Dry Poems

DRY

Written: September 1st, 2025, for Brian Strand Contest

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Dust lingers where blossoms once bloomed
Remnants of warmth fade into wind
Yesterday’s green curls into gold

Dry the sky

What have we done to our great Earth?
Why do we steal the sun to make life for some much, much worse?
Why do we dry the sky and watch our crops fail? 
Why do we laugh it off and blame God’s ways?

What have we done to make it right?
Too little, too late is how we fight?
Fight

She’s No Longer Dry - bawdy limerick warning

My auntie, who was on vacation
Was lusting for fast fornication
She met a well-hung guy
But her foo-foo’s too dry
She blurted, “It needs lubrication!”

The fella, whose first name was Dick
Said, “Stay put. I’ll be back real quick
I’ll purchase sticky Jell-O
‘Twill turn your foof bright yellow
But ensures my entry is slick!"

The Jell-O lube worked really well
Dick satisfied my

A Plea to the Dry Guys

Moving like moonlight
I am the OG silver surfer
Fleshwalkers, Dry Guys, Land Livers,
Have been around for, 
What, 300,000 years?
Try 20 million years.

We eat stingrays.
Literally. For breakfast.
I have a 360 degree field of vision.
What's directly in front of me?
Don't ask.

Listen, Humanoids,
I'm delivering this plea
To your nearest post office.
Luckily I found a stamp
With my photo on it.

The plea

Dry Spells

Dry Spells 

There’s no action in the living room, no action in the kitchen, and no action in the bathroom. So, let’s be clear about the bedroom: keep your expectations realistic, nothing is going to happen.

Dry Cough

'Ridiculous'
  Is In The Craw
   Of The:
     Behold!
        The Ridicular!

Empty, 
 Wasted,
  Un-Enlightened
   Layers Of
     Fabricated 
        Settle-Ment.

-Gray Squirrel

06-30-2025

The Dry Tear

The sandman moved to the corner as I eyed him. The pain creased, and sheared my attention. Pain would shoot blanks at my head. Running would only excite the strange feeling of being followed but not contacted. I touch my memory and cut my finger, blood covers dry tears. My lip curls, quivers, and then

Before The Ink Runs Dry

Before The Ink Runs Dry 
Am I A Poet? 
I have written #800 poems. 
I thought I was an artist. 
Creative illustrations. 
Creative writings. 
Changes passed the horizon. 
I can’t see everything in front of me. 
A new chapter moving forward. 
We are writers. 
Deep thinkers. 
Until the ink runs dry. 
Always a pen in

When abandon runs dry

For the Contest: Abandon
Sponsor: Constance La France
Written 20.05.2025

To live with abandon is to spend your soul as if the tab will never come, but it always does – by unknown

When abandon runs dry

He spent money with merry abandon,
Like laughter thrown into the wind.
Tossed akin to confetti in events of fleeting joy.
He kept no tabs, no

Rye Flower Dance

Seclusion forms into a mountain, 
Practice acceptance of my reflection, 
Eye contact with the water of a fountain. 
Time refuses to push forward if you stop counting, 
Acting seconds out loud, 
Life can never falter if I’ve got nothing to amount to. 

I’m trying to make sense of the seasons, 
Claimants of my portions try

if the sea ran dry

if the sea ran dry
every soul would know it
die; then be noticed

Dry Logs Redden and Snap;

Dry logs redden and snap;
   The fire is soon impressive.
The wolf moon takes better shape
   As night begins to settle in.

I watch the conflagration spike;
   A spark flies off, then others
Like the universe had coaxed them
   To become one of the stars.

Dry Land

In sixty-five and half years been
Lock-in love with you again
And again, our marriage soft-land
Dreamland at times and times dryland 
Those Valentines' gifts counterpoise
Disclose your feelings and expose
Your desire to not reinsure
Anymore your love for me, bore    

Dry Oasis

A flood, my loyal eyes disobeyed me
Tears like fractured glass betrayed me,
Stabbed my face, into a dry oasis,
My body, overthrown by the love of you,
Yet my soul, still untouched by your rain…

Untitled

dry dirt road-car coughs and sputters

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