Cyclical Poems - Poems about Cyclical

Insomniac Island

This entropy, it's endless.
I'm captive in your void of sleep.
My eyes are strung open,
My hands clung to you
But I'm drifting off,
I'm drifting far away,
Away from here, and as hard as I grasp onto you,
I know I won't be back.

Every time it happens.
I can't think straight,
I am so far off,
And if I can't be me,
I can't

Cyclical

The pushing pelvis,
the slippery and new -
minus recall.
Amnesia drone
coming or going
home,
cyclic rebirth,
peddling hard to uncertainty.
Dozy or bright
dynamo light
self-made
doomed to fade
uphill and over
pushing through
toward an ill-defined 'it.'
A lifelong nap,
a newborn holler
into the latex catcher's mitt.
Headlong life buzz.
Squeezing through forgetfulness.
Born again into the holy whirlpool,
of - what to do next,
eat, crap, join something.
Leap or roll
through the big

Awakening to the Red Road - An Ecopoetic Odyssey, 'Part 2 of 6'

II. Nature's Cyclical Dance

End is not death. Changing into something new is good.
A leaf falls, then goes back into the dark soil.
Next year's flowers sleep under winter's quiet.
We fear the end, but nature shows us it's not bad.
Death is a new start.

My Anishinaabe mentor Little Deer laughed at my wide eyes.
That first forest walk, as

Cyclical Questions

there’s a problem with faith.

Yes, I’ve seen mothers with interlaced fingers
& optimistic minds will god into
sick children.
Faith firm as cinderblocks,
building retaining walls against floods
of adversity.

Yet, I’ve seen fathers with frayed hair
& sweat-stained shirts fall
broken, like bone china
to the weight
of brackish, ebon water.

The duality of faith,
cinderblock strong, tea cup thin
leaves me with more questions
than answers.

So I’ve

The Cyclical Year

Spring as the first rays fall on frozen ground
The dew glistening in the early morning sun
And below ground the green curl begins

As heat from the astronomers source
Penetrates the distant land
The budding fern begins her journey

Long fallen autumnal foliage
Settled over winter under snow
Degraded now, brings new life

Nurture the ground, replenishing
Restoring natures balance to the soil
For new

Cyclical Molting

In this the third
Week of April
I loofahed from top to my toe

Every inch of
my scaly magnificence
bidding the lost parts go

Always loving a monday,
   A first,ground zero
A change

Whether August or May
Or dawn of new day
I eagerly sought to know

To be at the pop
that starts a new race
On clean untrod virgin snow

What I sorely
lacked
Was conviction

In

Cyclical

Hitting all the highs then the lows
thinking it will stop, on it goes
like a river, life just flows
water falling, break my bones.
I suppose I must keep swimming,
though the lights just keep on dimming,
joy and laughter keeps me winning,
till the next day finds me sinning.
I finishes with distractions,
reality of life providing satisfaction,
loved ones keeping me soul

Cyclical Halloween

Happy children with masks parade house to house,
Sneaking and creeping in way of a mouse.
Wearing cheesy cat ears; one a rhinestone crown.
There goes a princess in a glowing evening gown.

Superhero with invisibility cloak, power of flying.
Hershey bars next door? You’d better not be lying!
Blurry harvest moon shines with her best light. 
Why does it always

The Well

The Well

The Watcher watches all the watchers, for the Watcher knows
That what the watchers are watching, is something to behold.

But what are they watching? The Watcher can’t tell.
For it appears to be only a plain looking well.

The Watcher asks and pleads for the watchers to state,
Why they are watching this plain looking well and what

Cyclical Dance of the Cousins

Dorrie Ann left Herman again.
It happens on a cyclical schedule.
October, January, April and July.
A quad-yearly thing.
We cousins take her in.
Knowing in a day or two Herman will show up.
Sweet, with candies and maybe flowers.
He will sweet talk her back home
because he is tired of frozen food.
Dorrie Ann could be annoying after the
second day but none

Cyclical Progressions

The wind waits for no man,
Nor tarries on steps of his fortune.
The tax man equates his ledger,
Ever wary of time that brings him none.
Great cities multiply and refuse to listen,
As pushcarts, filled with hubris,
Paint the sky with longlived hope for 
change.
There, above the laws written by man,
Unicorns, resplendant in ivory coats,
Wait patiently for seasons to

A Cyclical Connection

Dawn drinks daylight.
Sunshine spreads supremely.
Briskly brightens bays and beaches. 
Restless readers reclined rise up.
Freshness flashes fair faces.
Wildlife awakens watches.
Life loves lusciously.
Man makes much merriment.
Responsibility reckons…repeatedly.
Continuity continues its cyclical connection.

© November 14, 2011
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen

The Cyclical Nature of Destruction To Self and Others

where one fist is thrown 
another will see the knuckles displayed &
with each connection the rage from one
primate to the next comes spiraling downward---
there is a visceral reaction that brings the 
onlooker back & if they are not sufficiently 
distracted,
the cycle turns in motion like a perpetual machine
wherein the verbal fight in the workplace becomes
steam

Cyclical

As unforgiving

   nature may appear sometimes,

          autumn leaves return...



*

A Cyclical Life

Here in the heavy depths of insolent woes,
We gesture and talk and waste our time,
Staking claim to each minute of our earthly life,
Running the hours through a clock by the day,
Never sated, not content to find even love,
Buried deep inside the petals of a perfect rose.

So was a metaphor created from the rose, 
Then plagiarized

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