A
bed
session
where needles
conduct sleepy sounds
for a blanket tickled hedgehog’s
back spikes brushed off by tissue, tucked into tum by towel
drying up, with sleepy sounds, worries about boot spikes puncturing Hedgehog like they puncture hard ground.
She loves it unkind; ways much unlike her.
He wishes it rough; thoughts never of him.
He likes the ways she treated him defer,
She draws the view he should see via eyes whim-
Like the sun penetrates the skin deep down
Without a tear though harsh, yet never frown...
Such rough ways mirror -
Lewd quest words can't draw nearer;
But mind grows severe...
Echoes of his presence become her song...
Whispers of her voice stretches his heartbeats...
He is yet to take her where stirs belong,
She is ever ready to stage his treats.
Like petals spreads its bud for Sun's embrace
Without fear of drying up or be deface-
Such treats maps sea;
Love be drown like detainee,
When need found is key!
Summer like an eagle has swooped down
Under its tearing claws, the Earth shrieks and groans
Days and nights breathe out the stench of dribbling sweat.
Roads rage and roofs steam like an overly heated pan.
The midday Sun flares right overhead,
Spitting fumes and fire all around.
The Earth lies scorched under its burning breath.
An oven pre heated, hot enough to grill and bake.
Rivers and streams pant in wild unrest
Canals and cisterns lie distraught
Dry leaves in whirlwind swirl around.
Fallowed lands yawn with mouths wide agape
From the woods, rise coils of sooty smoke,
As the dried undergrowth burns in the forest fire,
Sucking the last vestiges of grass and green.
The flames of fire dance in wild ecstasy.
Alas! The self same summer has barged into me
Burning outright all my unsung songs.
In my ears, echo the rustle of dried up thoughts,
Which waggle round me like disembodied spirits.
How I lament the loss of my lovely rhymes,
As the ink in my pen also is drying up.
Oh! I wish it were moistened by the waters of Helicon
And like a stream, trickle down into the paper I hold!
Each night after the evening meal
there was never a discussion
as to who would wash the dishes
and who would do the drying up.
My mother was the washer,
my sister and I did the drying up.
Hot steam would rise from the sink
before plates were plunged
deep in foam and scrubbed
with a brush - we would wait,
tea towel in hand to pounce
on the first plates to come out,
rinsed and white -
dishes were easier to dry
than heavy pots
and fiddly knives and forks.
It was a time for talk, for laughs
and sometimes snuffled back tears -
everyday life lived within the space
of our touching elbows.
I can still feel the tea towel
in my hand wet and warm
with those blessed memories.
Seventy years on, I bend down
and load the racks of a dishwasher
with soiled tableware from
the evening meal. Its quiet whirr
will fill the winter silence
and play a soulless ditty when
the washing and drying up
is done.
It rained all through noon
clouds rushing so low
could be caught by hand
Green pasture I stood on
looked like drying-up river
with no way to return home
had to spend my night with the moon
Clouds rushed away
as to catch another place
that very second marking
round moon with colorful
ring tinted blue, tinted grey
A rare cloud passing -
caressed Wavy bangs on heavenly face
Lying down supine
on a wet mound with
snarling chill wind, earthly
humid air, fear tingling feet,
heart bleating like lost sheep
I etched that day’s full moon
within me in indelible silver ink
Floating from the ground below,
Vapored water wispy, slow.
Up it trickles, lightly drawn,
To form a cloud above the lawn.
There it sits, awaiting more,
Till it’s full and ready to pour.
It’s color gray, it starts to quiver,
Until out the water trickles.
Harder, harder, more and more,
Until you have a great downpour!
Slowly, slowly, ending rain,
The cloud is peaceful yet again.
Its water gone, it starts to shrink,
Till there’s nothing left to shrink.
Out the sun comes, drying up,
All the water on the ground,
And the process starts again,
Up, cloud, rain, again.
The sun rose in the sky.
Day temperature was rising.
All noise stopped.
The wind started to stop.
The intensity of the sun spread around.
The streets were empty.
The leaves of some trees were shaking.
Excluding warm air from the south .
The sun was burning in his heart.
Body almost burnt The river pond was drying up.
The day was hot All the animals returned home.
Morning passed and noon came.
i drew
my bedroom curtain
this morn' and scanned
the outside world
for inspiration.
i'm stymied by writer's block,
yet I bruise
blank papers with my pen
to craft the extraordinary
out of the ordinary.
my poetic ink
is drying up, yet I feel
this gnawing yen
to keep scribbling,
to keep taking
the overlooked in nature
and beautifying it;
a leaf,
a pebble,
a crack here,
an aperture there.
i look for inspiration
close to, or confined
within my home,
worthwhile moments,
sounds,
emotions
that still gift
my imagination
wings to soar.
Extreme temperatures,
Melting of glaciers,
Rising sea level,
Wildfires,
Forests' obliteration,
Droughts,
Drying up of lakes and rivers,
Desertification,
Hurricanes,
Storms,
Flooding, and
Landslides,
Is the vocabulary Mother Nature uses to
Pen its stern warning to Man:
" Oh, you thoughtless being, mind your ways and revere
my eternal laws of harmonious cooperation and coexistence,
otherwise, I would not be able to provide for your subsistence."
-
© Demetrios Trifiatis
26 July 2023
-
For more than two weeks, the temperatures in Greece have been around
40 Celsius, sometimes, like today, it is 45.
During this period, wildfires are raging across the country. It comes on a day that
Our firefighters are trying to contain more than eighty fires.
-
At first sight, I miss God,
When I think of my father,
Of the primroses in bloom,
When I feed the blinding sun,
Drying up, all the rivers.
I miss God,
When I don’t understand
The purity of the azure,
When I repeat words
In a foreign language,
I miss God,
When I go to Cavale Blanche Hospital,
That I hear screams,
Of suffering persons
Or mad of love?
I miss God
When I write poems,
That no one says,
For friends, or fairies,
In bombed churches
I miss God,
When I walked in Bordeaux,
Without knowing you,
Without being able to count on him,
On the merry ghosts,
I miss God
When I see the bee again
Wasting time on the flower,
When I forget Sevastopol,
Marilyne, and Bernadette.
At first sight, I miss God,
When I leave Tuscany,
When I ask Eluard, Picasso,
Or see the swallows in a hurry
Run away from my country.
Dream on, don't stop
for your reality is in shatters.
Your life has lost its essence,
There’s no logical fluidity in your actions,
so just dream on, don't stop,
your misery will soon end:
aren't your dreams so luminescence?
And just to help you on, my friend
I have just what you might need,
you only have to choose, my dear,
for now, it's only a free deed.
See your tears are drying up,
your body's tremors stop.
Would you like some strong valerian?
Sniff my white intoxicating powders,
sleep like a crafty grown-up,
and dream like an uncouth Iberian?
I have all your answers, pal.
Soon you'll depend on me.
(Oh how I hate your youth!)
I'll give you dreams galore, scum,
Provided on payment we agree.
Hottest month, the roads are dust
Gardens are drying up from drought
I’m talking about this 2022 August
Sun beating down with a heavy clout
Mercury thermometer’s about to bust!
August is the hottest ever on record
Global warming is undisputedly real
The U.S.’d better join the Paris Accord
Despite what conspiracists may feel
The world must sound a unified chord
Written August 6, 2022
Life's Water
Midst the scorching heat of the sun
Lots of day’s work, still left undone
Profuse sweating never consoles
Life’s water, hear my urgent call
My throat has sore at drying up
Seems bringing me a big mishap
I need you badly fresh and cool
Life’s water, hear my urgent call
My plants are dying, less flowers
Dried leaves on the ground are towers
I’m so desperate like a fool
Life’s water, hear my urgent call
My life too - seems drained and empty
Nourishment I then asked to Thee
God has cleaned and quenched my parched soul
Life’s water heard my urgent call
Aug 6, 2022 9.28 am
PS Syllable Counter
Syllables Per Line: 8 8 8 8 0 8 8 8 8 0 8 8 8 8 0 8 8 8 8 0 8 8 8 8
Total # Syllables: 160
Note: So hot here in my place. Seldom cools/rains. If it rains, still hot :))
John 4:13-14 Jesus answered and said unto her, Whosoever drinketh of this water shall thirst again: But whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life.
The branching trees stand straight in evergreen forest
On the canopy clouds torn from the sky come to rest.
Moist leaves will get luster from morning sunrays soon
After the dust is washed by the night rains of monsoon.
Humankind spreads like forest in clustered population
Vibrantly nurturing the tenets of diverse civilization.
People prospered sharing the earth’s common resources
Developed kinship and trust as parts of survival process.
If the rains don’t come for some years as they should
The forest soil dries and the trees soon become wood.
Hit so hard by the current trying times people are busy
To find ways to merely survive for life is no longer easy.
Soil of humane feeling called kindness is drying up fast
The touch of empathy in desiccated hearts doesn’t last.
Life has turned into stagnant river, it doesn’t flow free
In felled forest people become soulless defoliated trees.
In vortex of turbulent time emotions dry, don’t ripple
Humanity is morphing into museum of wooden people.
July 25, 2022
A Brian Strand Premere Choice Contest
whizzing through the grass
with sun and wind in her hair -
unique vehicle
world's rivers are drying up
watermelon quenches thirst
10.07.2022
Tanka - 5-7-5-7-7
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
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