Best Stranding Poems
Like rivers of time / our lives drift by /
as seasons / providing the trees /
acquire soft, green leaves / and then in time /
turning red and golden / shed their leaves.
Travelers in time are all / like a wind
sweeping across the plains of life / visitors in a temporary land /
enjoying moments of bright sunny days / filled with fun and joy /
soon to be followed by sudden storms /
and then dark hours / followed again by
the brightness of the day / rivers of time /
carrying each traveler through his day / waiting /
waiting for the next to arrive /
Time an ever moving thing / a river /
carrying each person / in turbulent white water /
or calm flowing streams / through all events of life /
then stranding him on a rocky and barren shore / or
other times / gently laying him upon soft and lush meadows /
to rest as in a quiet and calm place /
Finally on the appointed day / a call goes forth / and
the wayfarer receives his summons / to quickly go /
moving through time / to stand in a queue / moving to an unknown space /
together with others summoned / to appear at some distant place /
The queue is formed / the line moves forward / the time has arrived
to board / those great ships of time / like the giant Leviathan / casts
off from near harbors / and then ever moving / to arrive at some distant
shore/
Like rivers of time / our lives drift by / a season at a time /
travelers all / in a moment in time.
Thoughts froth, crest, and merge through ocean’s
indiscriminate wandering, no recognizable
beginning or end like smoke on the wind,
melding, melting, fusing coalescing.
Reality a fragile grasp held on
a two-dimensional canvas once white,
clean, stretching taunt, taunt as the
implausible reality of our existence-
existence standing, stranding, hair, fur, frond's
weaving about crowns of trees in rye fields.
Everything alive, writhing, wanting,
needing, thriving, dying-skin crawling reality
like orange oil on the hollow cheeks of despair.
Pain, defies, belies, confusion's frame stretching
upon illusion's claim-eye to hand, hand to brush
the clean, white, membrane between brain pan and
paint pan. No recognizable beginning or end
melding, melting, fusing, coalescing-gone.
Self-Portrait with Fur Cap, Bandaged Ear & Pipe
Vincent van Gogh (1853-1890 Dutch)
First Published in Five Poetry Magazine 2013
HARMONY 69
The night of twelfth December `69
knotted together an icy storm wind
that whipped False bay`s waves
to white -frilled blankets.
Thunderclaps against primal rocks
resonated through a ghettoe of glowing tents
on a dark, rough ,bushy patch .
Rising plaintively above the din
of drums and flapping canvas,
creole strains solicited the capricious gods
for a clement Cape .
Love songs , sweet like wine
would even tittilated mermaid`s melons,
stranding them breathless, with tails scaled.
In my sixteenth tempestuous year,
I was sickened and sullied, spoiling for a fight
with that ever- prying, ever-lying police-state
denying us
dividing us
deriding us
ripping us
whipping us
in an all-pervasive racist propaganda storm
Harmony,was forced ethnic relocation right there
in a stamp-size sea-resort next to a stinking dump.
Our yearly anticipated salty baptism,
fouled for a full ten years,
dunked in fascist soil
of a false bay with a real bite….
rubbing coarse salt in our opened wounds
Rubbing it in the flayed
William, my sire, of the black turf belly
Rubbing it in the lashed
Maxie , my ma , of white-on-black graft
Rubbing it in the spurred
Dot Adams, my oracle , of the pearled-truth tongue
imprisoned to a silent ninety-day solitary confinement. .
Yes, a full two hundred scar-studded waxes
avidly saluting the wretched who rose in revolution
drowning exploiters in the oppressed`s precious blood
Algeria whilst raped,unveiling herself,
firing fear into bared French fascism
exploding the myth of a benevolent colonialism.
“Lumumba will guide the Kongo to freedom”
grandpa agitated hopefully as revolutionary Patrice,
our dark prince of peace
died on the bloodied butts
of neo-colonial carbines.
My seven-year heart burst
in anger and pain.
A companiable heart`s balance
tilted with unease at justice , unhinged.
the periodic uprisings of people in far-flung regions
against the arrogance of anglo-saxon imperialism
salted my youth with the tears of broken children,
their blood ever spattering my angry brow.
lonely corridor---
sound of her high heels
stranding me
Written: May 20, 2024
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Siren stunningly sprung a sanguine sway
sailboat sheaths spread, and storms swell
splendid summer shorelines spike
summertime spousal serenade swept
scrumptious, sturdy sibyllic sweeps
silky shorelines settle scrawls
seawater subtly scrubs sewage
skirr is a spectacular sand stronghold
sapphire specks spruce seaside sand
shoreline scoria is sharp
shipmates glide along a sleety seacoast
shivering seafarers' sight.
Straight skyline scaled saddlebow
sighting swallows spawned sibilance
stalls and slumps were scrutinized
strolling solysium soliloquy
stranding Schadenfreude
satisfied spectator
sarcasm serves as a solecism
slanting supplants a sempiternal scintilla
swirl across a snapped soul
supported standout slide
spiraling semantic spondaic species
sweeping synopsis syncope
start to sense surrealism
Sensual, sensuous, slim, and smiling
sits silently staring
sapphire sky sight
the sun casts scarlet shadows
slowly sinking silhouettes
scatter stars on skylines
Sunday sermon supply
searching souls
singing serenade.
Slides speckled sunshine
souvenirs spark strands of subdued shades
sequential surety swelling
strange, scarlet, silky songs
sway symphonic sylphic stardust
store sustained scrupulousness
silver surges spurred the space
snagging scents
step sibilant serendipity
stirred spectrum.
Aeneas crept into the depths
of the underground, upright
he stepped
darkly
as dead roses pressed
and she wept
(Persephone)
in the pit
(indemnity)
where shadows slept
bellowing
as bellows sing
so readily
below those mourning bells that ring
burrowed
'neath the death of Spring
borrowed
from the breath we breathe
burroughs
of departed greed
ennui ennui ennui I scream
wake up! this hell is not a dream
and all is eaten as it feeds
and everything is as it seems
and everything is vanity
as Ashteroth to Easter bleeds
calamitous insanity
the bedlam that Pandora breeds
and Neptune drowned himself in seas
abysmal king of dead seaweeds
the pit is dank and dark and deep
and filled with those of restless sleep
and as the riddle of the Sphinx
shows that time is entropy
just as chains are naught but links
our DNA, life's tapestry
unweaves itself unto deceit
stranding us in furnace heat
like the Rich Man full of thirst
as is the last so was the first
Fast
Toss the knotted rope
Thrust the knife
Standing still
I wait
Kill the pain
Leave the burdens at heavens gate
In anxiety I saturate
Standing still
I wait
Rain
Falling from hell
Washing me in bloody tales
Standing still
I wait
Drowning
As I drink old mans ale
Tranquility killed
Stranding still
I wait
Beginning
The road to dust
Horror seems to be a must
Standing still
I wait
Ending
Agony dances on my head
Angels running from me
Standing still
I wait
Black
Both blood and the night
Rotting to nothing
Still
I wait no more
Chipped mountains
With the condor eyes
Flaked by some sinister
Grey hounds of the rocks.
This is a place
For reflections
Stranding together
Some multiple fractions.
Wider vistas
Opening to alluvial lands
Geared in the high plateau
Imposing on winding river
Designs of their hoary hands.
Beyond the granite walls
There is a flutter of green
Decked by plaited yellow
Where little humming bird flings
Sipping nectar from each mellow.
Alone amid sacred valleys
Gushing waters of the flow
Of meandering Urubamba
Guarded by the temples
Fortresses of the Pisac
Amid Machu-Picchu’s glow.
Drenched in past memories
The ushered in Rio Urubamba
Of the sacred cannons flows
Amid sedges in forests of rain
Protected by spirits of Amazon.
URUBAMBA.
Chipped mountains
With the condor eyes
Flaked by some sinister
Grey hounds of the rocks.
This is a place
For reflections
Stranding together
Some multiple fractions.
Wider vistas
Opening to alluvial lands
Geared in the high plateau
Imposing on winding river
Designs of their hoary hands.
Beyond the granite walls
There is a flutter of green
Decked by plaited yellow
Where little humming bird flings
Sipping nectar from each mellow.
Alone amid sacred valleys
Gushing waters of the flow
Of meandering Urubamba
Guarded by the temples
Fortresses of the Pisac
Amid Machu-Picchu’s glow.
Drenched in past memories
The ushered in Rio Urubamba
Of the sacred cannons flows
Amid sedges in forests of rain
Protected by spirits of Amazon.
..........Smile forged with tears and sorrow
was all I could feel
i felt the pain on my rips
as my breath start to break
the say its a heart break
I think is a death call
like a gun short on the four head
as I stood on the four front
cautioned with flame of fire
that burns directly the heart
Slowly I break down
as the pain speeds up
all I could see is yonder
yonder stranding forth s it's hand
calling me down to under world
fighting it was the next option
Strength far away from me
water run down the bridges
I don't want the call,not now
the sun sets up fear to the skin
now dishing out death to the soul
she is the light to my life
..........Could she be my doom?....................
Penetrative prodigious plundering pestilential prod of pain
Ambiguous avarice amassing astounding avalanche of ache
Injuriously instigating incessant inconsolable irritation
Nattering numbness needling nerves to nail the heart with fire and fear.
ii
Feathers flocking night
The rocks gnaw the flesh of sight
Icarus groans death
The stake through the tongue
The vice tightens without end
I crumble in skin
What singes the brain
Stranding me in motion scraps -
The hog teeth of pain.
iii
O Christ, your cross spike
My flesh, plundering virtue
From my callousness.
Trembling nail in me
Biting bone breaking blood's vein
Winces through the night
Vinegar or gall
I would drink for ease of pain
And blind fear of death
Yet to die is ease
I seek but grimace away
In sweat and shaking.
Here, Here Now
Here, Here Now with each single word
Is strangest poem you have ever heard.
America's beauty all around was abounding
We had family fathers who were founding
Dreams of theirs had been so astounding
No defeats only victories were resounding.
Thanks for my poem drinking and downing
While around with them I might be clowning;
Don't like effects that me out end up drowning
If unhappy will find people who are frowning.
Dastardly disturbs me when you are demanding
Final, ultimate result is lack of understanding
So why should some poor soul you be stranding
Follow God's ten and lead can be commanding.
James Thomas Horn
Retired Veteran
www.story-telling-around-the-world.com
This place is mine especially in the spring.
Distressed and stranding my soul in guilt.
Sometimes as I sit here, I hear the bells ring.
Of the schooner, my lover of the sea built.
He sailed away many times before that night.
I awaited each return with eager, endearing love.
Each time I saw his lady of the sea, sweet delight.
Thanking the glorious power in the Heavens above.
Until that one fateful night of a storm of such rage,
Took my lover and his lady of the sea, down under,
Jealousy devours my soul now, as seen upon this page.
For his lady of the sea I ponder, placed with his plunder.
She took my lover from me and here I sit in sadness.
She now has my lover forever, and I only madness.
Woman at Seashore - French painting - 1850/1950 - Metropolitan Museum of Art
http://worldvisitguide.com/salle/MS04172.html
Words my muse gave me while viewing this painting.
written for contest
REUBEN
With whips dancing round her flesh
An arrow of tears and fears
Dropping from her heart
She must be strong for him
She must be strong fro Reuben
It is sunset in Ethiopia
The initiation swells
Echoes of whips and whispers swell
Pattering feet in apathy
As the whips stood straight in the sky
Boobs and boobs tiptoeing
Cowed men smiling
Courage women moaning
She stood in the cascading pool whips
Her blood ooze like river
A blood of sweat
A swat of courage
But she must be strong for Reuben
Stranding before herds of cows
As the cloud moans
An arrow of fear smile at him
Looking at her face,
A gallon of death beckons on him
He strike his chest
Stamped his feet
He must be strong for her too
As he ran through the cows’ back
The cloud riots
Thunder roars
He slumped
My name is Reuben.
Awoh Kingsley Awoh
Dark shadows stalk the imaginary paths of my brain
Mirroring conscience reflects the torpor of my anguished soul
Black clouds hover in every dark corner of my jaded psche
Raining doubt and fear on the canvas of my jaundiced mind
Brackish tears of penance but soil the pores of my fever-soaked face
Flowing into a convoluted whirlpool of shame that constantly recycles my depraved actions
Emptying into the recesses of my vacuous inner being
Stagnating pools of opprobrium surround my bleached heart
Nauseous fumes of pride from my murky depths smother all good intentions
Stranding my drowning soul in the quicksand of intemperance and overindulgence