Best Upwelling Poems
The golden orb fades beyond the far ridge of trees,
purple dusk wins the fight
The cold settles in the marrow of the bone
The long lonely trail calls my name
Twilight trail winds amongst the spruce
Dogs surge forward smelling home, respite
The final upwelling seeking sanctuary
The long lonely trail calls my name
The wolf cries his lament
His mate repeats the refrain
A challenge calls from the distant peak
The long lonely trail calls my name
A glow in the clearing up ahead promises comfort, assures warmth
Lazy smoke rises from a half hidden chimney, home
Frozen fingers tingle in anticipation
The long lonely trail calls my name
Dogs left behind in the yard yip a welcome
The door of the cabin flies open spilling welcome across the snow and ice
A figure steps out
The long lonely trail calls my name
There’s a horse under
the Weeping Cherry.
And the Sky is Crying
too.
I’m sad that I’m happy today.
The new greens are sprouting.
It’s Spring.
The upwelling tears are spouting.
It’s Nothing.
In the shade garden the hellebores -
each a dim-lit, dusty burgundy banker’s lamp -
refuse to face the smalling Sun.
Twin Bleeding Hearts rise
in lone vigor, drizzle-damp.
In the next room, of course,
the Farmhouse Sink
is Dripping.
As it ever will.
As it ever was.
As it ever has.
As it ever shall.
As I ever will.
All. Day. Long.
I sit there, in my chair, All. Day. Long.
Glaring at people I hate.
The people who are but mere memories.
Mere dust in the wind.
All that I know has blown away,
taken by my faulty actions.
The dull replay of Meteora fills my room with lyrical insanity,
tempting me with beat and anger.
But I’ve realised it’s not the music that’s dull.
It’s myself. I am dull.
Dull, empty, detached, dead.
My actions have caused this, my mental instability.
My arms and wrists, they’re crisscrossed with faint pink patterns,
the product of my attempts at reattachment and relief.
Eternal smiles of violet beneath my eyes, wrinkles surround my lips.
My skin, yellow from the drugs, reflects weakly the sunlight from outside.
I blame everyone but myself, my personality rotten to the core.
My lungs, as well, shredded by smoke that acted like needles.
I couldn’t help myself, I jest in my mind.
I’ve been trying to shove the blame onto something but myself,
only to find there is nothing to blame but myself.
My body has been wracked to this state,
a state well beyond my mere 29 years.
My mind, hanging from a cliff.
Threatening to free fall at any moment.
As I sit there, in my chair,
memories of an age long gone from my life flash before my eyes.
A girl I loved, laughing.
Her and I lying in the grass, at a lake’s edge.
A cat akin to night, eyes green as mine, purring softly in my lap.
Flashes of guns, from a war forgotten by all but me.
As I reminisce these memories, a spark of feeling—pain.
Upwelling in my gut.
Through my chest.
Stabbing into the side of my head.
The pain triggers a new wave of recollection.
Again, the girl. My mind so foggy I can’t remember her name.
Dancing slowly to a song no longer heard of.
Snow. A blush of the cheeks. Hands in mine, warming and comfortable.
The pain in my head intensifies, blinding me.
I fall from my chair, the first time I’ve moved all day. In 2 days.
Shaking my head, I pull myself up. Standing, I look around.
Another flash of pain, followed by a sensation I’d all but forgotten.
Her lips. At dusk. The very first time.
I stumble away from an unseen being, crashing into the wall.
Blinking my eyes furiously, I right myself.
Waiting a moment, I sit back down.
And let the dullness take over, the pain ebb away,
and the memories to replay.
All. Day. Long.
{For Nelson and Winnie Mandela}
You, me said I to my honey bitter
When like the windy aether,
Blows us hither and thither
Bursting bubbles on elevating air,
I shall sleep dreaming with one eye open
Set you and I free on a chilly rest,
Virtually recalling the immure moments
I shall tell you of inborn pain.
Hence, that in these moments, hours
Days running in weeks, months into years
And coming to these moments,
It's love I suppose so
That I should be waiting, waiting and waiting
For you on this thing that like the windy aether,
Has blown away, blown away till this moments.
I shall sleep through to another day
Because of you, I and the offspring
And watch you through, though my heart is spilling
Could it be my strength has withered?
Or my agility has disappeared?
So when the night comes to eyes
And the silence deafened ears
In those moments, hours, days, weeks and months
And the years, O the years!
Which I have slept through just remembering you.
I have looked your face through,
When you are slumbering, thinking silently
Of your vanity, tells of enchantment saliently.
Let us lay on the lawn
And make sweater nothing of love,
Let us float upwelling in delight for the ocean,
And make sea-wine sip among arteries rejecting behoove.
It is love I suppose so
That I should be waiting,waiting and waiting,
For you on this thing that like the windy aether
Has blown away, blown away till these moments,
And you insinuate without times, whether
That ours prophesy shakable love lust,
It has not gone through the last
Of consent; well, it's all sentimental
Even though, I have gone and mount the pedestal
Like the Baboon drumming
Out his chest so loud;
My head had gone white shouting so loud
And the children care clamoured for
My greater loftier ladder,
Aged head has gone white like cloud.
You would say then, I have waited for ages,
I have trimmed the lamp for ages
I have fumbled with the candle for long;
But then flop;
Fell out of one uniting rope
I went so far flung,
Even though thinking of you then
As I now thinking of you so,
And you have on, on and on thinking then
I would wait for you so.
The blue waters of the North Atlantic,
deceptively calm, are shrouded in mystery
in the deadly Bermuda triangle,
delineated by many as a paranormal swathe,
where series of unexpected events, unexplained,
made many aircraft and ships to strangely disappear.
Despite the belief of manufactured mystery,
the Devil’s triangle attracted many elucidations…
the influence of the lost continent of Atlantis,
the magnetism of submerged Bimini Road formation,
the Gulf stream upwelling the marine gas hydrates,
but as yet no consensus has emerged.
The plausible explanation may well be the linked causal trinity,
synchronizing to define the enigmatic triangle.
October 2, 2020
Contest : The Unexplained
Sponsor : Carolyn Devonshire
If the anchorage of the wayward mind is unsteady
Unbound from the righteous roots of sanctified soul
In the dislodging thrust of the upwelling desires
The untamed instincts rush feral on sordid trail.
The unbridled mind turns into a predator animal
Breaks away from the shackles of virtuous sanity
Chases the prey on the track made by brutal craving
The basic instincts morph into entities base and virile.
Deflected from the course shown by the moral compass
Time plunges the being in the vortex of vicious storm
Breaking it down into discarded debris of wreckage
While the voice of God echoes in conscience unheard.
Life is the embodiment of the unique existence
The construct of divine elements almighty chooses
Manifest magnificently suffused with heavenly essence
Within the trinity of coalescing body, mind and soul.
Beneath the surface of perceptive mortal senses
The mind builds all the dreams it desires to see
Allured by aspirations into the dark unawareness
It suffers wandering in the wilderness of barren life.
Under the convolute layers of the clouded mind
At the sinister inner depth resides the gloomy soul
Until awareness dawns with the light of eternal truth
Builds unbetrayed the holy linkage with the absolute.
Travelling on the enlightened pathway of devout life
An inward journey to the sacred sanctum of spiritualism
Takes the soul to the ultimate destination of liberation
Where consciousness perceives the meaning of existence.
___________________
April 19, 2022
Contest : Soul Betrayal
Sponsored by : Unseeking Seeker
BEING WHAT YOU ARE
Frolic branches of trees shake, butterfly leaves flutter
with the trail of summer squall the feisty forest plays.
Don’t make your mind a sprawling forest of wilderness
if with the flickering shadows of foliage at gloomy dusk
it can’t sprint and play.
Ballerina crests of waves swell, pearls of breakers roll,
under storm-scattered sky in tempest the sea dances.
Don’t make your mind an unsurfing sea of sheet glass
if on the surge of upwelling tides of agonizing times
it can’t float and dance.
Silver spray of sprinkles rises, harmonic water murmurs,
on faulted slope of the valley the hilly stream cascades.
Don’t make your life a stream wandering as a lean streak
if in the rough course up and down of time’s topography
it can’t leap and flow.
Perched niche of nest crashes, scared chicks fly away,
after midnight storm the lonely bird soars in cobalt sky.
Don’t make your life a homeless bird of broken wings
if from the debris of wrecked hope in splintering times
it can’t rise and fly.
Quartz luster of sands simmers, jade cactus face shrinks,
in the cradle of dunes the desert winds sing in the oasis.
Don’t make your heart a desiccated cauldron of desert
if the lyric of emerald oasis in blinding blizzard of sand
it can’t write and sing.
Be true to yourself, remain what you are meant to be.
The mind will play and dance with shadows of despair,
the deserted heart will sing the oasis song of ecstasy,
the wrecked life will rise again from debris of agony
if you are what you are.
October 12, 2018
I am
rush of wind,
upwelling seas,
weathered rock
reforming,
libration of the
moon at play,
dust of stars
rebirthing.
I sing
among the spheres,
take mirrored water
for a canvas,
and for the gemsbok
in Namib
remain unmoved,
uncaring;
then I grow limbs,
in self reflection rise,
grow clever hands,
create anew
and stand,
a part of,
not apart from,
All That Is,
to tremble
with the energy
of suns
surging in my veins,
to choose
with brain and heart
my course among the galaxies:
coldness or compassion.
You are an enchanting cynosure
Beyond my naked eyes could see;
An unbounded briny exposure
Where tiny drops assemble sea;
Unpretentious blustery waves
Evolve from phenomenal ripples;
Flowing endless murmur cripples
Heart deep embedded peeves.
Tuneless prayers by lonely seamen
Resonate in salty humid air;
Buried history at fathom unknown
Sleeps among tussocks somewhere;
Wonder world beneath farthest reef
Inhibited clams and cockles;
Heedfully shape pure white pearls
For jewels to bride in brief.
Though you could not appease
Thirst of a weary sailor;
Every curious eye, you please
By your incessant glamour;
Don't mislead fishermen's sojourns
Bring them soon home safe back;
To vanquish massive ships on wreck
Don't turn gales to hurricanes.
You agitate poet's serene mind
With your uncanny beauty at sunset;
Heavy down pour along monsoon wind,
Roaring thunders echo from south west.
Furious currents push to ashore
Rolling upwelling rummages the floor
Provoking flash sends terrible blow
You,potent queen! Where is your glow?
Swarnapali Liyanage
27/07/2011
To the Circuit of Energy permeating the garden, sustaining the canopy permeate
Washing through with waterfalls, cascading rivers, and upwelling springs the fermement
Was magically darkened when Eve took her classes at Satan’s grove
Where one tree (or gate or pedestal) stood, and the devil appeared like hand in glove
To capture her attention, draw her away from her programmed obligations
Little did she know that the devils deal would lead to abnegation
Of her rightful role as a helpmate, swquaw and poets wife
To rule as co-creators, in innocence, with her husband – Adam – and without strife
Although the invitation to new knowledge might have raised her curiosity peaked
‘Perhaps’, she thought, ‘only to have this new experience’ would raise her from meek
Humility. And give her new insight into helping her man: new insight new skills
How was she to know that the tree of good and evil would not fulfill
Any decent role in sustaining the garden, or giving of strength
Had she known that she would be banned from paradise, and removed a full length
From the easeof leisure, the peac of pleasure, which passes all understanding
What a tragedy then, when she engaged the devil without comprehending
The consequence of taking that fatal action, to partake
In the fruit and lust of the wicked tree: when after she began to fake
The full collapse of her station to assist the 1st Man, her original matrimony
She had, perhaps unwittingly disrupted her union with man, and sundered its harmony
With the role of Adam as a spokesman and poet was now broken
The life from before, when he merelyspoke and observed had become a token
Memory. Speech itself a vestige of what life had been when it was perfect
For Eve had introduced vast new knowledge through her dalliance when the devil depicted
A fuller knowledge of all the trees of the garden once fecund
Now all that once gave life in full, a mere second
To Eves infinite question; to probe the everlasting and to question
From what source, and what deep came the gall of God’s order not to mention
The mercurial things that she had seen in Eden, the sweet lull and whisper
And perhaps her fall, the devils gambit settled the mist-in-her
I sit and watch in my minds' eye
a girl-child at play with ribboned braids
and patent leather maryjanes.
Like a silent movie the scenes unfold
undimmed by the passage of time.
A child of laughter slowly, delicately
picking a ladybug off a daisy flower.
There she is lying on new mown grass
and I watch me
watching faces and forms passing
above in the clouds.
Suddenly, jarringly there comes a
huge upwelling of sorrow.
My mouth is dry, I cannot breathe
as I shut off the mind-projector
and tears fall to cleanse a pain.
I am protected from the second feature
by a Loving Universe;
the horror movie never has to begin.
I know peace as, once again
the wheel turns.
The banks are eroded by the swelling river
On surging water the dislodged soils ride
Unsure if they would disappear in sea forever
Or would build a new land somewhere with pride.
Lost love makes livid grief break the heart in splinter
On upwelling tears the distraught emotions glide
Unsure if they would disappear somewhere within
Or would build a new heart that won’t break again.
August 2, 2017
Like within an auditorium
with everyone speaking at once,
the cacophony grew and I knew
I shouldn't have come
into this place and space
of distant rumble where no words embrace
the heat, the dirt,
the stunning sounds that tremble.
Guns speak here.
My heart is dark and silent.
My finger twitches.
My mind collides with death
in a silent movie scene.
Suddenly ... jarringly comes a
huge upwelling of sorrow
as your blood covers my hands.
Another day, another time
we move within a numbness
beside other human beings
bereft of speech and sound.
How was it there? they yearn to know ...
We stand and stare
as our eyes never leave the ground.
Frolic branches of trees shake, butterfly leaves flutter
with the trail of summer squall the feisty forest plays.
Don’t make your mind a denuded forest of clutter
if with the flickering shadows of foliage at gloomy dusk
it can’t sprint and play.
Ballerina crests of waves swell, pearls on breakers shine,
under storm-shattered sky in tempest the sea dances.
Don’t make your mind an unsurfing sea that silently pines,
if on the surge of upwelling tides of agonizing times
it can’t roll and dance.
Silver spray of sprinkles rises, harmonic water serenades,
on stepped slope of the valley the hilly stream cascades.
Don’t make life a lean stream meandering in dark shade,
if in the rough course up and down of time’s topography
it can’t leap and flow.
Perched niche of nest crashes, scared chicks fly away,
after midnight storm the lonely bird soars in cobalt sky.
Don’t make life a bird of broken wings that can't glide in gay,
if from the debris of wrecked hope in splintering times
it can’t rise and fly.
Quartz luster of sands simmers, jade cactus face shrinks,
in the cradle of dunes the desert winds sing in the oasis.
Don’t let your heart get desiccated at the desert's brink,
if the lyric of emerald oasis in the blinding blizzard of sand
it can’t write and sing.
Be true to yourself, remain what you are meant to be,
the mind will play and dance with the shadows of despair,
the deserted heart will sing the oasis song of ecstasy,
the wrecked life will rise again from the debris of agony,
if you are what you are.
August 21, 2021
Contest : The Marmite Poem
Sponsor : Natasha Scragg
AUTUMN EARLY MORNING
The waking sun warms and stirs the grass-frost,
On this early morning as I gaze at you, now
Asleep. Across the glaze of my window,
Turning it to milky mist and fog, then dissipating lost,
Sun’s golden glow, swirling, swelling
The floating fingers on foggy ground,
Wrapping themselves around
The silvery folds of fresh earth upwelling.
Waking grass waves gladly to the pilgrim leaves’ charms,
Blithely drifting their way through the country trails
In my panes - through Heaven’s white dales,
You stir and fold me warmly in your arms.
. . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Entered in Carol Brown’s Contest “Write A Poem For Yourself”