Desiccated Poems | Examples

The Funeral of Dogs - Dedicated to Roald Amundsen and His 52 Dogs

I hate to chortle at the sound of broken laughter,
Just like I refrain from weeping when dancing smoke fills my eyes . . .
But when dogs mourn alone,
I chafe my hands with the cold of tears of solitude.
Monuments and cairns I crave among the icy
Terrains, where dogs’ paws leave eternal marks —
The print-marks of an important visit,
Evidence of life on desiccated earth.
On board The Fram they sailed majestically
In the beginning,
Before joining a steam of blizzards they escaped from,
Returning home, northwards, gelid and depressing,
For a funeral of dogs,
The ceremony of age,
Attended largely by silent yaps of strayed thunder.

At a Crossroads

Leveling up on serpentine curves —
Dust-coated and desiccated — crossroads:
Inebriated with floods, one length;
Darkened with fumes of a puking mountain,
The other stretch;
Gale-powdered face of one breath stares at the
Rumbling belly of the fourth.

A High Rain

Yesterday was hot, it nailed
its peeling skin to a desiccated air.

This morning, rain is falling,
but it has yet to land -
a weightbearing sky creaks
though it does not break.

Above straining clouds
a dam has broken, perhaps the deluge will
crush all before it,
but not yet,
earth’s frying pan is lit and smoldering.

The wilting dawn cannot wash its face,
bedsheets smell of damp dogs.
The electric fizz of insects
scratches at our drowsy minds.

If I shift a sweat leached inch
I might tilt the world over a hidden seawall
drowning in the middle
of a dry prayer for rain, or perhaps soon

the light might undress itself
to leap into the clear pools
of our openly grateful eyes.

Kensington Avenue

The wheels of the chaotic times churn for them
the sands of crushed dreams in the desert of desiccated life,
settling frenzied on the unstratified fragile structure 
of the disorganized dunes of desolate existence.

The sequestered moments of distressed awareness,
drift the dust of disarray to the foyer of failed being.    
The truth of trustful conviction sinks under suffering
made with mirage on the ruffled ripples of disorder. 

In homeless languished life’s impoverished landscape,
sorrow-paved avenue contours convoluted uncertainty,
winds to nowhere at the fading fringe of the time future, 
beyond the befuddled perception of toiling time present.

With the faceless faces smeared by the shadows of scorn
they walk on slimy Kensington Avenue of cardinal crime.
Life trampled by insolent wavering footsteps in journey
under the stupor of opoids that never ends their pain.

They seek the benevolence of the society to help them
in their search for the lighted path away from squalid environs
for their suffering souls to discern the abode of empathy,
as they strive to find the way out of the dead end avenue.

If I Were Your Love

Inspired by Bob Dylan song : Make You Feel My Love


The sparkling dawn lights bright 
My heart’s horizon of longing in glow 
Spreads the sunburst colors of delight 
On my love’s sparkling meadow. 

In my mind’s valley of yearning  
I’ve traced a trail to reach you
The fervent clouds of my craving 
Melt in the sea of emotion I swim in blue.

I live now only to seek you
I’m sunk in the depth of loneliness
You’ll take me to the blooming valley of hue
My longing will turn to flower of finesse.

In the scorched life of deprivation
I’m desiccated like the desert lake 
Give me the soothing rains of elation 
Make me an adored oasis not fake.

When the opaque nights of despair fall 
The storm shatters your somber skies
When the stars disappear in raging squall 
You’ll see the rays of hope in my eyes.

I’ll kindle for you a candle of divine glow
Like the full moon in your sky it’ll shine   
You’ll rise from the desolate debris flow  
In the dark night I’ll be your light benign.

Your essence is my second shadow
Fused with the motif of my feeling 
How many candles I’ve lighted there aglow
You’d know if I were your love waiting.

Serenading Soul

parched buds
in shriveled sapling
                    desolate
bloom dreams
          in 
desiccated dunes
as the aureate sun 
masks the mirage 
                    chased
taking the scorched life 
to the opal oasis 
          but
ending up 
in staking retreat
of illusion
          where
dreams are lost
in the debris
          of 
the palace of cards
                    collapsed 
in desert sands 
of destiny
                    adrift     

rootless vagabond 
                   wanders
in the wasteland
          of
wrecked sandcastle
mentally metamorphosed
                  shapeshifts 
          into 
a lone player 
of puppet show
                  depicting 
the panorama of life
                  unlived
performing ordained
to the dictum 
of stringed freedom
                  enjoyed 
in artificial act 
                  axiomatic
of lingering life
          obtuse
perfected within
psychic sanctum 
of patience
                  instilled 
sensually by 
possessed passion   
                  persistent
to dance 
                 entranced
to the symphony 
          of 
the serenading soul
                sublime

Epitome Of Elegance

          down 
the desiccated spine 
          of 
the sepia valley
                    scouring 
the serrated slopes 
of the jagged rocks
you disappeared 
like a swan
                   serenading 
on the last lap
        of 
furtive flight
with winsome wings 
       of 
raptured rhythm
                   harmonized 
      with
the summer breeze
                        rippling
through the still shadow 
of silence
                   sequestered 
in the thicket

mid-summer rains
        poured 
from cloudburst sky
        flowed 
in the vivacious valley
with the current 
of charismatic torrent
cascading dulcet
        down 
the sculpted face 
        of 
the rock cliff
                    reclined 
forming a lively lattice 
of animated 
                    waterfall
of designed figure
        where 
in an imagery
                    ingrained 
in fantasy       
I saw you return 
an angel
of fluid flair
                    framed 
as epitome
of elegance
                    ethereal

A Vine In Winter

The dry stem of a lonesome vine of vivacity,
now painfully curled, rooted frozen,
entwining the desiccated verdant veins,
sways chilled in the winter wind of desolation.

The sleeping passion of exuberance, 
painting a picture of comatose entity,
impresses none, finds no frame, droops down uncoiled.   
Dormant emotions flicker like candle flame in freezing gale,
the crumpled vine suffers cold distress, pain unexpressed.

The original emerald lattice morphs mystically into 
a mirror of veracity with ingrained sheen of actuality, 
reflecting the real rendering of silhouetted latent essence, 
rinsed with the suppressed hues 
of distinctive spectral disposition it embodied once.
Metamorphosis creates the transient design, 
an alien in its own transformed domain,
completes the contrasting paradigm 
of the compulsive shape shift,
waiting for the touch of spring.

Dreamer And The Dreamed

The turning wheel of time 
stirs up the dust of disarray,
that settles in the crumbling cauldron
of disordered life of illusion.
In the maiming moments 
of disdained dejection,
truth tumbles in the mélange 
of disorientation chaos. 

Under the fantasy firmament
psyche in desertic isolation,
embedded in mindscape imagery,
suffering desiccated and lonely,
searches for a novel niche 
in self-constructed reverie
to get a spellbound shelter 
of captivating hope in frustration.

Dormant notion then invents dream,
steers mind into domain of delusion.
A thing made is destined to break,
but not by the will of the creator,
for whom the sense of time collapses,
making the frame of timeless trance,
where the dreamer assembles relentless   
the shifting scenes of desire dreams.

The montage etched by the trail of mirage, 
migrating in dunes of desolation,
makes collage of dream in deluded mind 
against backdrop of nocturnal oasis.
The dreamer doesn’t see the dawn,
for the soul sleeps entranced deep within,
can’t escape self-built illusory maze,
until divine consciousness makes wake-up call.

The Painter

Lure of mirage
in deranged dunes,
dances in
dandelion rhythm 
with oasis dream,
illusion inscribed
in sane sands of time,
sliding continuum
with desiccated travail, 
thirst unquenched,
stimulus sensuous,
perpetual.

Dormant despair
usurps harps of hope,
vibrato dissipates
unperceived,
wisdom shroud  
unfurls crafty chimera
in life of actuality,
awareness avid, 
imbibed.

Stifling shadow 
anguished onyx cloud
creeps remorseless, 
dissension darkness drips 
opaque desolateness 
on listless landscape,
mangled in 
strife maelstrom,
mind sucked within 
hope vortex, 
umbrage pervades,
unushered. 

Silver spectrum
of lines transient 
in acumen cloud,
splits into colors 
of radiant reverie
in optimistic prism,
sculpted.

Convoluted canvas,
carapace conjured
for contorted hideous faces,
turning in a trance 
into baroque frescos,
flicker of beauty
sparkles sneaky 
in conceived smile, 
beholder, 
                    the painter.

Mythos

The summer was lush with death,
it turned the hare into a twirling dervish,
the raccoon to a pantomime villain,
forced mice
to sing in the jaws of predators.

The woods are bare now,
trees rattle,
birds clatter twiggy wings,
briar tangles
in the bare throats of scarecrows.

October gourds glow, there serrated grins
reflected within the eyes
of late stalking cats.

Nocturnal winds sweep in,
bone corseted myths
ride upon the cracked racks
of desiccated lambs.
Petticoats hang from gristly limbs
much tattered by thorns.

By December, the skeletal woods
crunch inwards like roofless catacombs.
Reckless children are lost
in a leafless maze of fairytales.

Mothers tag the young
like puppy dogs, vaccinate them
against dismay.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

reent edit

Melodic Drizzle Of Memory

I wander across the desiccated dunes you made
in the valley of my mind, contoured by desire.
I feel deserted like the desolate sands of dune.
As you drift away unconcerned past me
beneath the mystique shroud of the stardust sheen,
my possessed passion sails to the moonlit bay of bliss
for you to emerge out of my dream like an angel.
Your essence stays within me as an indelible image.
Dainty spring descends, drizzling in diaphanous air
the ecstasy tune with the melody of your memory.


1.	Wish Somebody Would’ve Told Me
2.	Love For You
3.	Take Me To The Sunburst Dawn
4.	Heartbroken
5.	Love Laced By Lunar Lure Ephemera
6.	Your Heart Is Mine
7.	Bewitching Night
8.	If Only I Could
9.	Ecstasy Of Embrace
10.   Melody Of Memory

Animating Innate Vibrance

In the dune-field of the deserted scorched life,
clutching my desiccated desires I chase mundane mirage,
walk listless on the tormenting trail of strife.
Suffering to the core, I’m submerged in sordid mire.

Under the multi-layered receptive mind,
the soul resides at the inner meditative depth, 
where awareness is the light of the eternal truth,
enduringly reflecting the sensitivity of the divine glow.

Trying to be released from the clasp of karmic destiny,
I transcend the expanding limits of heart-head linkage.
From the closet of mortal being I strive to set my soul free, 
the patina of perpetual peace I yearn to flourish. 

In the devout sanctum of heavenly freedom
my soul aims to attain the timeless euphoria of nirvana.
The beauty of the ultimate oneness it beholds,
vibrating with the rhythm of supreme elegance.

The darkness of the pasture of suffering gets illumined
with aura of the absolute, having thousand sun’s shine.
I find the lotus bloom beguilingly bright in the soul,
discover the enlivened constellation of innate bliss,

Fever Ward

Not a room for the waiting
or the receiving of the waiting,
but a room for a liquid thinking
a turgidity
that trickles through plastic tubes.

Is this where doors remain jammed
forever between Hospital floors?

Unseen, a wall clock drops
heavy packages of time
into narrow chutes,
latex handprints are shaken
from sterilized surfaces.
The regularity
of beep and whir mechanically
sucks light in and out.

The yoke recalls it shell.
Desiccated fingers
squeeze a phantom pain-ball,
morphine as cold as ice
is delivered
to an unknown address.

A swish of a starched presence,
fingertips retrace
scorched fever-lines.
Eyes creep toward the voice.

Consciousness
scratches a self-portrait
upon a white neon sun,
a hesitant, primitive etching.

A nurse adjusts the electronic pulse
of a free-floating mind.
Space expands under her hands.

I Miss

I should have when I could have but did not, 
In retrospect I missed a chance or two. 
I see it now! If only then I knew -
I would have given life a better shot!

But who has time to waste on reminisce?
Past's desiccated dust settled by Now, 
Long overdue wholehearted weary vow - 
Time in and of itself one should not miss.

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