Best Swamplands Poems

this is my song,
  my love song of you,
    my land, my heart

             love for green ferns
            ...

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THE MEDICINE MAN

When I was a girl,
We lived way out back,
In the swamplands where life,
Was hard but no lack,

Of love and good humor,
And inventive fun,
We were tired but happy,
When day was done.

One evening my uncles,
Were chasing me,
In a game of tag,
Near a big Oak tree.

I...

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everglades 
the slicing sawgrass sways
paradise to the "gladesmen"
the caterwaul of a panther
swamplands...

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The mad masquerade is a vile and venomous and villianous thing
Masks in front hide bad beasts within...while wearing their smiles and their innocent 
grins
Thoughts and ideas turn into iniquity and sin
Held together with needles and pins...their false facades start to rip and tear
Best beware as...

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"The sounds of Earth is the music of my soul."

Narcissus woos a butterfly; waves strong,
Genteel stages filled pages; memoirs sound,
Earth graces life faces, pleased heaven bound,
Wrens and bluejays consonance their birdsong.

Lively swamplands prep and hopped air aloft,
Rising field beds here bells spread Heather mound,
Climbed rose...

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The prophecy came true in the swamplands 
She rose from the bowels of an alligator’s belly
Disengaging herself with the hands of a sorcerer
Those who saw were struck as if by lightning
She was confident and unhurried as predicted

The storms are coming for sure, an old timer...

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Reminiscing of past and present
Wadding through the swamplands
Hiding from the ominous intruder
Decieving the manic attempts

Partly relying on the defenseless
While still behind the strong
Standing tall beyond the enemy's grasp
Watching detailed movements

Yeah, though I walk swiftly
Amoung a violent crowd
Carrying torches and pitchforks
I'm empty handed and the victim...

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The Great Sahara desert as large as the continental United States
a deadly vast searing wasteland of sand dunes mountain high
The expansive buckle of the world's desert belt void of color
dotted by scarce oases of what once was.

Twenty thousand years ago with just a wobble of...

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Why for push and pull,
akin to a bull
just raging away
by night and by day?

Illusions confound
and its dark forms hound
but our joyous soul
sways not from its goal.

Slow down now, slow down 
or in swamplands drown,
blown away as dust
by lust thrust unjust.

Oh monk, hush that blush
that bliss...

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Feeling within consciousness contraction
We recognise its origin as fear
Arising from desire borne stagnation

Fearful to lose illusions we hold dear
Ghosts of our mind grips us thus in terror
Avalanche of arrows feeble form spears

Fear type any, it grows like a creeper
If unchecked, envelopes us in darkness 
Permeating...

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Reminisce 

Oh, to go back to the Woodlands.
To the woods that I love so.
That sheltered my first great sorrow.
In that shadowy long ago.

Oh, to go back to the swamplands,
Where the gentle breezes blow.
And the dark waters hide the catfish;
In a place the raccoons know.

I want...

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As we look back at life journey thus far
Freezing the frames of whirring memory
Our soul within etched by many a scar
Borne of ego urge delusionary

Upon slowing down sway of attention
Ego borne fears and desires vaporise
Exiting thus swamplands of stagnation
Aglow in the now, each throb a...

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circles within circles
harmony of sticks and stones and gems

his foundation flows
around my ankles
flooding ‘tween the trees
baubles of aquamarine

circles within circles
harmony of sticks and stones and gems

paradise soaked with many suns
storehouse of spinnerets
orange, yellow, blues
shining, twinkling, twirling

those leggy-legs
brown and skinny twigs
in swamplands of serenity
soaking up the...

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Doubt
contracts
our being,
as also fears
and ego desires,
in realm of illusions,
thereby stifling aliveness,
anchoring us in stagnation,
making us captive to lower mind,
enmeshed in dark swamplands of delusion.

Doubts, borne of urges, rooted in doership,
we surrender instrument of thought,
resting in awareness alone,
uncaring of all outcomes,
content in blissful peace,
in the here...

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Spiralling thoughts and specious logic repeatedly reinforce their affirmations rooted in swamplands of delusion with the singular aim of nurturing lower mind, continuing to shroud the self evident truth of our luminous divinity. As such, the shift, so to speak, is a journey without movement,...

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