Desiccating Poems | Examples

Debris Of Decrepit Heart

“The fervent garden grieves as the frail flowers called love 
enwrap the shards of broken heart” – Quote by poet 


The rhapsody of rainbow morphs into morose mélange,
bleeding colors bleached from the twilight zone clouds 
that rainstorm daubs as blemish on dilapidated essence   
when the shades of grey paint the frayed linen of love.

The requiem of roses resonates in melancholic medley,
the petals pine for dripping tear drops of mourning dew, 
desiccating in somber sunshine in the deserted mind,
while the fallen flowers make frail bouquet of passion. 

Cacophony encapsulated in the cauldron of mute melody, 
chaotic symphony dismantles on the discord waves of desire.
Strained smiles sneer the scarred scenario of the senile life,
music turns to convoluted noise echoed by the battered soul.

As you drift away blowing a devastating storm of apathy, 
my fervor is fragmented to lie in the debris of ecstasy.
The lattice of life seen through the languid cynic lens
magnifies into the crooked contortion of decrepit heart.

Eschewed Essence

Rhapsody of rainbow 
morphs melted 
into morose mélange,
scattered in sullen sky. 
Bleeding colors bleached 
from twilight cloud 
ruinous rainstorm daubs 
as derelict blemish 
on abandoned shards 
of broken heart.
Shades of blue 
permeate pining
frayed linen 
of lost love.

Requiem of roses 
resonates profound
in melancholic concerto.
Drooping petals languish
for dripping tear drops 
of mourning dew, 
desiccating dismayed
in somber sunshine 
in deserted mind,
where for bracing 
cold desolate stone
fallen flowers 
make bouquet 
for deceased passion. 

Cacophony capsuled 
in suffusing cauldron 
of mute melody,
lost in tempestuous sea
of incongruent tune,
chaotic symphony 
dismantles harmony
on discordant waves.
Synthetic smiles sneer 
scarred scenario 
of lonesome life.
Sanguine songs turn 
to convoluted noise, 
echoing in solemn soul.
Lattice of life 
seen through 
languid cynic lens
magnifies mystified
into crooked contortion 
of eschewed essence.

My Dream Sky

In the desert of my forlorn life,
I wandered across desiccating dunes you made.
Enticed by your impulsive mindscape,
I sauntered in the sandstorm of dismal time. 
Yearning lost in the debris of broken heart,
I ambled with silent sorrow, 
emotions swirled like dislodged sands
in the tide of remote time when you were mine.

The transient trajectory of devoured desire
furrowed a blazing track of craving, 
I wished I could trail the shooting star, 
even if it faded away like the flicker of your love.

In the mesmeric firmament of fervor 
you blazed the trail of passion in my heart. 
In the configured horizon of longing
I desired to fly as a beguiled bird, 
for in my idyll thoughts I wished
you were my dream sky.

Time To Come And Go

Luminous lucent mind 
longingly mystique,
made of multi-facetted crystal
of gorgeous gem,
shines sublimely 
with translucent thoughts, 
glistened by soul-suffusing 
sensuous rays,
emanating from 
efflorescent fountain
of ebullient emotion
unrestrained. 

Clear of cluttering cloud
of secret qualm, 
diaphanous psyche
resolutely revolves 
in ordained orbit,
shines as a star  
in enlightened trajectory,
away from abyss 
of ambiguous angst
unrelenting.

The meadow of mind, 
clear of convoluted 
shadows of confusion,
glows in the transit 
of fleeting moments, 
latticed with luster
of desiccating dew drops
of passion perception,
sparkling with sequins 
of transient euphoria,
conveys with cadence
of evanescent radiance
the rational notion
undeniable....

everything has a time 
to come and go.

Woe Betide

Be wary of the ebb of tide
that strands your woes,
bone-dry up on the high dry side.
See how the winds of sorrow do blow.
Right over the mud flats of despair they go.
Desiccating all remnants of life,
that the flooding tide brought in.
Leaving only a trickle of fickle fate
to bleed back down in rivulets into the sea.
Woe betide the stench of mud exposed
wafting up to sting the nose.
Woe betide, the heart torn forlorn,
By sorrows deep, and sad burdens borne.
Oh, woe betide, the weary worn soul,
That struggles through life's endless toll.
Each step a stumble, each breath a sigh,
Strangling the hope out of dreams, that die.
So get back up, stand up straight and tall
in the muddy ooze beside yourself
and call the tide back in.

How Does the Soul Enter Heaven

In the wasteland of the deserted life,
chasing the mirage with desiccating desire,
I walk on the tormenting trail of strife,
suffering, I submerge in the sordid mire.

When dreams go down within the abyss of time,
the light of wisdom illumining the soul I see, 
attain the state of devout consciousness sublime,
harmonized with the divine sensitivity.

Released from the clasp of the karmic destiny,
I try to transcend the limits of time and space.
From the mortal being I strive to set my soul free, 
perpetual peace I yearn to embrace.

From the high pedestal of ego I alight,
understand the meaning of life I miss,
as I look within with the spiritual insight,
the portal opens to the sanctum of bliss.

I’ll see the pristine petals of my soul unfold, 
bloom like the divine lotus within, I’ll discern.
Its essence will enter heaven I’ll behold,
merge with the supreme, never to return.

_______________

February 2, 2023
Contest : How Does The Soul Enter Heaven
Sponsored by : Mystic Rose Rose

Design of Delusion

In the desert of my forlorn life,
across your desiccating dunes I wander
enticed by your volatile mindscape,
I rise from the dust in your swathe.

My longing languishes to be
in the shade of the oasis of your love,
in your arms, sheltered from desert storm,
away from dismal bleakness of wasteland. 

From the desolate tree of yearning 
I am a dislodged leaf of dream,
rustling with the melancholic tune,
on its journey to the depth of abyss.

I drift across the dunes of denial,
as the scorching sun smolders my desire, 
mirage on sands of time designs delusion,
breaks my heart, I shoulda seen it comin’.

_______________

February 1, 2023
Contest : I Shoulda Seen It Comin'
Sponsored by : John Lawless

The Promised Oasis

After broken dreams drowned in dolorous night
the nascent sun dawned the beckoning new day
in the desolate expanse of the desert wilderness
for the neophyte traveler set to cross dunes of life
that lay formidably flung far one after another
on the sheath of shifting sands of transient time.

The scorching waves of the desiccating wind surge
smolder the intuitive inhibition of marooned mind,
tired of hearing the bombast of obscure ambition,
trampled by the unsteady footsteps I feel flounder,
chasing the lecherous mirage of deceptive allure
along the twilight trail of providence undefined.

I won’t stop trudging till I reach the moonlit bliss
waiting for me in the niche of the promised oasis. 

June 2, 2019

You'Re Not Alone

YOU'RE NOT ALONE

You lose your way in the desiccating desert
where moving mirage in life is an illusive irony,
sandstorm scatters the shards of broken heart.
Look out, you’ll find the calm oasis in me.

In the opaque stormy night you’re a lone traveler, 
don’t see in the dark the end of the trail of agony.
In the horizon of hope waits the dawn not very far.
Look out, you’ll find the new sun in me.

In this lone line I tell you, you’re not lonely.

July 24, 2018.

A Second To Work

A Second to Work

With a hand that ostensibly 
Caresses a fingerboard and bow gently,

Yet really holds with force,
Holds with vim and plays with vigor
The strings stretch and impart their somber discordance,
Turns out Wagner tunes into self,
Turns on raw terror, awe and fear 
Awe with sorrow intermingled, the soul knows the notes no words can effect,
They tap the ear— touch the soul,
And Oh,
To play second fiddle
And fiddle with time, as the tune pours out, 
A cosmic symphony that Wagner knew and shared with you,
That Nietzsche wrote 
That I know, 
That to be second to
To know the seconds in time
Lost to frivolous pursuits 
To know that we have all but toil,
And work cursed to toil 
And labor eternal under a relentless desiccating sun

To know that love comes second,
to toil 
is the saddest condition of man.

Missing

Broken by the vultures on a desiccating line,
that slithered from Missing, on a road without the signs.

A motion for a moment caught the never-watching eyes.
They haven't seen Missing and no one heard the cries.

A shape begins to form over the rising of the vapor.
The one who takes life's missing and cuts them with a razor.

The apathetic townsfolk in this god-forbidden place,
refuse to sieze the moment and check Missing for a face.

As night begins to burn the shadows into open skies,
a light begins to scrape them off the ground where Missing lies.

It shined down on a missing face that's pasted on the windows.
A mark was from a razor and there's feathers from the pillows.

They've taken and emblazoned them and shapes begin to clear.
The shape that's in the vapor has a face that's full of fear.

Missing has been found but it has always been too late,
for anyone like Missing doesn't have the time to wait.

Tenderfoot

Sun Furnace desiccating.
Man and Beast moving,
In crazed circles of Corral Mirages
Seeking shade.
Moisture-less Sky and Land.
Buzzards, certain of,
Meat Jerky repasts. 
Timing air currents,
Until the Western Buffet
Is finally stocked.

Death's Door

caves of agony 
hold my captured force fed form 
weapons befriend and kill me
blood sport brings death's teeth
the desiccating sun burns
my short sword and shield hold sway

what care I for wealth
freedom but a word unclaimed
a surly jest made by God's
only through death freed
may Hades receive my hosts
coin less beggars to Charon* 
fodder for hells cages 

I as they will live
victim and victor dancing
savior and devil howl "nay!"
for winning means hell
scared gladiator rise again
your feathered helmet gleaming
victory or death


*Charon is the boat man who ferries the death to Hades/ Hell
but he will not cross your soul without being paid.

Lanza Del Relampago

Lanza Del Relampago,
Feel from the sky on the wings of a crow.
Desiccating the dismayed spring,
And Illuminating.
Me on my cheerless lies,
And darkened eyes.
For evermore it is overlapping in crimson tears,
With an un-blissful joy that no one can bear.
For feelings left unsaid,
Is a sin that no mortal should thread.

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