Best Levees Poems
A Cup Runneth Over
My cup in dry abyss boils over
Condensing dewdrops in vapors of blessing
Into foaming condensed extracts
Like effervescence of divine dust
That bubbles up to the rim.
Rescued like a fallen star
From arid droughts
You send my thirsting emptiness
Like a winter deer to search for streams
And find deep pools of dawning glory.
Purified elixir drips mercy
Into my crumbling calyx,
Molding a new chalice,
Brimming with benediction,
As tides of absolution rise into oblation.
A frozen vessel washed with snows set free
Bathes my nascent cup in all ruth
In swirling celebration’s release
As levees of grace break free
Spilling into this my new fashioned grail.
7-20-22
Contest: Pick a Title Vol 31
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Title Chosen: A Cup Runneth Over
When your heart
corresponds
with your mind,
then, give it a shot,
you write
back to me
what expressions
you so badly
need
to bleed;
the characterisation
of letters
are alphabet soup
to me, child's play,
peeling tattoos
like bells ringing
over a tongue
not speaking,
I swallow words
hungrily
then I spit them out,
bullets that pierce
a page,
bulls eyes
staring back
through the black holes,
the other silent horns,
all silently complicit
small missions
of truth
cornucopias,
wearing through
the thin fabric
of ludicrous
fantasy
feathers that fall
from soft pillows
quaking against
levees breaking
the barriers hitting marks
the sands of time broken,
river banks splitting,
the bodies drowned
and sucked up
like works of art
in a hyped up
Hieronymus Bosch,
if you are in deep
you can make sense
of it all,
you know you're in it,
that picture, way, way
up to your eyeballs
brushing against
all the others, removed,
flotsam and jetsam
in the wash, sensing
the path they all took,
but the mystery
of never quite knowing,
like a smell, pervades
charcoal tears
melt all the ways
a heart can be kicked
down and gutted
witnessed through
gilt edged windows
full and jaded
to a gate opening,
the sound cracking
like a mouth
terraforming
dustied and green
the shaman soul
found underneath
it all, humourously
rustling sage over
the external,
a serious novice
for burning
small
exorcisms
smoking out
renegades, those
stubborn seeds planted
in long spent sentences,
those true romantics,
the forgotten ill-bred,
well-tilled, rebel poets
small
exorcisms
for burning
Candide Diderot. ‘24
violins.
Storm of hearts
You can see in her eyes, there's a storm in her heart
Accusations boom in verbal sonic thunder
Rains flood her sullen cheeks, as her levees break apart
Harsh words cut deep, now her heart is sawed asunder
Lightning flashes strike at the heart of a matter
Polar winds collide, meeting the heated Gulf Stream
Violent winds, reveal truth, causing hearts to shatter
Twisting tornadoes churning nightmares from sweet dreams
Hurtful words sting her face, like an icy hailstorm
With deceitful lies, you camouflage your blunder
Betrayal detected as love's radar informs
Tsunami waves of guilt crash, and pull you under
Fits of jealousy raging like a hurricane
When trust is broken, life can never be the same
John Derek Hamilton
July 28,2017
High above our shattered town,
On angel's wings you fly around.
Watching over those of us,
Left to rebuild our shattered lives.
I'm sorry that you suffered so,
And that no one will ever know.
The horror that you faced, the fear that you felt,
Were you even aware that the levees broke?
I feel your pain, your suffering,
When the rushing water destroyed everything.
And left you gasping for one last breath,
'Causing your tragic, untimely death.
I believe you're in a better place,
Far above this human race.
You are free, finally home,
Having suffered your last storm.
High above our shattered town,
On angel's wings you fly around.
Through tears I whisper may God hold you close,
He takes only the best and it's you He chose.
Haiku 68
storms raging
breached levees of sanity
lives swept away
rain-swollen river
lost in swirling darkness
madness in their eyes
receding waters
absent, some forgotten
voids where they once were
my awakened heart
Freshet
Levees surrender
Overflowing; ambushing; destroying ~
Overwhelmed, teardrops augment the
Deluge
The TV showed a tyrant tumbling towards our house.
I was weary and wanted to leave before it hit, but
My mom was too weak and too old to leave her bed.
She couldn’t leave so I sat, sat and prayed.
I boarded up a window standing on a chair—
Waiting. It was hurrying our way in the shape of a hurricane.
My mom said, “Remember Hurricane
Betsy back in ’65, we survived that in this house!”
She was trying to comfort me in my chair.
I was trying to stay calm for my mom, but
I was worried, so worried and again I prayed,
Watching, waiting and wondering over her bed.
As I walked to the window; I looked at my bed
Of roses freshly planted and hoped the hurricane
Would spare their lives, ours too! Then, me and the roses prayed.
Suddenly and without warning the power left our house
And a window cracked and crashed close to my mom’s head, but
She was ok. She was calmly asleep. Then, I sat in my chair
With a flashlight and waited. My old chair
Was calm and sturdy like my mom’s bed.
Throughout the night I sat confident that we would hold, but
Finally the overwhelming weight of the heavy hurricane
Broke the levees and lunged an ocean into our house.
I cried “Mom we have to go!” She woke and then she prayed.
And as she prayed
The water rose and knocked over my chair.
I picked her up and carried her to the roof of our house,
And we waited and waited—she missed her bed.
At last a boat came, on the side read “HURRICANE
RELIEF”. I told my mom it was time to go, but
She didn’t want to go, she was sad. But,
I convinced her that we couldn’t stay. We got in the boat—everyone prayed.
Then we waited and waited in a big silver dome with other hurricane
Survivors, all were thirsty, none were cold. “Mom…Wake up!” She lay dead in a chair.
So, I got some rubbish and filth and made her a bed.
I covered her up—I missed our house.
When I returned I found my chair though it was not the same, but,
I sat anyway and then I prayed. I put my mom’s ashes in a brand new rose bed
And begged another hurricane doesn’t take away—my mom and our house.
For thirty years, I made clouds in the sky.
Between abstract ideals, youth’s naiveté
became its own demand to keep a lie.
Whichever weakness colored those clouds gray,
romantic levees were all washed away,
but no corrosive puddle could defame
the kiss of rainbows lightning each last day.
For every summer’s storm has left the same
eroded scars, a memory’s braille of her name.
You must not know
how I picture your lips on my bone
and if I'm not thinking at all
he'll burst through the International Concepts
70% pure, im fiend-ing for you
Can't get up from my desk because everyone will think im a Nazi, saluting proudly
the best sex around and I haven't touched you
just this wet dream
I'm trying to beat off
because that honey is the best
I bet the town next to us will know my name
You don't have time to smile when you're biting your lips
When i'm biting your lips
like a canvas brush painting
Varying stroke patterns
o's o's o's o's all over your face
You must don't know how it feels
when it is hard and ready to blow
you just melted all over it
pudding that good got me stalking your whereabouts
intercepting your dreams
and standing on stop of the roof with my jacket on in the middle of summer time
threatening to jump off if I don't get another lick
call the coroner
tastes so good
I just left a skeleton
You must not know
I"m a professional
boxer without the gloves we lost count of all the rounds
What number on you on?
I'm a master
so you could go to up bat all you want
look you are surrounded by the cockpit
wrapped around you like a bow
I bet you didn't know
Im a gift in bed
Write down the month
write down the time
you will never get this high again
sorry I had to go and do this
pounding so hard that it is
breaking your heart
now you writing how much your heart cries
You must not know
put the danger signs up
he is a heart breaker
Just when you thought it was over
the levees broke
and you flooded your panties
Operator: "Do you need FEMA ma'am"
You: "No, just called "T" instead
I'm flooding and I am drowing in my bed
I don't know what he put in me, it seems like
I can't stay dry!
How many girls do you think he hit before me?"
Operator: "You must be the victim of the call we received about a big bang sound; hold on
ma'am we are sending help now!
You: "Hurry, I'm seeing galaxies now, don't come without him"
My feet so heavy
My arms so heavy
My thoughts so heavy
My eyelids heavy levees
So no more tears.
Lying in bed
With a gun to my head
But I can't pull the trigger
Because my fingers are lead.
No use in crying
No matter what I do
I keep living; I keep dying
I am a wasp in amber-- merely existing
But I will forever
I can't breathe
The earth was void and without form…
And the voice of the Lord was upon the waters…
In the roll of a tsunami wave across the Pacific
Born of a collapsing mountain deep in the sea
And in the tidal surge bearing down on Mobile
Miles ahead of an approaching storm.
You sweep away people as if they were but a dream.
In the morning they are like the new grass.
It was no dream to those on board an oil platform in the Gulf
Torn from its moorings by a raging sea.
It was no dream to a family huddled in their attic
Watching the flood waters rise.
But the voice of the Lord was not in the whirlwind.
It was not in the flood waters from Lake Pontchartrain.
It was not in the crashing tidal waves or the leaking levees.
It was not in the spinning devastation of the hurricanes.
Or the incessant pounding of torrential rains.
God gave Noah the “rainbow sign”.
Never again will I destroy the world.
Already life returns, bit by bit, to New Orleans.
Trash-filled streets are cleared, tattered storefronts mended.
Flooded homes pumped clear and families reunited.
Alligators return to their normal homes
While the people rebuild theirs along the waterfront.
I will gather the exiles from the four corners of the Earth.
From the Astrodome and Air Force bases,
From Red Cross shelters and tent cities,
And from the homes of strangers.
And they shall rebuild the waste cities and inhabit them.
They shall plant vineyards and drink of their wine.
The tourist hotels on the beaches of Phuket,
Fishing villages on the shores of Indonesia,
And the bars on Bourbon Street.
The sound of music and rejoicing shall be heard once more in the land.
They will celebrate Mardi Gras again on the streets of New Orleans
With the sounds of sweet jazz drifting from the “French Quarter”.
Boats shall sail once more from the port of Jakarta
And sailors will look out upon a tranquil sea.
ON THE LEVEES OF TIME…
(APROPOS WHEN THE LEVEES BROKE)
When the levees broke…when the levees broke…
When the levees broke…
When the levees broke the world awoke
From a submerged reality
Flowing beneath the bridge over trouble waters.
The copious tears of the domed encampment
Could not wipe away the fears
Nor cleanse the minds of lost hopes floating
In the midst of the mockery I see:
This land, this water, this ransacked America!
Shame is a white cloud reflected from the dark
Side of the moon;
Guilt seeks its own level; but the Lord said:
Vengeance is Mine…
Indeed to err is human; to forgive divine…
Mercy on we mere mortals!
When the levees broke…when the levees broke…
When the levees broke…
Stitches that bound the veil and scale of justice
Were ripped at the seam;
And it seemed that the bowels of hell
Loosened their pregnant flow of terror
And unseen evil revealed itself to an intoxicating world
Drunk with deception.
No receding water can was away the pain;
The level of grief remains.
Like a wrinkle in time, minds of survivors flood
With memories of Middle Passage Crossing;
deferred dreams of festering bloated bellies
Of the dreamers; dreamers of a new Diaspora;
Dreamers drifting on the rafts of new leanings
Indeed we shall rise again from the depths
Of hell’s waters;
Sail on the tides of new beginnings; no political anchors
Nor the barges of time
Can hold us in check or prohibit our rising.
At our soaked wake, we shall keep a ripened vigil;
The shadowed veil shall ever be rent.
All shall be naked before the world; truth revealing
Its self like a burning bush;
And we shall come over into a new dwelling: a city
Not made by hands of corruption.
And the Orleans of our beginnings here shall not fade
From these memories:
When the levees broke…when the levees broke…
When the levees broke.
Power behind the middle of the heart
Incredible feats that it carries out
Every day, inside, outside, with each part
There is a light that tells what it’s about
The heart levees strength that is strong and stout
Even through the city, love is within me
My surroundings brings me to Sicily
Where hearts beam with a great, mighty white light
My life is warm with heartbeats that truly
Mend all hearts, working with wonderful sight
Russell Sivey
Her name was Katrina, her vegeance was wide,
hundreds of people had no where to hide.
Her hurricane winds battered the coast,
distroying what people loved the most.
Security was taken, in the blink of an eye,
leaving people helpless, many would die.
Inadequate levees broke, all was not well,
New Orleans became a living hell.
Racing water rose ever so quick,
it took the healthy and the sick.
On rooftops, where people layed,
rescue was the word our nation prayed.
Some people found it hare to defend,
slow acting officials, on whom we depend.
So many people with no where to go.
Many without possessions to show.
Hearts were opened, everyone cared,
clothes, money, and time were shared.
No one will ever forget Katrina's rath,
the day she ran her distructive path.
I wrote this 4yrs ago today in memory of
all the people who parished.
(Me slippery fingers slither,
slip and slide splashing ala
Jackson Pollock), sans slap
dash experimental, swiftly
tailored and harried writing
style, yes on par with purging,
spewing, venting...unexpurgated,
unexpressed, unexplained...
words, which this Engelbert
Humperdinck singer/songwriter,
(whose name inexplicably popped
into the mind of this Dadaist)
offers "FAKE" apology for any
self inflicted, or sadomasochistic
flagellated cranial contusions
out of utter futility to make sense
regarding following gobbledygook!
GOOD LUCK!
Mine groovy palmar flexion creases
forever moistened by porous size
damn leaking levees provoking deluge
outranking Biblical flood - handy history
(in miniature) replete with Ark keel
logical artifacts discovered by hall n
oats marked wainwright - about 10 stone and
5 pound huckster, circa Fin de siècle,
when callous ten hooks (calisthenics,
eh) caught without Noah shadow of a
doubt proof positive by Matthew Scott,
(amat sure his surname) linkedin to storied
testament rivalling epic of Gilgamesh,
nee the entire spoilers alerts since
dawn of civilization writ small impossible
mission to decipher indelibly etched,
(what appear as Egyptian hieroglyphics),
methinks his perspiration contains
preservative agent, (a natural formaldehyde
like substance) generated nsync to maintain
eternal youthfulness, which stumps
medical community, and earned him
hashtagged "hotmail" (eagerly sought
after human commodity), a blessing
and curse palms plagued with chronic
wetness, yet lines (little flushed streams
of consciousness) rowed by itty bitty
teensy weensy merry daydreamers harkens
back when life held faint promise for
scattered (contra) bands of bipedal
hominids fiercely competing with trumpeting
(Taj Mahal sized) beasts (donned tousled
windswept hirsute trademark) Euclid
heir'm barreling along barren steppes
all around the one straggly mulberry bush,
where one pensive monkey (protohuman)
chased the weasel all around the world wide web.