Water: Water the settling water
there often after rain
it settles here
it stay moistest here
in the vclearing
is there water here
is there water here
we shall excavate to see
there it is water
like we thought
the gallons per minute
ratio is astounding
murky these water due
to it's need of filtering
a plastic culvert with
a goetextile or silt fence
wrap with large hole drilled in
to filter the poluutates and undesirable sediment
oh clear ye the water
a halluelia in victory
clar ye these springs
water water you and me
a submersible pump and airtank system
with bring these waters to us
praise ye
praiuse ye
water;water
praise ye!
He served as a catalyst
for my poetic mood
and experimental dimensions
in silent rendering,
with an itch for art forms
be it the appetite
the nectar of a poet
My endeavor to articulate excels
far beyond my perceived horizons
alas jump-starting my muses
heretofore dormant a bit,
stirring me to excavate
a font of ideas
and accelerate with eagerness
to burst forth
from mind onto page
unfurling with words
hidden beneath my tongue
that once alluded me,
I stitch the unsaid into form
before our intuitive tryst,
a better mentor I could not
have hoped for;
British, artist, wordsmith, & troubadour
of empirical and
nostalgic emphasis
With pleasure I dive deep
into linguistic lure,
definitions and display
composing in a harmonious dance
lyrics into wordplay
I breathe life into symbols
older than memory
If ever there was a lauded semantic
who rises like a sentient sign
in a moments demand
stark sensationalist,
quiet, yet quite quizzical
It’s Brian Strand
In the museum of my kitchen,
I excavate the strata of days,
coffee rings on the counter like tree rings,
each circle marking a morning survived.
The clock on the wall is a liar,
pretending its hands move forward
when really they spiral inward,
tightening like a fist around memory.
I find artifacts everywhere:
a receipt from three years ago,
a shopping list in handwriting
I recognize but can no longer claim as mine.
Time doesn't pass, it accumulates.
It settles like dust in corners,
builds up like plaque on teeth,
layers itself like sediment in stone.
Yesterday exists in geological time:
compressed, fossilized, permanent.
Tomorrow is still vapor, still forming
in the atmosphere above my head.
But today?
Today is the thin line
where excavation meets deposition,
where what I've been becomes
what I'm busy burying.
I am both archaeologist and artefact,
both the digger and the dug,
slowly revealing myself to myself
one careful brushstroke at a time.
I take words from your mouth and use them as my
own. I dig and I excavate. I burrow and I exhume. Last
week's joke and yesterday's anecdote become my show-
and-tell tomorrow. You sigh, I inhale. You stutter, I catch
diamonds in the rough. A safety net under trapeze. I sift
for the gold you toss aside. My roadmap, your breadcrumbs.
(center)Visions grow
out of our imaginations like vines.
We want to excavate a bare-knuckled past
with the jaw bones of concussed elks.
A cold moonlight carves them still.
They are the blunt teeth of a low wailing sky,
the works of a hand-crushed faith
far beyond the ken,
of we curious and depthless delvers.
We who stand now non-plussed,
our minds turned around
these mute megaliths
as if we were stone thoughts
upon a grinding lathe
searching
for any distant sense
of - why
while myopically questioning
the source of our
softly rooted selves.(center)
An ancient mariner,
I’m sailing for ages
across the ebony edge
of the tranquil night,
while the storm clouds surge
with the thunders of strife,
splinter my sky of yearning motif.
With the debris of despair
the shards of my broken heart
drift with the cobalt waves
toward the fervent shore of hope,
where my sanguine senses shimmer
with the cadence of silver sunshine.
The sands of time polish
the fragments of the sunk memory,
flatten the angularities of remorse,
turning these into sea glass like the stars,
sprouting one by one
as astral emerald and sapphire.
Adorning the luster of your grace,
they shine on the shadow of the past,
retrieved from the sea of melancholy.
In the lilac light of the setting sun,
each time the tide of turmoil ebbs out,
I excavate the stack of time,
search for the treasure moments
of the frosted fragments of memory.
________
It's a lingering mystery
What people are going through.
Everyday, we meet wounded, fragile souls
Who conceal sadness with smiles.
They've wrapped barricades around their glass hearts,
Stamped with a "No Tresspass" sign.
If we're patient enough,
They'll let us through with time.
With gentle hearts
And mindful eyes,
We watch out, reach out
And touch these broken and wounded folks.
We let them know they're not invisible,
That we see them, and hear them;
We show them that we care.
Just one big hug is enough
To lift their despondent spirits
And usher in bright rays of sunshine
Into their gloomy existence.
We meet so many
With bleeding wounds we'll never see
Without delving much deeper.
There's nothing wrong with asking
"Are you okay?"...
To excavate deeply buried catharsis,
To release withheld floodgates of pain.
With gentle hearts
And mindful eyes,
We take care of ourselves
And one another.
soon to bid
another farewell, yet,
you've already unearthed
a smidge of sad longing
buried too deep within
to excavate.
as our sizeable distance
kept stretching apart like a rubberband,
first came
your reassuring smile
when you
turned your head
to look at me one last time,
and with that smile -
before slipping out of sight -
a careful aim
directly at the center
of my heart;
just one wink.
ah, so you knew it was
precisely what I needed?
it's torturous
watching you depart;
with a piece of heaven
to cling to...
gently,
gently,
ever so gently,
you pull me back from
the precipice of melancholy.
I take an early morning peek
Out my window;
Beauty abound yonder!
Spring flowers still bloom
In vibrant colors.
I see trees of emerald green
Swaying in the silken breeze.
Chickadees chirp mellifluous melodies.
The apricot Sun is shining in
From my drawn bedroom curtain.
I hear nature's enticing cries of
"Come to me...come to me!"
She's waiting to embrace me
With her arms outstretched.
She's nudging me outdoors
To discover more treasures
In plain sight, some she buried
For me to excavate.
There's so much to explore;
The possibilities are infinite.
rage great
freedom wrong
just wait
love makes no difference
sedate strong
people
excavate earth
under steeple
mayhem ignore
drink mirth
here two cents
strangle birth
tell poor
save money
buy cheap
dark sunny
hard work
never sleep
no such perk
tame lust
virtue secure
top tax cut
bottom tax must
all manure
war backed
mammon
manipulated
usury driven
hope destroying
fear maintaining
political economy
just reality
with much sweet sorrow
had to pay for the cargo
will have to borrow
wind in big bluster
they could be in a cluster
flowers with luster
could be thrown in clink
to buy a coat made of mink
would steal kitchen sink
cal
for me to abort
current system sold me short
will see you in court
will have to adept
on the subject we had slept
when we were inept
we had much humor
when we started a rumor
cancer in tumor
cute cuticle
cord which was imbilical
evangelical
had been born again
we never knew where or when
they were free from sin
had to excavate
with sin world would satiate
was found full of hate
History, forgotten element of man`s life
Adage of forgiving and forgetting
Messing and proceeding on the solemn assembly
Expunging and blotting life-long terribly
but carefully committed and covered-up tracks.
If at all the inanimate had ears and eyes
We would all be at ransom for our lives
If mistakes could be made up and rounded
up to significance of our lives
humanity would erode to miniature
weeping and shrilling at thoughtless and
careless indulgence
Swoon and sulking thoughts convergence
would lead to no hope
Thanks to nimble of days
For with each that passes, history is made
A shun to excavate stone age
Quite momentous to delve in space age.
The world is broken,
So Am I,
Bleeding grief ,
Through cracks of Mosaic.
It wasn't aliens,
Who plunged the sword,
Scouring the substrates,
To excavate their rewards ,
The were my own,
Love and bones,
Who I could not bear anymore ,
So I close my eyes close.
But the pain still lingers,
From surface to soil,
So should I dread the grudge ,
And agitate the turmoil?
Or
Should I lay,
As calmless as I?
Or
Should I bleed,
Till the cold death clutches
My soul?
As I watch them meet their fate,
As they destroy a shelter of their own.
Play hard,
the toothless bandits are at it again.
they have no teeth,
yet bite the hardest.
serial larcenists,
squelching through town,
robbing the honey,
subverting the hives.
at gunpoint,
they silence us.
we play hard,
they play even harder.
in the tripod of power,
they're revered highly.
'distinguished' and 'honourable,'
titles that enable them.
they excavate,
the remains of our land,
stripping us of all,
leaving us bereft of hope.
this toothless bandits,
in this rocky shores,
have hearts dead to pity.
Coffee shops bloom into aroma.
New York City
spew on the sidewalk.
This day Lord if you care;
in the timpani of each mind
thunder your long bong songs.
Bless the rats in their
dank hid-ey-holes
bless the thrice gnawed pizza.
Thunder sweetly
in the pidgins throat,
forgive us our lox & bagels
and let the dawn excavate us
from the weed soaked
down-town funk.
Lord, if you care
and if that `care'
is You in us
then let the Big Apple
be newborn
and not maggoty.
Not a place of filth
and fading beauty,
but each of us
a lamp in a city of lights,
and dear Lord,
please turn us on.
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