Best Spillway Poems
Faith is a powerful thing
Faith in Him was about to fade,
Absolute darkness and weary jade,
In my head and heart though lived a spark,
The dying hope flew as high as skylark,
His enormous blessings flooded at gate,
Iridescent colours brightened the day,
Succour found swirling in spillway,
Aura of positivity did spread its wings,
Paring all the woes of a harsh spring,
Of the chilled winters and falls of autumn,
Weathers changed but stayed the faith,
Euphony that set the melody in life,
Reminiscence of joys and no strife,
Fierce pain that pierced the heart,
Unfathomed passion that tore apart,
Lionise a feeling strongest of all,
To make believe that thoughts do live,
His ways are strange to take and give,
Incurable, innocuous to insufferable,
Nautical sun when goes red at horizon,
Gold of faith scintillates at the furnace !
Written Jan 17th, 2015
For contest by Mystic rose
Awarded N/A
Now entered for contest " Screwed V" by rob carmack
Awarded 3rd place win
Categories:
spillway, faith,
Form:
Acrostic
'Camp Chippewa, ' its tennis and rifle range, X-Class sailing,
And classic 'Old Town' canvas covered wooden canoes,
Not the low-class aluminum canoes of a 'Camp Thunderbird.'
Cass Lake - garden of the Mississippi's hidden currents,
Nature's setting for Star Island's fresh blue berry thickets,
Brisk, though swimmable waters, still safe to drink.
Cass Lake - child of the first dam, city sewage dumped below.
Kathy and I were warmly received by Chippewa's staff,
And given a hot meal and tour by the owner's son.
Though it was too early for the new season's initiates,
The rustic setting and friendly staff made us feel at home.
Early afternoon found us approaching the dam's spillway,
Though Kathy thought me crazy, we unloaded the canoe,
And I paddled it alone through the one open gate, YAAHOO! !
How many dreams can you remember coming true?
This whole trip was a waking dream, a gift for me,
Including having a wife who was willing to share it.
Miles of river already, dust shaken from our gunnels,
Adventures of the days to come hanging like a white sheet
Strung between trees in an unwired, impoverished village,
Only imagination powers the projector of what can be. (7)
Poet's Notes:
(7) This wonderful image is the child of an experience from my American Peace Corps experience in East Africa. Once a month a VW Van would show up in even the most remote villages and they would hang up a white sheet across ‘main street' and show ‘free' older movies to the locals like ‘Tarzan, The Ape Man.' Villagers thought that Tarzan was quite a funny, if stupid guy. You don't talk to monkeys you eat them! Of course, then, between every reel, there would be ten minutes of hard core advertising for everything from toothpaste to cigarettes to alcohol and always girls hanging on the arm of the man buying these products! I always assumed that advertisers paid for these monthly films but I do not know that to be true.
Categories:
spillway, boat, dream, journey, nature,
Form:
Blank verse
Under the Willow tree
Is where I can be found.
Under the Willow tree
Is where I drowned,
In rubber stems that touch the ground.
With leaves so green and profound.
Underneath it's canopy, there is no sound.
Under the Willow tree
Is where I will stay.
Under the Willow tree
Is where I will spend my days,
In a mystic emerald spillway.
Where fairies and gnomes dare to play.
In my own Utopian fantasy bouquet.
Categories:
spillway, nature,
Form:
Rhyme
in this dark nocturnal quadrant there would be sleep.
but you insist insomnia, thinking random things.
what other fun would you find in yourself?
I mean, something that would avoid the rest, people, objects, processes, abscesses...
but the fact is that there is not always
a self-entertainment spillway
gushing from the cerebral cornucopia,
often a huge hole settles in
where ideas and memories should be,
erasing them like a detergent washes the blemishes,
leaving the void uncomfortable and silent
in which the realization occurs that yes,
you are also threatened by the gaps,
is also inhabited by pockets full of nothing
and at the same time is also the tenant
of abysses filled by an improbable and solid emptiness.
off the cliff and the void
there is this bureaucratic and official world
of standardized acts and feelings,
nothing I can come to feel or do
you have not tried or done,
but what I feel in pain you may have seen in ecstasy,
love things you hate,
smile when you would cry disconsolately,
if the wind whips the antennae of the universe
I find beauty in this terrifying landscape,
but you run and save the children, the world and the sunflowers,
you get lost between verticality
of the buildings that swallow you,
you are always agile in the apartments,
always correct building
what could be a kind of happiness
that I seem to disdain
as I break down and investigate facts and interpretations
of dark thoughts,
as I walk through decorated corridors
just to touch your face with my cold hands.
you are flesh
and I don't even really exist.
Categories:
spillway, confidence,
Form:
Free verse
Love was available yesterday
Oh how I long for archway
Leading to doorway
Sweet heyday
Love
Seemingly a little more risque'
Was love, long for past spillway
Leading to doorway
Sweet heyday
Dove
When young love we longingly replay
My one only devotee
Leading to doorway
Sweet heyday
Trove
Categories:
spillway, life, love,
Form:
Rhyme
A needle in a haystack I am
Lost, beyond the boundary of my being.
It is a tiny universe you say
Finite from infinite end to infinite end
And still no bigger than the one
Whose voice wrote the words of its origin
And did he not came to seek and find me
But yet I am lost again
Among the infinite smallness of things
On my brain flipping their little wings
I can understand the needle
Lost in so much straw, the infinitely small
Lost in the relatively infinite pile
Waiting to reek some future in havoc
In throat, or skin, or trembling bowels
In all the places I feel the phantom fear
But cannot find myself as easy as a tear
Is found to irrigate each thought I spawn
With black wings cluttering the raw dawn
Dripping, leaking all its contents to find me
Wanting a Calvary again.
Night's dark bottom drained
Has no clue how deep I am in since Adam
Opened the spillway to the bottom.
Hell is a far place down in me, I cannot climb
Out by myself, except heaven, the farthest place
Away, hear loudest my whispered cry for help.
Go winnow you haystack to find your lost pearl
Here, the pearl winnows me, and still I find
No trace of me in me, I am too scrubbed
By all the bleached out years of black history.
Categories:
spillway, faith, mystery, lost, lost,
Form:
Free verse
his last gasp was quite lengthy
trying to go out with a bang as usual
a rationalist manifesto covering his face
accompanied by a cotton field work song
his grip went slack under the torrent of images
fortunes have been lost in that snapshot parlor
shook the money from the pockets
of many a surviving Siamese twin
blessed with a rugged set of mouse buttons
he pitched head first into the theocratic miasma
since a rescue by wisdom eluded his pilgrimage
and its inner parade of flailing penitents
he died to a real slow slide whistle tango
from a regrettable strangulation of debate
and terminally transparent eyelids
at least the bastards left me to my fate he mused
just as a legion of parachutists
crashed and tumbled through the roof
it was an Exist-o-Gram from my dear mother
but first a word from our sponsor
Hi there Mel Linger owner of Mel's Futon Corral
so jump in the calaboose and come on down
for a steal of a deal and a big gold tooth smile
clear and sunny in the lowland swamps
now for some traffic from overhead
fully awake after the reservoirs of hell broke loose
his mathematician’s mind calculated
how long until earthly paradise
it was a delusion but a lot of them work
time to risk the entire skin layer he fielded
searching for the trail to civilization
he shinnied up his collective unconscious
an optico semiotician on a paranormal safari
and began to read mom's holy missive
son, your persistent mania for self dialog
requiring a frequent bath in statistics and terror
has left you under the juggernaut's wheels
for some fashionable occult mystery
humor him it's a mud fest in there
relaxed again and ready for
the ever enchanting silhouette of flames
he spread his wings and noticed
there were no wings too late
his nipples were erect with drama
moms lips floated above and spoke
the extraterrestrial rushed up at him
the Cherubs chirped and twittered
as he rowed over the spillway of oblivion
and stood before the ancient ones
boy were they ancient decrepit even
connected to bubbling jars by their sex organs
apparently this made them really smart
the one labeled mom bubbled and spoke
lose the kilt festooned with skulls son
later that day a marsh fire swept through heaven
and a humming bird took nectar from his ear
Categories:
spillway, how i feel,
Form:
Free verse
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Securely bound within these the shackles of darkness!?
Submerged aneath their versions mirky waters
Swirling inside merely moments, left afore drowning....
Consciousness slipping away as thoughts of life
Drift through his mind this, colophons final touch
Highlighting every link and lock; preludes amid the depths
Houdini....
Frantically trying to eclipse their finalities fate
As the price of eternity, stands and waits?!
Angels, watching and gazing as he attempts this great escape ~
Memories rising in truisms reflections; mirrors etching
A promise as holding tightly, tomorrows crystal breath....
Tricklings of hope ascending beyond the vague waters
Within forevers passing; visions, dancing before his eyes
These shadows marked in poetic justice but, for whom!?
Gray clouds of bleak gathering the mirthless mired
Taunting and mocking and biting their lips this gnashing....
Ironies echoing as light now infiltrates nights spillway; a voice
“You Are a child of Mine and, I Am, the breath of life” ~
Lifting his head as messengers of death wince at His calling?!
Sprinklings in precious blood, racing through the still currents
Swallowing these fetters once framed; Spirits of the black plague....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
....“Houdini's, Greatest Escape” ~
Categories:
spillway, hope, life, love,
Form:
L ovely metallic lady lost in Aisle Eight,
O n a rubbled spillway frightened and alone.
V ehicular damage on fore and aft flanks;
E legant figure now ravaged by time.
S toically braving the wind and the storm;
O ft' calling my name like a sea-captain's horn.
F rantically searching this vast sea of death,
M ired in a morass of cold and dead souls.
Y earning for the warmth of a highway, which she'll never see;
L ivid with anger at too early a demise.
I rritated that her eyes are no longer mine;'
F illed with the despair of one who was wronged.
E nvious of my new love's new whistles and bells.
Categories:
spillway, farewell, lost love, love,
Form:
Acrostic
4/28/16
Above the basement
And pavement
Yet adjacent
To anything covalent
Right or wrong
Close or beyond
Weak or strong
And either short or long
As well as upset or calm
Broken or a structured bond
This world strange
Many things tilt and change
Among the hills and terrain
So they still say
Near and close to any spillway
And will they
Continue it until the grave?
Empty and full
Warm and cold
Young and old
In a rut and on a roll
Out of hand and in control
Heart and soul
Peace and fights
Day and night
Dark and light
Dim and bright
left and right
black and white
Categories:
spillway, poetry, rap, word play,
Form:
Rhyme
Every form of life has it's walls, nothing, no one stands alone
some are trees, brush, branch, twig and wood and bark
some are mortar and stone, mere workers flesh and bone
others lay in memorials of the mind and heart of freedom's start.
Walking in the shadows of the forest growing bare
the pathway, worn and tattered by twigs and leaves of this locale
abandoned layers born of unknown, hidden architects no longer there
an opening spillway becomes a stage to walled canals.
Some harvested stone stacked upon each side
keeping water flow secure along Delaware and Raritan park roams
contained and directed from Bound Brook on to Princeton pride
away from the mix of dirt and cobblestones.
Who once walked here, where canoed and kayak waters strewn?
along this unpaved curl of hidden trails indemnity
twists and turns unfurling to a spillway hewn
where memorials now stand as markers without memory.
They say, Irish immigrants built this waterway like a well-planned quilt
some bodies buried where they worked and died
benath the rocked mortared wall containments blood built
and their hearts sought freedom without walls that today still cry,
For Craig Cornish cotest, A Wall in the Woods
10/7/2020
Background: The 70-mile Delaware and Raritan Canal State Park is one of central New Jersey's most popular recreational corridors for canoeing, jogging, hiking, bicycling, fishing and horseback riding. The canal and the park are part of the National Recreation Trail System. This linear park is also a valuable wildlife corridor connecting fields and forests. A recent bird survey conducted in the park revealed 160 species of birds, almost 90 of which nested in the park.
With its wooden bridges and 19th century bridge tender houses, remnants of locks, cobblestone spillways and hand-built stone-arched culverts, the canal is a tremendous attraction for history lovers. The upper portion of the feeder canal follows the Delaware River through historic New Jersey towns such as Frenchtown, Stockton and Lambertville. The main canal passes the Port Mercer bridge tender's house, through the charming villages of Kingston and Griggstown to Blackwells Mills.
Categories:
spillway, america,
Form:
Quatrain
my cup of honesty tipped over into the spillway
I watched her get sucked under the rocks
there was nowhere to turn
no savior was coming
I had to release my preconceived ideals
maybe tomorrow I told my mind
a tiny leaf floated past me
Categories:
spillway, today,
Form:
Free verse
From a gem-encrusted window’s moonlit sash,
I peer vacantly on monetesque impressions,
as they wander every ink shade hue pathway.
bag lady street hail loner,
water colour lachrymose plight,
across the spillway nights-cape,
cul-de-sac of shadow flitting,
sprites begging to be daubed,
on some genie artist’s easel.
surreal urban pulse rate ,
spooky ghost form atom charge,
of tomb laden solemness,
sodden eerie platform where,
my silver bob tail auntie,
booked her tickets to southern rustic idylls.
she sang of autumn sunset blight,
its wan perusal o’er moisture ashen realm.
her final year on earth evoked dichotomy,
defying dissertation on that grey stone bridge,
between a luminous parade of diamond,
glitter and mirrorball municipal,
sandwich filler to that lamb,
of many bleats amid lush pastures,.
blossom facial hyacinth relation,
who once did eyelash blink,
those natural world Edens flowing,
thru her lyric laden pysche.
Alas that end of term eviction,
lifespan tenure landlord surreptitious,
in their reach cast a mural,
strain upon this tower block,
mythic folklore woman
Categories:
spillway, art, august, beautiful, beauty,
Form:
Lyric
I STAND I STEPPED IN AN AQUATIC SPILLWAY OF A DREAM LAKE
Dream lake head waters
Thing of lacquer
Engaging lacquering
Full of shallows
Silent lac
I stand I stepped in an aquatic spillway of a dream lake
Out by the thought of lakes
Of my dreams, rivers streams
A body of waters
Cumulating waters gathering together,
All those rivers streams
I stand I stepped in an aquatic spillway of a dream lake
They which are perfumed from unseen scoter
In there within themselves lakeshores
Warming were those ground waters
Some sandy beaches pearl aqua clear blue
The soft shoreline shallowing
I stand I stepped in an aquatic spillway of a dream lake
Demersal, demersal ponding
In fact that it was swishing
A landlocked loch lacquering
So there I stand stepped in an aquatic spillway
Dream lake head waters
I stand I stepped in an aquatic spillway of a dream lake
7/21/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2021©
Categories:
spillway, analogy, appreciation, engagement, environment,
Form:
Free verse