Best Hydrated Poems
POTD 27 Sept 2023
~LOVE SAID ~
"Go find her, set her free."
In my search, I found an array of colourful petals,
An abundance of aromatic aromas.
Each one, I hydrated with my blood and tears,
But each one pricked me with their thorns.
Fatigued ~ pondering an end to my quest,
I prepared for a life without a petal of my own.
A voice whispered ~
"Look this way."
And there you were
Glimmering under twilight's delight,
So I planted you in my heart,
So you can blossom in an ocean of love...
by The Silent One
And Maria Williams
French Lyric translation
Quand il me prend dans ses bras
(When he takes me in his arms)
Il me parle de tout bas
(he speaks to me softly)
Je vois la vie en rose
(I see life in pink)
Every time you kiss me, Heaven sighs
Il me dit des mots d'amour
(he tells me words of love)
Don't know why
Des mots de tous les jours
(everyday words)
I close my eyes
Et ça m'fait quelque chose
(and it touches me)
If only you would
Give your heart and soul to me
And life will always be
La vie en rose
(The life in pink)
Some amazing talents come together here.
Thank you Silent One for your collaboration with me on this creative poem.
Ron Williams, for video direction and composition, which we put together.
And to David Luke for his excellent narration.
Attributions:
Lyrics by Edith Piaf
Music and vocal:
Michael Bublé & (feat. Cécile McLorin Salvant)
Album La vie en rose
Licenced by You tube
I will always remember those uneven paths,
which led me to you -
sorrowful reminder of promises I could not keep.
All you wanted was to sit with me for a while,
to talk and maybe try to make me smile.
Yet fate did not let us share the stars,
not even for one night - now there is only darkness.
I will never forget,
how you would sit under the sage green veranda,
sipping on your sweet tea, laughing and chatting away.
Many would sit and listen to your non fiction tales
about when the air was clean and the fields were green,
childhood mischief and forgotten memories.
I'll always remember that glint in your eyes,
the warmth in your smile and that sui generis voice.
Especially when parades of birds would chirp at dawn
and when gazing at fireflies flickering under lanterns at dusk.
The veranda is now silent,
but grandma still calls your name.
The aroma from those abundance of petals still lingers,
but your scent does not appear.
Berries still appear from your affluent olive trees,
but they shall never be hydrated by your hands.
Sweet jasmine still climbs up veranda poles,
maybe trying to reach heaven, to be with you.
Your last words will always live with me:
"Come sit with me, even just for a couple of days."
but the next day you were gone...
Dedicated to my grandfather.
1930 - 18 August 2018.
Silent One
26 August 2018
I tried to create a poetic dream,
to fulfill our promise,
but we became a victim
to fate's wounding ways.
My flower garden lies in ruins,
suffering in silence -
my lips unable to kiss her back to life.
In the demise of our destiny,
there is no reincarnation.
Hope fades with each withering petal,
perishing to our unfulfilled vow.
Stench of regret pollutes dark, damp air.
Winds wander, weeping woefully,
whispering condolences for our tragedy.
Delicately, as if it was your soul,
I place the last blooming rose,
close to my heart -
hoping, one day,
to reunite it with you.
I can see butterflies,
drowning in puddles of lament -
helpless in this unforeseen storm.
I sense the angst of disorientated bees.
Their queen deprived of nectar,
they pine in distress -
yearning to be close to her.
Sun rises, veiled in a black blanket.
Birds sing songs of sorrow,
soaking in sombre sadness.
A mournful chorus,
which only increases the pain.
Her image reflects through my eyes.
Her voice echoes in my mind.
I crave for darkness, tired of shadows,
look to the heavens....
Wondering why?
In this dead end of dreams,
soul bangs against my chest,
crying like stinging winter rain.
I collect each sacred tear,
to keep our last rose hydrated -
to lay it upon your resting place.
A promise has no guarantee.
A poet's pen cannot create forever...
Third and final part to my 'Promise' trilogy
Simple Musing
Silent One
6 June 2020
I am a metaphor for tears,
born from murky clouds,
pouring gracefully or rampantly,
in a choreography of liquid grace,
dancing to the sound of pitter patter,
upon rooftops and window panes~
but I am mercy,
flourishing your crops,
nurturing roots of blossoms,
softening hydrated lands.
Yet cursed by climate change,
I am blamed for human neglect.
I’m sorry for my flaws
I appreciate everything you do for me
I wish I could always smile at passing children
I wish I felt better about myself
I wish I saw the light you provide for me
The light I voluntarily turn my back from
The light I’m suppose to drink
As if to keep hydrated.
I’m surrounded by quarters and unfinished books
I read because I’m searching for affirmation
Quarters for clothes to be kept clean.
I’m divulgent
I parade my flaws
I hide, trip, and reveal my flaws
I am in constant concern of my own being
And a stillness of thought for a mind to be kept clean.
The world is a messy place
Our mind the raking of leaves
The leaves of the world fall and we rake
The leaves of the world fall and we rake
We fall and awake and fall again.
Love is warm, harmless, and stamped
Inefficiently weak by the assemblies of faces
Swept up by the world’s business of cold linear time
Moving like a sad and brutal train.
I sit at the station
My fingers interlocked pressing against my face
Peering through the thicket of my spirit.
Hours later, maybe, I am looking up the hill
Pulling my elephant.
Children circle around my small progress
Skipping and laughing.
(They don’t care,
They just like elephants.)
Though, last night, I dreamt I rode a killer whale
And so here it dawns on the weakened spirit:
That I am the Whale Rider of the Phantom World
Wandering through 10th Avenue
My flaws in our wake
My fist pumped high in the air
In the name of a Life Authentic.
This all dreamy and wonderful
While in the world of machines and mass movement
The elephant keeps his slow, tugging gait behind me,
Ignorant of dreams.
In the morning I heard the tea pot singing,
With the amber liquid sizzling,
Saw spouts of vapor ejecting,
With a sweet aroma tickling.
While pouring my cup of steaming tea,
Adding some cream, a little sugar and stirring it
I thought of the magic effect it brings,
Reviving us on every morning and keeping us fit.
As we sip it while we scan the news paper
We feel the early languor being lifted,
Keeping us hydrated throughout the day,
With our cognitive abilities liberally assisted.
I feel there is nothing like a cup of well blended tea,
For a tired soul to enliven his body.
It’s delicious taste and delicate fragrance,
Make it everyone’s lovesome buddy!
It’s a heavenly drink for the torpid minds,
A beverage brewed from the best of leaves.
A magic potion for the feverish lips,
Which in tiresome hours, everyone craves.
Sure, teatime is the most pleasant family time.
How we babble and burble over a cup of tea
Drawing people closer and cementing relations.
Certainly, it’s a time to look forward with glee.
It took some heavy digging and a lot of clever research.
But scientists have now explained in full detail how evolution works.
Finally it all comes together after much debate and so much time.
(To appeal to the little 'uns they even told it in rhyme).
"And from the mud-baths of primordial soup we came to be.
Rising from the currents of a ginormous boiling sea.
Once things cooled down a bit, leaving cells with room to breath,
things developed quite gradually,
as each individual body part became part of the team."
The Mouth said to the Ear:
You there! Get your Butt over here!
What the Mouth didn't yet know, however,
was that that the Butt was still processing
in some foul smelling black ether.
(Just ask Nose and he'll tell you clear as day,
that smell was nothing short of risque.)
Mouth's voice was very muffled you see,
lacking the Ear's wondrous ability
to take in sound.
You could see it for yourself if you wanted too
(still Eyeball was no where to be found).
Somewhere along the road the Head came rolling down.
He had great determination in his jaunt,
though those big gaping eye-holes were sure to haunt.
And after a two million year nap,
at long last, the Elbow and Knee Cap
came oozing their way from the horrid soup.
Once attached to Mouth and Vocal Chord, they beamed,
"Pee-YOU that reeks, if Stomach were here I'd surely turn green.
One sure develops an appetite after a billion year fast.
If someone doesn't throw me some grub I don't think I'll last!"
After such great struggle there was still so much to be done
Feet and Legs were still in a hot sweaty run
trying for a thousand years at least to find Crotch and Torso
(To make matters worse they needed Esophagus to get re-hydrated also!).
But after all that I think you will find the struggle worth it.
What great things can happen when we're all so close knit.
We're not perfect yet, as you can see, evolution is a work in progress.
Things could always improve, it just takes time to process.
One fellow man of science inquired a rough estimation
of just how long it would take to grow wings
(some bickering was involved, due to his ridiculous proposition).
The real concern is however being totally ignored,
of which I think you will be completely appalled.
It will probably take another 17 billion years,
at least, to get the Brain installed.
The lightning strikes and all is dark,
the Lock Ness Monster is about to embark
on a journey along the ocean’s shore,
more diligent and courageous than before.
She is strength and beauty combined,
a delicate creature, so hard to find.
Her head crept above the water quiet yet stark.
She strolled through the mounts with might,
ready for the battle of any nightly fight.
No one could mess with the immense Lock Ness,
and I admire her colossal power nonetheless.
She’s redeemable, stupendous and severely tough,
wearing leather skin so resilient and rough.
She’s my favorite mythical creature, I must confess.
Brawn and firm with a head that slithers,
her veins always hydrated, they never wither.
Fading under the moonlight she slides under water,
sleek and stealth like her mother taught her.
Never stops swimming, she’s aquatic that way,
only pries at night, never during the day.
Never once has a great white shark fought her.
Long necked with stamina and vitality,
with an original and intense personality.
Muscular and sturdy with gazing eyes,
a tawdry creature with a slippery disguise.
Potent by nature with energy and force,
always swimming on the righteous course.
She’s got a puissant form, intelligent and wise.
The lightning strikes and all is dark,
her head crept above the water...
quiet yet stark.
Loch Ness Poetry Contest
January 4th, 2017
April showers…
so welcomed
when our winter's
gone and done.
Snow dissolved
into the ground
to now await
the springtime sun.
Trees lift up
dry resting limbs,
wait for water
to awake
their dormant
curled up buds...
thirst-quenching
gift they take.
April showers
bring new flowers
sustenance
to help them grow;
hydrated soil,
nutrients
seep into
their new life flow.
Before our eyes
blooms unfold…
their lovely scene!
April showers
majestically
fulfill spring's dream.
Sandra M. Haight
~2nd Place~
Contest: Anacreontic Verse 3
Sponsor: Edward Ebbs
Theme: April Showers May Bring Flowers
Judged: 04/27/2016
Your tears have nourished me,
I haven't tasted even a drop of water for a very long time,
I have been hydrated with salty pleasures...
The grateful tree
That Imperious Urge
He said the Golden Years are all the rage
Aye, it was more a shuffling two-step dance
thus did I run to greet this coming craze
of those just old enough to take the chance.
Classes I assumed would teach the Rumba
my glasses and my hearing aid – but props
bones that clatter in pursuit of Zumba
gyrations fear – the racket will not stop.
Trapped amid memories in the attic
my doctors say I must stay hydrated
now that I’m a homebound geriatric
my bladder feels constantly inflated.
Thus do I stand and wait for water flow
to quell the urge that said I had to go.
9/16/2016
submitted to – Which of the Four Would You Choose – Poetry Contest
Like a finger and a nail, we have a relationship.
Nothing pale, but great as we make contact.
Like a key on a door, the importance we serve
As we mate like red imported fire ants,
We produce words, of wisdom that changes lives of South Africans.
The rainbow of a nation.
As we walk in union, we brake a record like an onion.
As the paper glows, black and red ink looking so glamourous,
God’s creation.
Importance as moringa tree, with leaves that heals,
Coffee with cremora, the, taste that’s prodigious,
Tipex, a wet chalk, as it flows erasing words so auspicious,
Like a ratex, leaving cats in grief as rats croak,
As if you were climbing a steep hill until a rope broke.
As it leans flat like a map,
On a table square like a mat,
Can’t sit on it, but can sleep on it.
Seeking ideas in the world of fantasy.
As the words flows out, vowels and consonants,
All moves down the throat like condense,
A lady with confidence,
Keeping her body all so hydrated, making an acceleration,
Sweet dreams, as she travels in imagination.
Wake up with a pile of medication.
Journey of hundred miles in the head, causing migration,
That needs to be paved on probation.
Indeed, with a pen on a paper.
A paper and a pen
Husband and a wife.
It first began as a stem of a tree, that brought life of a husband,
Who got married to a foreign woman in a band,
From a different mother land.
Yes, a pen, with no maiden name that trends.
As she stands in posture, waving an invisible hand.
Throat cleared, as he puts on a crown.
King and a queen,
We are one plus one.
Depending on each other.
She’s a positive charge, I’m in opposition.
She came in attractive, from Edding AG.
That is why we apply the law of attraction,
Of superfluous reputation, like a battery in a remote,
A petrol in Bertone.
Like hippopotamus, we are halfway enormous,
Spontaneous, we give life so glorious.
um papel e uma caneta
Rushing fast with fast pace
In a sweltering weather face
Roasted in walking lane
Trees were scorched wane
Like a sun burn all around
Paces of redness heat stroked round
With a plain glass
Stifling O needed a sun glass
Reached the destination
Now shoulder shrug in hesitation
Gone for the majority thought
Cherished the moment a lot
Definitely taken 3d glass of spectacles
And watched the 3d movie
Interval like a cup of soup
Chopsticks and noodles
Songs like a game that’s doodles.
Quenched for hydrogen and two molecules of oxygen
That adds the hydrated in dehydrated body
Let
it
rain
on
the
drought-
shrouded
terrains.
Let
it
rain
on
the
meadow
and
her
grains;
For
the
ember
stare
of
the
bridled
sun
Fiddles
and
suffuses
our
flaccid
corn.
Let
it
rain
on
the
paddocks
of
the
lakes;
On
the
subtle
ducklings
and
bickering
drakes;
Beneath
the
bleak
clouds
and
the
supine
trees;
On
eroded
coral
herbs
of
the
seas.
Let
it
rain
on
the
sordid
fluttering
gale;
On
salient
boughs
that
it
has
lured
to
sail.
Let
it
rain
on
the
dew-
quaffing
mountains
And
all
frost-
flawed
cliffs
and
weed-
wreathed
plains.
Let
it
rain
on
the
face
of
December;
On
mild
mellow
skins
of
oceans'
envers,
From
the
fog-
fiddled
toe
of
a
hill's
foot
To
the
depths
of
a
mermaid's
solitude.
Let
it
rain
on
pale
petals
of
flowers;
On
gloomy
castles
and
misty
towers;
In
lethal
labyrinths
of
cycloned
caves;
On
nap-
narrowed
nights
and
the
dirge-
drenched
days.
Let
it
rain
from
the
wild-
wandering
clouds.
Be
it
in
whispers
or
weeping
aloud;
Lest
our
hollow-
hydrated
hearts
complain;
On
our
knotty
knees,
we
plead;
let
it
rain.
Tonight we sit ‘round ye ol’ Christmas tree,
But not the tree of yesterday or yester year you see.
Lights shine from the bole and tips so free.
We do not sit on stools or bended knee,
Nay, we sit on floating bubbles filled with glee.
Tonight we sit ‘round on Christmas eve.
Each branch and each stem hollow and clear,
With glorious colors rushing from there to here.
Self-driven instruments give us reasons to cheer,
While grandad is grinning from ear to ear.
The world is at peace; today leaves us no fear,
No one looks to tomorrow, no matter how near.
History’s Christmas gifts once sat down below,
But today they fly high, and are able to flow.
Their covers like metal adorned with a glass bow,
And brilliant tints that shine, leaving the ceiling aglow.
The children stare at the presents wanting to know,
How presents arrived when Santa’s is yet to show.
The Misses and Meemaw dawn matching shirts,
Both steady in the kitchen hydrating desserts.
The rehydrator jingles several festive alerts,
“Supper is ready”, sang like a Christmas concert.
Papa gripes at the boys “Someone’s gone git hurt.”
The boys outside giggle and play in the dirt.
Time to set the table, a task easy and quick,
With just a command a table rises from the thick.
Soon from the thin came golden chairs of glass brick,
Chairs light as air, glistening, and ever so slick.
Plates soon filled the table, candles lit by the wick,
By the snap of a finger the flames came like magic.
So we have all gathered round in the most merry mood,
In awe of what has been hydrated and brewd.
We grasp the utensils that are glistening and blued,
As we will be ready to eat and prayer will conclude.
I apologize for the inconvenience, or if I seem shrewd,
But this conversation is over, it’s time to eat food.
A Futuristic Christmas 12/10/2015