
measuring the distance
beyond a vertical eclipse
where water meets air
and the sky merges with his dreams
With eyes closed
his horizontal form
sails through time
closing chapters
and opening pages,
dog-eared memories in numerical order
At the count down of
5 he lands ashore
4 drapes his sea-green garments around self
3 gathers dollars, dignity
2 opens his eyes
1 thanks his therapist for the session
0 leaves, with a sense of regret.
***
June 16, 2017
Copyright © Chris Green and Darren White
Categories:
gully, dream, sea,
Form:
Free verse
In the stray lavender of twilight
as cactis' spindled obelisks
brush spreading lapis sky
a honeyed sun
holds tight
to desert crags
for a last glimpse
of fulgid sage
and adobe rainbow dwellings
sprawled in the valley.
I await the candle moon's
flickering smile
shining in gully water
and darts of starlight
glowing in my arid dreams.
Categories:
gully, nature, sunset,
Form:
Ekphrasis
Grumble-rumble raises hairs on my arms.
Air so crisp it crackles lightening forms.
Whoop the wind scrambles and mell pells,
the stationary earth shivers before it fells.
Scrubbed clean like a naughty, naughty, child,
the twigs and brush scatter, the cat's beguiled.
Cone flowers pink petals lap dance the lawn.
Gray chittering squirrels hide 'tween rooted forms.
Whhhhhoooooosh the gully washer's display,
the sizzling pop of the auto’s fine splay.
The gutters are gargeling spitting a flume,
and, ah the relief from heat such a boon.
Mother nature in all her majesty
has made the day just right for me!
Categories:
gully, nature
Form:
Sonnet
This is May
The time of the beginning of the month of rains
This is May
The teen girl coming boldly to my mother's room
This is May
Don Colon sails to Discovery Bay and leave in chains
This is May
Her young body like a delicate and exotic perfume
Are clouds dark as memory
On the old page of history
This is May
And I prefer none, but long to be there
When gully overflows cleansing me of fear:
(a)
May murmurs in trees
Golden with juicy blossoms
Falling for the rain
(b)
May bares her bright breast
To the oval lips of skies
The young heart thunders
(c)
May brings her ships to bay
Laden with lost sailors' joy
Black rivers run red
(d)
May wears the mountain scent
From fragrant flowers succulent
Hope seeks new domain
(e)
May too is for love
Love of brave warriors' drums
Beating like a heart.
Categories:
gully, history, love, nature
Form:
Verse
I am the tangible wind
the subtle breeze whispering
passionate hints throughout
uncharted mounds dancing
beneath the infamous sun
feeding hungry hearts gathering
missing pieces holding time
in place withered by tainted bliss
I am the rapture magnified
brilliantly over land and sea
a multitude of languages spoken
without listening without hearing
I am the gully the levy the pulley
of souls dazed captured and released
between the meeting of the mind
kissing the shores time after time
Categories:
gully, allah,
Form:
Naat
Duck Eggs
Granville Wesley Clarke
May 14, 1921, ====July 19, 2011
The late Cracker or Perry
A golden heart stop beating at sunset July 19, 2011
Today my memory is a large duck egg
Yes, that large duck egg, you got from the
Chicken coop, so that I could have it for breakfast”
If you haven’t tried ducks, eggs
it's time to become a tester.
There will be no funeral today,
Only memories of the people we love
I remember the tall trees, in which you
Climbed in order to cut the branches that block the view
And the wind that cool our roof top
I remember our morning strolled in big gully
In which we would go and pick green lemons
I with my small paint bucket, you with your big brown onion bag
with our findings you would fill it to the top,
My small paint bucket I also filled it up to the top:
With my doo rag tied so tight around my head I sweat bullets
my brother old pants protected my skinny legs from the bugs
There we were strolling through the woods
Almonds, I sucked the juices, and hammer the nuts with a rock
As you cut down trees, to finish your pig pen,
There will no funeral today, or weeping
Just good old memories, about the dead
Rest in peace, with the angels,
Until we meet again,
Categories:
gully, anger, angst, appreciation, atheist,
Form:
Blank verse
When the full moon rises,
and the stars start to glow.
Down to that old creek bank,
is where I like to go.
A few leaves still hanging,
shaking in the breeze.
Holding on for dear life
to them persimmon trees.
Out across the gully,
other side of the bridge.
Coon hounds hot on a trail,
just over the next ridge.
Surrounded by nature,
I am filled with delight.
Deep in these Ozark woods,
on moonlit winter nights.
A cool wind a blowing,
winter’s flurries around.
The only sound to hear,
the bawling of a hound.
Down to that old creek bank,
Is where I like to go.
When the full moon rises,
and the stars start to glow.
Categories:
gully, poetry,
Form:
Rhyme
ravaged empty bed
clouds building, gully washer
flood me with your love
David Meade
Live Generously
Categories:
gully, love, water,
Form:
Haiku
Sunrise found the farmers waiting
at the grits mill by the stream.
With the sound of grinding corn,
neighbors worked as a team.
Sharecropping is just a memory...
No more tobacco to be strung~
Cottonpicking is now mechanical.
There is no redneck song to be sung.
I am a redneck and proud of it.
We are a special breed.
Don't get on our 'fighting side'.
We stand up for what we believe.
We buy syrup in a bottle.
The grits mill grinds no more.
Vegetables don't taste the same~
We buy them from a store.
No backache from picking cotton~
Hands aren't bleeding and sore.
The grits mill has crumbled
Times just aren't the same anymore...
*correct spelling-grist
*(Southern Pronunciation = grits)
Categories:
gully, memory, nostalgia,
Form:
Rhyme
His name was legend, written in lore,
Riding his bike like no human should.
He’d vault and swerve, plunge and dance,
Leap frogging my entire childhood.
He could sprint from a stop, faster than fast,
Past everyone else on the road.
Till he came to the top of the sharpest ridged gully,
That’s where he eventually slowed.
He slowed not to be careful, or safe or guarded,
Or because of the exhausting conquest.
But rather so he could balance on one spindly wheel,
All along the sharpest edged crest.
He’d be there for hours, any type of day,
Be it hot or cold, rain, ice, or smog.
Until, almost crippled, his bike and him one,
He rode his way home again, alone in the fog.
This night he came to the dark murky road, just out from home,
He peered left but didn’t look right.
Now he’s the ghost on a bike, wistfully riding the streets of this town,
Riding silently every night.
Categories:
gully, childhood, fun,
Form:
Quatrain
Burning Bullet
As a aromatic substance,
burning like a coolwater incense.
Keeping them in suspense.
I'm a queen I come with my own swarm of bees.
From throwing rocks to carring glocks.
I'm cocking my clip for the new verse that I spit.
Tearing them apart, ripping hearts.
Spilting heads laying them to bed.
My mouth is like a pistol, it shoots pitiless missile's.
You must not know about me.
I bring the heat any where I be.
To the left, to the left, a bullet staright to the chest.
This is my profession, I'm the one who professes!
Burning Bullet...
To true to the game, my style burning like a flame.
Keeping it gully from beginning to the end.
I love being empty within.
Drop the act, you'll stay a hood rat!
Why are you going through my fam like a photographic cam.
I'm a burning bullet...
Just to fantastic, personalitiy is magnetic.
Life style is justifiable justice,
to a journey to how I live this!
Coming up poor, to getting rich making them feel foolish.
A long lived existence....
a burning bullet!
Categories:
gully, devotion, inspirational, life, uplifting,
Form:
Light Verse