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
A mental landscape of shifting sand dunes.
an intimation that something may be worth writing,
A scrabbling creature crawls bedraggled out from
a saturated darkness.
A Scarab beetles shadow takes hesitant form.
Watch as words ripple above infertile ground,
see how serpentine they flow.
Yet another poem about Creation is arriving.
Adam is sewing pants out of banana leaf's
for Eve.
The young man is jealously aware,
that the googly-eyed monkeys
are eyeing her nubile libido.
Early days in the Garden; Eve is making
mud cakes, they have yet to figure out
how to eat manna.
The scarab beetle, has resorted
to scratching hieroglyphics,
for words alone are no going to complete,
this arid revelation.
Something may be worth,
transcribing - maybe.
Perhaps this envisioning
will find fresh water in a dry place.
The white page has a blank face for a reason.
I'm here looking at the sky,
cultivating the sun on my skin...
in inspiration
asking for rain,
waiting with faith,
the rain falls...!
If the rain comes,
I want to soak
along with the drying of the ground...
If the rain comes,
if i receive such a blessing,
so much consideration...
Here I will stay
here I will plant
my generation...
Our Dry land, dry lives
non-existent spring
yet the cactus blooms...
Backwoods, cracked dry land
yet exists spring time blooming...
wild cactus flowers
If there was a someone,
An island upon which to rest,
I'd beach myself so gladly,
From this ocean I detest,
Be my refuge from the tides,
They drag me under often,
I wish to wake upon dry land,
Marooned at daylight's dawning.
If your arms are my salvation,
I'll shipwreck this drowning heart,
Be glad to wade through waves,
To make a brand new start,
There has to be a sand bar,
Upon which I'll stand and view,
Much better things to come,
I only pray those things mean you.
The veins in the leaf are molecules that transport water along with sugar - you say where, to the brain, to what, the nuclease of what the plant is, what?
The soil is only so deep, large trees dig deep, small flowers don't have the capacity.
There is a dichotomy, there is a richness, a beauty, a world in the mechanism of the plant life that surrounds everyone.
Everyday you see the birds, the ground squirrels, the ants and spiders, the
milkweed butterfly, the cloud in the sky, the rows of corn, the sheep and the goat, the cow, and the chick, fish, and the wheat,
but there is more.
The flowers, the clay, the bare Earth from water that filters down through.
People do not talk, at least not enough as history shows quite clearly
That is what I think.
I am not blaming the next, I never had before believed
that the solution would be left up to the few
but if you would, please take the pulse of the leaf each year,
just place a leaf down and push a crayon over it in order to show
it's imprint. Just do it as a simple experiment on your own.
Please.
Feet on dry land, breathing fresh air,
Fire and water entwine
Behold how love with love does pair
Bliss pulsations divine
Everywhere grace abounds
Within, Ohm gong resounds
As each life breath astounds
God’s candle stand
Feet on dry land
12-July-2022
Quietus
The Lake Side Church
David J Walker
The Lake Side Church reminds me
That Jesus walked on water
Jesus fed fish to the
Uncounted multitudes
Jesus calling out to Peter
and his brothers
to abandon their boats and nets
and follow Him
The Lake Side Church reminds me
God separated the
Waters from the dry lands
in the same way
He parted ways
with the lights of the
nights and days
And created the
Woman from the man
In the dry dust on hand
made in various colors of clays
The Lake Side Church reminds me
That Noah build an Ark on dry land
And no person would understand
The parade of animals who did
The Lake Side Church held
Saturday picnics on
Namesake shores
People dressed in white
In boats without oars
Begging to be baptized
Before the Rapture that
Could come any day
At the end of the day
as the large orange orb
sank into the distance
a misty pink glow
sat upon the western sky
in the stillness of the evening
where not even a whisper of wind
dared break the silence
the oppressive heat of the day
had slowly dissipated
as dusk settled cooling
the baked ground
the summer heat blanched
the grass, flowers and shrubs
wilted they hungered with thirst
clinging with hope for rain
looking to the skies with promise
a few clouds had drifted in
giving little hope to the thirsty land.
"A STARFISH ON DRY LAND"
she’s filled in the empty
space of my bed.
she’s just given me all of
her pain as she rests her
head on my chest.
she’s here.
her hair is curled and full
of the love she thought was
gone.
in a few minutes, I’ll kiss
her goodnight and we’ll be
one again.
typewriters last and the
owls fly tonight.
I hear the silence of our
youth weeping in the chains
that have been broken.
what took you two so long?
our lips touch.
our hands meet.
our eyes close.
goodnight, my dear,
goodnight.
By: Chicano Eddie
Sorrow drowns on dry land
Standing at a distance,
staring at staggered lines
on a rock face outcropping
buried deep beneath
an ancient rose garden
Corroded iron bars
chained and bolted,
left for dead as brittle petals
find a funnel cloud forming
and dance in a whirlwind mosaic
Disguised bold lettering
of forgotten fonts curl and peel
as bark from a crying birch tree
waits for spring
so it can start anew
Sunlight smears blue sky dreams
in finger paint colors
designing the moment
in portraits of a heart – this heart
basking in your glow
And as your smile approaches
the earth rejoices, pine tree party hats,
hibiscus streamers wave
as a happy ending reigns
at the conclusion of this poem –
with the deceptive title
Searching through the memories lost deep within my heart.
Of someone I no longer know that long ago did part.
The mornings gathered years of dust.
As the future I no longer trust.
Embracing tides that washed away.
That dust that gathered in the day.
Left empty slates to start anew.
But emptiness is all that grew.
Another page of lost horizons on an empty sea.
Where faded hues of daily blues continue inside me.
Weathered and forgotten in a voyage all alone.
The search for love inside a heart of someone that's unknown.
The curtains made of paper lace.
Uncertain shades we try to trace.
So quick to change in daily light.
As we try to win this losing fight.
A long goodbye as time moves on.
To catch up with a renewed dawn.
As Angels guide us to our moors.
To help us through these unknown doors.
Please don’t rock the boat as you have before.
It is an awfully long swim to shore.
Our boat has gone out with the last tide.
I would like to get safely to the other side.
The wind has caught our sails as we are moving along.
If we stay afloat, then we can do no wrong.
I will not rest until our vessel reaches the sand.
There is something I won’t deny: I prefer dry land.
Sorrows of a dry land
Where hunger and thirst
Have no end
The heat on winter
Doesn’t get better but hotter
People don’t drink
But rather miss water
Plants keep dying
But non keep growing
Rivers keep drying
With no rain to keep flowing
Birds and animals die
And get melted by the heat
Worms don’t feed
But swim in their meat
People grow thin
Having nothing to eat
The land get shaved
Into a wide bald field
Ruthless winds come
With no trees to shield
People lose some
If not all of their property
And the road is paved
For the merciless poverty
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