Gully Poems | Examples

Southwest

It was a soft rain -- yes, I stated soft,
for rain has many texture -- some even
color.  Imagine a spectrum-brush dragged 
across a well wetted, primed sky, which 
muted technical, dully call~ a Rainbow. 

It was a long anticipated rain:
Saguaro Sentinels weary, dryly
on guard -- bristled their natural pins and needles

A night, of many, thirsty
dark folds, imbibing deeply:
Desert craving saturation -- 

Just beyond the dawn tomorrow
if not for some minor residue dew
the blessing will again be entirely gone -- 
witness the browning green hint of 
a brief gully front lawn --

Cloudburst

Cloudburst, furious flood

Damaging drains, soiled soil

Erosion, gully, death.

Boiling mad torrent

Sweeping, digging, dragging.

All unto the stage 

where the earth 

swallowed the hearth

Leaving in its wake a dearth 

of life.

 

Turbulence in the Ocean

from the macabre 

dance of debris and dirt

Burying the rock in the muck.

 

Yet amid the chaos

a new life begins

with passion and pain.

 

Culled from "Echoes of the Savannah" © Makinde Adebayo ADENIYI, 2024

Reverse Osmosis of Life

(“Corpus Callosum”, 2017, original encaustic)

Reverse Osmosis of Life

It’s a two way street
The way reality exists
Divided into truth on one side
And illusion’s delusions the other,
And yet the most fascinating aspect
Is the membrane that exists between the two
A membrane of I don’t know what,
But which I’m sure the ancients had a name for,
Which divides, insulates and yet connects 
And filters through cosmic osmosis
The personal and transpersonal,
Or you could say the mortal and immortal.

Sometimes I can feel the membrane at work
Seeing it even just beyond the limits of my mind’s eye
Knowing what it’s doing
As it transpires
Because I am in fact on both sides simultaneously
At least to some degree.
Everything after all is an extension 
And expression of Life,
You, me, us,
In whatever forms it finds us
From refined and subtle to coarse and gross.

The other night I dreamt of being a bridge
Not a figurative one, but literally
An object with girders and cross members
Able to span a stream or gully.
It didn’t surprise me, just intrigue me
That the creative nature of the Mind
Is what it is
And in fact, is all there is.

(8/18/25)

frog lies to lily pad

The lily pad wanted to see some snow
She needed to travel, but where to go?
The mouth of the river had things to say
Beyond the green bridge, that is the way….

She was open to suggestions, of course.
A daughter of Zeus, niece of Thor, king of Norse
Pink sponge floated by and sprinkled on her ash
She jumped a bit, when a canoe gave a crash.

Scratch and scritch a path through the rubble
It is March, so you will not want any trouble
Or you will kill any outside chance
To cross the gully to play and dance

The lily pad listened to the frog named Paint
His eyes could pierce her soul, he liked her quaint
I want to see snow, she confided to this green man.
I am sure you can, he lied. I am sure you can.

Lyrebirds

A short walk from the road
you are deep in forest. 
Tall mountain ash form 
pillars that hold up space 
and keep a cathedral 
of shade within its walls.
High overhead, a canopy
of leaves curtain the sky 
in prayerful whispers.

Tree ferns crowd a gully
where fallen giants bridge
a creek carrying a trickle
of mountain tears. 
You keep your silence
not wanting to intrude
on another's grief.

Sometimes you can hear
lyrebirds perform their repertoire 
of mimic song. One, they say,
can copy the sound
of a chain saw, another, 
the long drawn out whine
of a siren as it races
towards a fire.

Ninny Nonny Noose

ninny nonny noose
     with a neck inside

stretchy stretchy stretch
     and the witch she died

golly, gallows in a gully
hanging hung in such a hurry

spell a spell a spell did she
with a bucket boiling full of tea

with which the witch survived
     never never died

ninny nonny noose
     no neck inside!

A Missouri Heaven

When the full moon rises,
and the stars start to glow.
Down to that old creek bank,
is where I like to go.

A few leaves still hanging,
shaking in the breeze.
Holding on for dear life 
to them persimmon trees.

Out across the gully,
other side of the bridge.
Coon hounds hot on a trail,
just over the next ridge.

Surrounded by nature,
I am filled with delight.
Deep in these Ozark woods,
on moonlit winter nights.

A cool wind a blowing,
winter’s flurries around.
The only sound to hear,
the bawling of a hound.

Down to that old creek bank,
Is where I like to go.
When the full moon rises, 
and the stars start to glow.

In the Daze of the Dance Craze

   I’d never seen a Fox Trot
      nor a Jittery Bug
   Though whenever I’d Twist
      in agony I’d Shout

   But when a Hully became a Gully
     and Monsters like Potatoes were Mashed
   This Jerk got on his Pony ~
     and Loco Motioned those Stoned Phonies

Tally of Rally Vacated in Valley

tally of real rally
had been vacated in valley
submerged by sally

(evaporated in valley)
(a vagrant ((virgin)) in valley)
(very variable vaunting veracity vibrantly voiced in valley)
(got eaten in gally)
(took God for granted in galley)
(has a lot of gall by gully) 
(murdered in Mali)
(was sort of smelly)
(would have big belly when in valley

blood of poem runs thin
were great after they had been
famous and free from sin voiced

what I have believed
a great Horn poem you received
now I am relieved 

latest and greatest
read Horn Haiku would suggest
have won a contest

he had been haughty
should see her beautiful body
news would be naughty

when we persevere
have a great happy new year
wish you had been here

incorrectly would do steer
my bad news will appear
car was not in gear

Do have a horrendous Horn Haiku
humorous numerous happy day on
display while I will plan to play and
start to pray

Farming

Some things are a given
When you work upon the land
You can always guarantee 
Things will not go to plan

The minute you're in charge 
And everyone has gone away
A problem will crop up 
Promptly ruining your day 

You go out to see the cattle 
Checking their welfare 
And find the electric fence is off 
And the paddock is now bare 

Have they gone down in the bush?
No the problem is worse, of course 
They're over at the neighbours - 
Up a gully in the bloody gorse

The Gay Leopard

I love flowers he told his mama,
Shh! She said, you know the llama!
The llama was the biggest gossip around.
She would soon have this admission all over town.

Leopards are not supposed to like flowers Mama said.
Admitting this might land you upside down on your head.
Worse, it might land you down in a gully, practically dead.
Do not tell anyone your feelings about this, his Mama said.

But mama, it is how I feel, the leopard replied.
How can I hold my feelings all down deep inside?
Just keep this one silent, until you get a bride.
I do not want one of those either, he promptly replied.

Land of Worry

Give me a keg of palmwine
That I may drink to my demise

For to die is gain and to live is pain
In a land not sorry for our worry
Like a toddler cruising in a lorry

Our lords sailing on the yacht 
Driven by the waves of poverty 
Gulping glasses of champagne 
Squashed from the grapes of agony

Lords eating fried lies and check-ins
While we ride on a trolley down a bumpy gully
To shatter our broken piece to bit pieces

©®
Ishmael Ogbechie 
Portharcourt

The Road Through

The road cut through
a deep gully of trees that
stood tall, 300 ft. or more,
and let no sunlight 
fall except a dark, filtered
shade, never drying the damp
dripped down from a thick,
canopy of leaves.

Ferns grew in the spaces
between trees and smothered
the understory in a green
sway of fronds and dank smells
of forrest rot and gave home
to armies of creatures 
with unpronounceable names
who's features were hammered
out in the factories 
of horror.

The shoulder was too narrow
for a traveler to stop 
and take in a view
and on one side
a drop deep enough to swallow
a car and so drove haste 
and a pressing unease
to quickly pass through 
this gullet of the prehistoric 
and into the clear
careful not to wake 
what was sleeping there
in the caves of human fear.

How Does the Soul Enter Heaven

When my time on earth is done I will turn to shards of light 
like the sun that sparkles bright at the edge of night,  
I will leave this place and fly like an eagle out of sight; 

When the hourglass of life has poured out every grain 
I'll depart like fading grass despite the falling rain;  
for the existence of a life span is just a tiny stain;  

When my Father calls me home to that golden astrodome 
my immortal soul will praise Him as I say goodbye to Rome.  
I will join the angel's den and never be alone 

When my time on earth is done I will soar inside blue skies  
to the gully of God's  wonder where the eagles never die 
by the couloir of my heart, in the canyon of my soul's surmise.  

January 31, 2023 

Example for my contest :)

Bearing Darkness

Past the bold line, faces are eerie shadows,
identified by the calm surf on flat sand.
Or we can view the ship's lights from the land,
similar to roving elf blazes, but much narrow.

I can observe clearly even in this light,
A gully arises in response to your desire.
Between these two, the dry, barren mire,
There are caged eyes and unfurled sight.

Massive clouds loom over the coast,
A quiet night in the water was dark and still.
Save where the echoing roar may thrill,
Dull waves folding at a stern foot inmost.

Written: November 22, 2022

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