Crowding Poems | Examples

A Triad of Tanka IIII: Mount Fuji

Mount Fuji waking,

Lifting on girdling pink cloud

In early dawning,

Casts its slopes and snowcapped peak

On flat mirroring water. 
-------------------------------------

Fuji; slow sunrise.

Then a sea of blazing cloud 

Sets the hills aflame!

Crowding onto a shoreline:-

Hosts of purple lavender.
-------------------------------------

Fuji in Moonshine.

Floating cranberries, amassed,

Shiver in cold light,

Ruby redness contrasting

Against crystaline night sky.

I Don't See What You See

Sparrows enjoy a certain reputation
For intimacy and hope

Crosby Stills and Nash sang of them
In Suite: Judy Blue Eyes
As compatriots to the morning
Air
With guitar strums and high notes

Truth be told
Sparrows are bulkier than the normal song bird
And not particularly
Pretty
Brown and gray as a mound of dirt

Chirpy jerky punk band

And they have no problem with crowding out
From a bush or bird feeder
Finches and chick-a-dees

They’re kind of a bully

Push around those that are smaller
Who carry pouches of yellow and pink
And tiny symphonies

They clog up my eavestroughs with nests

Right now
I watch one sparrow land on top of another
And the tree branch bends down
Under their heft

Bounces up and down
To their sex
Again

The limb
Seemingly
Waving them off

Or so it tries

As if it’s saying
Get off me you animals.

Wilting flowers

Wilted flowers
Wilted flowers lie in empty fields
Days pass as flies scour,
Leaving the decomposing ideas to be eaten.
The sun flickers as each minute weans by
An empty shell of you left in bloody waters.
A quiet silence crowding the space your words claimed.
The once blooming pedals, scorned by your nectar.
Craving the burn you bring into my veins; no longer able to be muzzled
A type of silent desire for chaos and destruction.
A desire for deforestation.
What started as weeds being plucked,
Turned to mowing down rose bushes.
Muddy boots left on waxed floors,
Destruction on the original wood grain that was once admired by generations.
Floors handcrafted from trees outside of what I wanted to call home.
Someplace silence was peace and peace was expected rather than craved.
Pruned roses left puddles of milkweed
Each droplet going sour the second it fell,
The bitter taste of cyanide leaked out of your pores into its water supply.
Empty plots. Pesticides. Ripped roots.

Just Give me Paints and Some Brushes

just give me paints and some brushes, the little girl said.
She had drops and drips all over her face and her head.
Her overalls were saturated with paints in reds and blue.
What else could we do? Asked her mother, what else could we do?

She painted her way through college, covering canvases galore.
Sixteen hundred paintings, and maybe two hundred more.
The paintings were crowding her parents who had no more room.
Can we sell them? Asked her mother, who was on Zoom.

No, the girl said, just burn them, I can make new ones every day.
But her parents could not do this, so they threw furniture away.
They got rid of their couches, chairs, and tables to make room.
“What happened to your house?” asked their daughter on Zoom.

Walking into Change

Walking,

Strolling through,

Rolling hills,

Cliffs Keep Arising.

Diving in,

Climbing In the end,

To be better than my will.

A higher mentality,

Hiding in side of me.

So I can see the Truth,

Surrounding Duality.

Abiding within society,

Driving the Crazy,

Becoming Lazy,

The path Growing hazy.

Complacency has blatantly,

Robbed us of Energy.

The will to be,

As we Endlessly,

Repeat our history.

Can you See?

The Patterns,

Fallacies,

Created,

Keeping us Happy,

Entertained,

And Distracted.

Our youth being trained,

Framed forms,

Flowing to a Norm,

Attracted like a swarm,

To all the Usual STUFF.

Things cluttering The Place,

Crowding Personal space.

Erasing the Connection,

To Your Grace and Affection.

The Role you play,

When they have your attention.

Chasing away all who seek change,

So things remain the same,

To repeat this Game.

Let's Redirect our intellect,

And walk into change.

Dream or Nightmare

After many years, it is still not done
I know what happens, but nevertheless
I still feel terror of knowing they come
And I tremble with fear and breathlessness

Into a nightmare disguised as a dream
Were a monster lurks behind a closed door 
I open that door, choke back a wild scream
 When, as expected, he pounced with a roar.  

I sit on the stair and watch it unfold
Unable to change or alter a thing
I hear myself saying “you have been told
face your demons and the terror they bring”

But years of abuse are hard to survive
And crowding my dreams the demons arrive

music in the bog

marshy mossy fly
fuzzy crowding cattails
green bulldog croaking

music in the bog
evening buzzes and humming
wild things aboard

It made me twist and turn in bed

My mind could well from a million alts choose: 
Marvel at beauty of that moonless sky, 
Re-live that meandering slow boat cruise, 
Recall fragrance from her love wafting by, 
Re-enjoy bluebell blossoms of late springs, 
I could have dwelt at her demurring dimple 
Which, seems to show deeper dent when she sings, 
And whilst at it, could have delved on her ample 
Presence— any of her prime beauty spots, 
But worries weighed in, crowding out my joys,
Why, but I kept on dotting needless dots, 
Not on the pleasant dream, what it destroys, 
   Which, made me twist and turn in bed n times, 
   Dwelling on life’s peripherals, not primes.
__________________________ 
Sonnet |01.02.13, revised November 2024|

Coral Sea

Under the sea with colorful coral all over
Bright colors all over the sea
Sand that engulfs the whole ocean
The smell of Krabby Patties within the sea
A yellow sponge coming out of a pineapple dancing work
A blue squid frowning down below
A pink star under a rock
A red crab talking about money and
Several sea creatures crowding inside a barrel with
The smell of food emanating from it

We Like to Think

We like to think of kings
And crowding animals
And angels,
Of shepherds on a hill,
A star,
And lambs and gentleness.

But when it comes to Calvary
That’s much too sharp
And close-aimed
For the heart side-tracked by sin.

A soft-cradled baby
Doesn’t touch the soul
Like a man dying on a cross.
A baby’s comfortable and easy
In the bleak mid-winter.

Sad if we too should say,
	The Baby’s OK,
		But not the Man!

wAlls In dAlI

the origin of my life 
a frottage
friction 
giving rise to the template 
the grattage image to be completed in the mind of the viewer 

women 
are often invisible 
at best 
compartmentalised by Man 
a notional ekphrasis 
but they make their presence known 
they’re a work of art crowding in on the subconscious 

labyrinth of walls built by mankind over eons 
to keep out that which they fear 
colouring the walls yellow 
it is a Freudian slip 
by that subliminally acknowledging
that it is 
mentally activating 
psychologically stimulating higher cognition, intuition 
creativity 
and feelings of optimism 
all attributes of Woman 

having escaped confines of cultural mores 
I do not go with the flow 
but will often lead the pack

Mason Vincentino

The vastness of it all mi
ancestors the shores of 
pastel climbing beneath 
my feet essence of Veneto 
the wildness of black cherries 
bluntness of plums strings 
of grapes opened just so 
found behind a glass of 
Merlot singing lemoncello 
crowding tastes buds through 
rows of lemon trees crawling 
olive branches sweeping the 
stone ways a covenant of mi 
Nonna dancing throughout 
Rome mi ancestors Mason 
Veneto builders an yet 
cemeteries where religious 
statues buildings tombstones 
are crafted by the blood 
of my ancestors hands
all over Italy the vastness 
of it all remembering 
mi Nonna remembering Rome

redheads

redheads crowding street
rental car moves slowly by -
long-legged sandhill cranes

Life

She paints on a smile
but her eyes betray her
she looks in the mirror
her invisible scars
are on full view today
she looks out of the window
it's too overcast for sunglasses
but she puts them on anyway

She pauses at the front door
does she really want that reality
to ghost in on hers
she takes deep breath and walks out

the streets are deserted
she feels the houses, trees and flowers
crowding in

she bows her head
and watches her footsteps
left, right, left, right
and counts her steps

she reaches her destination
but keeps on walking
through the back strreets
and through the fields

she used to fy her kite in this one
collect mushrooms in that one
play chase in that one
and hide in the long grass

she climbs up the path
of the cliff
with its views out to sea

she stands on the precipice
and wonders how it has come to this
a life once so inspiring
has now spiralled out of control

Misery

I know misery, she haunts me,
2am, 3am sleep eludes me.
a song I didn't need to hear plays
invoking unwanted memories.
everything sounds like her,
everything looks like her,
although nothing is her
because she is gone
gone yet eternally present,
between my ears,
living in my tear ducts,
crowding my brain with
memories and regret.
should I burn her letters?
tear up her pictures?
like that would banish her
from my brain,
from my heart,
nothing does that
she's always with me.

©SamHarty

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