Best Sink Poems
Since you . . .
I go to bed; you’re on my mind
and I can’t sleep a wink
Sun rises, and all day long it’s about
our time together that I think
You smile at me and all my woes
vanish in a blink
My dusk seems painted more now
in violet and pink
Your kisses are the sweet red wine
so eagerly I drink
My body moves next to yours . . .
we’re utterly in sync
With you as my muse, my pen
keeps running out of ink!
My heart so overflows with joy
you’ve brought me to the brink . . .
If your love were water,
my heart would be a wonderfully
s l o w s l o w sink
Your eagle-plumed lips breathe:
hold on to my angel-flying heart,
bite the unbroken
bone of my wing,
...and I succumb to your enticing heat,
O, to be free in your feverish flame ~
the humble fall of hope into
the sun-calmed kiss of your sea,
learning to move
and muse amidst the mystery
as I heed the slow sink
of mundane minutes
into splitting silence,
leaving no note of music,
as darkness dissolves
like the deepening daf
of an ancient ache ~
for whirling waves resemble
dervish devotees,
intoxicated by euphoric ecstasies…
But would you, the divinely placed
speaker of light and fate ~
still love my scarred swell
if, perhaps, you saw
the unavoidable ugliness
of unintentional uninterestedness ~
the failure to seek the sun that hides
when wakeful stars scintillate,
perhaps too reluctant to romanticize
anything that warms the sky
besides the saffron of golden dawn?
I am too tired to test the tides,
to see where they crash.
I am too torn to tease
and treat tribes
of tactful treachery with tolerance…
Take me as I am ~
I am the pursuer and the escaper,
the possessor and the possessed,
the wilderness and the peace,
the destruction and the dream,
constantly pushing and pulling,
learning to normalize
being the siren adrift
amidst aquatic angst ~
So wade with me, O oceanic nomad,
someday we will no longer be
just you and I,
but crooning currents
drawn only to the
magnetic magic of the mermaid moon;
we will rise as
Moirai mystics,
dancing with destiny,
engrossed in life’s pulsing peridots,
devouring Pele’s passion…
We were never meant
to conquer the chaos,
but to candidly claim the clemency
of rippling pearl blooms…
I am an island of love
that is yours truly ~
***Inspired by the artwork; The Sea Maiden, 1894
Herbert James Draper
star-swept with
soft blushing blooms ...
this slow sink ,
swathes my henna heart
with deep mauve hues ...
as I fall into the frostbitten lake
mispronouncing ~
the marmoris of metaphors
that were meant
to burn with magic ,
where the soulmate of poetry
breaks within the tears of sunset ~
sipping sighs of sorrow
from the crystal sky ,
that leaks loneliness
through the cracks of
liquid lilacs and lavender light ,
because there seems to be
no translation for the
language of love
that weaves woes
from warm wisteria
instead of blossoming
in coffee-scented chiffons
moulded into origami orchids ~
without any creases
and I wear no name
in the absence
of your ablaze august ashes …
read me swiftly
orchestrating in
the blackcurrant tattoos
breathing ... in tributaries
stretching to
the silent traces of trauma ,
twinkling with
turquoise and turpentine
for, I am not alive ~
but the seas still crash
the swollen shadows in my ribs ,
kissing the fallen sun …
that ebbs and flows …
through violets
of vaporising violas
like an incensed inferno ,
uncensored with ultraviolence
escaping the delirious doom
within driftwood dreams …
I want you ~
to not speak to me
so in affection
in this sparkling satanic siesta,
because poetry
has forevermore been
my saviour and my slaughterer ~
that leaves me …
drifting with the flow ,
in exile … evermore …
chained with
moonstone cobwebs
of confused consciousness
and conversing cryptics ~
befogged with gaslit goldens
laced with forest greens,
where verses wander
like a villain ,
withering
in emeralds …
listen, O velvet ink,
longing to be
r e
s c u
e d …
I'm thirsty - I needed a drink
There lurking in my kitchen sink
Lying flat on his back
He’s no longer jet black
A hedgehog…now he doesn't stink!
11th April 2015
Corralled Beneath A Slow Sink Of Half-Moons
{ After: Section LXIX of Memoriam by Tennyson}
An angel of soft and wanted touch,
she delivers, serenity in tow;
can this sunken vessel proclaim, as much,
agreeing to lift the pain from my soul!
Will this humble plea root within your heart,
shall acceptance grant the gift of joyous song?
Chilled, my spirit dreads another false start,
corralled beneath a slow sink of half-moons?
My angel, my heart, I have deep desires.
Could you deny that ever blessed meal
by roasting my frailty upon hell's fires-
would your beloved healing, hands, my soul feel?
Hearing now this saddened desperate plea,
fearing not, your hand reach to comfort me
Robert J. Lindley, 2-07-2016
Debbie Guzzi's , 6/6/6 Challenge
First poem, Beginning of the Line Rhyme Sonnet.
Note: A new sonnet dedicated to this short excerpt--
In Section LXIX of In Memoriam, Tennyson dreams an
allegorical angel who may or may not be the transformed Arthur Hallam:
I found an angel of the night;?
The voice was low, the look was bright;?
He look’d upon my crown and smiled:??
He reach’d the glory of a hand,?
That seem’d to touch it into leaf:?
The voice was not the voice of grief,?
The words were hard to understand.
Bowing to the mighty ocean
Relentless is her pull,
Into the blue depths
'Til she's good and full
Ice took it's first shot
As steady we ran right in,
Sailing along so freely
As a whale on his fin
Crashing, just scraping by
Then onto a dead stop,
I write this letter now
While I sit safe atop
The iron walls creak
The frigid waters seep,
Tilting the floorboards and
The last tears I weep
A message in a bottle
Dropped into the blue,
Do pardon my absence...
I shall not be joining you.
A plain beige kitchen. LED lights are lined along the top of the cabinets. Bright red bar stools line up next to the breakfast bar. The only flash of color. An old gas stove and oven, stained with black from past misuse. A sink in the corner, set at an angle, the water never seems to get warm. Someone left their dirty pale pink plastic dishes in it. Looking closer one can see that what was once thought of as a crack in the sink is actually a small spider. Elegant and minuscule. A speck of life and beauty in this unimpressive place.
7/27/16
Found some inner peace
But the outcome was rather bitter sweet
Out in the woods where the timber creaks
And many critters sleep
Nearby a place where several rivers meet
Realize not all have a bite of dinner to eat
And that sometimes a winner cheats
The news was delivered by speech
And was considered bleak
Inside of clean and littered streets
Here no swiffer sweeps
While close and far from Winter's reach
I'll ask you now, what spoils does the victor reap?
A forgotten bottle of liquor leaks
And in the floor it was quick to seep
During Halloween trick or treat
I'll either swim or sink
While I live and think
By: Dalton Ogletree
*** RATE THE BATTLE ***
Rate your pain, they always want to know,
On a scale of one (least) to ten (worst — “like hell,” they say),
Although, I think, that should be reversed, because at
One, first, this pain is anguishing; wanting to be foremost;
Rooted under everything.
I see a numbered One level pain as insipid, blocking out life —
Like an iceberg
Able to sink a ship; with there being
One, only one way eyes feel when popping out from such pain;
One level of invasive emotional or physical pain that
Makes the soul groan and
The lips try to repeatedly keep their shortened breaths
Whispering, “Lord have mercy. Christ have mercy. Lord…”
At One, or Ten (by their scale again now), I refuse
To imagine even a peek into hell.
I refuse to walk on a bed of flaming embers. Blut, at
Nine, I might lay bare on a bed of unpolished, sharply-cut lapis,
Trying to picture some promise of miraculous beauty
Underlying the monstrous pain.
A Nine would keep me in a self-induced trance of complete
Stillness,
Holding my breath, before I’d let it consume all my humor; and
I’d try, yet again, to find praises in the suffering;
Wherein, too, Faith in God can bring the strength and hope
To survive the scales of pain
In favor of the whole spirit’s long on-going,
Felt rise in gratitude.
(Deut. 9: 1-3)
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(c) sally young eslinger 12/10/2022
Thanks be to God…
I take your weight
so that we may fall to the depths
unscathed as lungs fail
I'll hold you close
the rocks will not harm your flesh
hush you to sleep
forever in my arms
until forever floats away
I slowly sink into the atmosphere of the day
watching the world spin by me
in an unseen pace
where it appears I'm still
and the world is moving
My feet feel as though they are sinking in quicksand
yet, the floor is hard
I rise with little strength left
for my days of vibrancy are gone
and I'm left to my own understanding of old age
as I shuffle through another day of memories
Drip, drip, drip
Watch for water or you'll trip
Drop, drop, drop
Someone better get the mop
Drip, drop, drip
Dumb gravity! I slip--
Drop, drip, drop
Someone, make the water stop!
Lest sink in
Darkness!
Grind my smiles
Which, remained
Hidden in your letters and
Trapping in poems
Make it a soup
Flavoring in clamminess dawn,
Roses shame, and
April breeze, that restless
In spikes
Lest sink in,
Darkness!
Present it to you
Moons, light up your night's lip
And become lighted
Why did you, friend, tell me your secret?
I mean you know I can keep it,
but are you trying to break me?
Don’t you see the broken girl I see?
I can’t handle any more problems
since I already hit rock bottom,
but you want me to carry your load,
traveling down that nightmarish road?
You expect me to be your Atlas,
don’t you know that’s so thoughtless?
You know the troubles I’ve seen
and you know I could never be mean
so you push this burden down my throat
while your own free conscience goes afloat.
I can’t stand by to accept this ball and chain
for more tears to fall down the shower drain.
You say I’m the strongest person you know
that’s because you never see my face of woe.
After our nightly goodbyes, I close the door
only to resume fighting my internal war.
I want you to know I feel guilty inside,
your suffering too cannot be denied.
It’s just what’s damaged cannot mend
and certainly cannot be your best friend.
From you I must run
oh, how my anxiety has won!
I wish I wasn’t the coward I am,
but I know the flood behind the dam.
This known outcome was written in the skies
from this experience become wise,
friends unstable as a paper plate
shall never hold your deadweight.
those who cannot swim
will not drown in the water
if they stay on land
those who cannot swim
should not drown in the water
if they use a boat
those who cannot swim
should not drown in the water
if they learn to swim
swimmers never drown
unless they enter water
and even boats sink
water gives and takes
at what level should you float
your choice sink or swim
Ivor G Davies