Long Backwaters Poems
Long Backwaters Poems. Below are the most popular long Backwaters by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Backwaters poems by poem length and keyword.
I offered up my wings several times
to lift you over the raging ego-licked fires.
But you chose to be a tumbleweed
in a dusty ghost town called your life...
Everything I've loved, you swept away
You frolicked in the shadows of my mind
,, and for years that's where you played.
I've placed the wings back where they belong.
Sewed silky notes to a new love song.
The opaque lifting from my battered heart.
The moment you were gleaned, then gone.
Gentler things have taken your place.
A deeper dialogue without barbs of judgment.
Lacy hearts rippling with sweet percussion.
I've spat out the last of your rancid chains.
I can finally breathe without constraint.
From the backwaters of my mind.
I still dream of you from time to time.
Every night a well-dressed puppet keeps score.
Of the deaths and casualties of the freshest war.
Some nights the tally is low like a soccer match
Tonight, it's triple digits for the tin soldier man.
On the scorecard are soldiers, civilians and children.
Never the makers of munitions, or wealthy politicians.
What of the wild beasts and dear family pets
Lying twisted and bloodied in virgin bomb pits.
Forgotten in the backwaters of useless battles.
For them a last meal of shrapnel and ear-piercing rattle.
Their names never honored on the marquee.
But they should be-they all should be.
Guarded by towering hills on the East
And flanked by the Arabian Sea on the West
With its easterly shore of stretching sandy swell
That lulls the restless waves to sleep,
There is a land, my land of green vegetation
Nestled among palm trees and paddy fields.
Oh! I am in love with this narrow strip of land
Of rugged hills and meandering rivers
Of placid backwaters and blue skies
Of gibbering monkeys and singing cuckoos
What rich diversity you graciously provide
A land dotted with temples, churches and mosques
Where Hindus, Christians and Muslims cohabit
Where diversity flows through her arteries
And unity beats through her throbbing heart
Here souls dance to the timeless rhythm of music
Of diverse genres, vocal and instrumental
Classical and folk, sung either as solo or in groups
With the accompaniment of (2) 'veena',(3) 'tanpura' and violin
Their varying pitches beautifully synchronized!
In the serene dawns and dusky evenings
The atmosphere gets abuzz with the soft strains
Of (1) ‘Sopana Sangeetham’, the ethnic music of Kerala,
It comes floating from inside the Hindu shrines
Flooding soul’s enchanted shores,
And opening the floodgates of piety
In healing murmurs and throbbing notes,
As the symphony builds up its circuitous round
It descends down as a stream of blessing
Drenching devotees in its moistening sweetness
Like the drizzle of dew drops from heaven
Making hearts ride in the palanquin of joy!
May.21.2023
If your Birthplace- Country was a Poem Poetry Contest
Sponsor - Anoucheka Gangabissoon
This poem is about Kerala, a small state in India, which is my birthplace and its geography and culture.
1.Sopana Sangeetham is a form of Indian Classical music, developed in the temples of Kerala. It is sung, sitting by the holy steps leading to the sanctum sanctorum of a shrine.
2.Veena- a stringed musical instrument, one of the oldest of Indian musical tradition, played sitting cross legged, capable of producing all oscillations of Carnatic music
3. Tanpura- a drone instrument of Indian origin used mainly in a concert of classical music, creating a melodic background, but not a melody.
As I hold its numb weight
it grows younger,
more delicately knit
to blue somnolent veins.
I am left high and dry
while nerve endings circle
the dilated roots
of severed memories.
A pinched anesthesia;
while arterial threads track back
to things once sensed
on a map of ghost towns.
A slow thaw, and now a delta
seeks a salt water flow
in shallow cold streams.
Blood washes glacial backwaters,
kindles capillaries that carry
a surfacing alluvia.
The arm tugs at my mind like a child.
I flow downstream on a raft
of fine green bones
toward fingertips dipped
in pink shells of fiery snow.
The words of sea
although adventurous,
rapturous, salty ...
They are also aware how to be sweet
and homemade ...
They are fon of waves,
of huge vacancies
of adventure...
But they also perform
calm, lull,
at low tide ...
The words of sea,
they are ships, they are caravels ...
Sands, conches, shells ...
Abandoned tranquil islands,
standing water backwaters
immensity of oceans ...
The words of sea,
are towering,
sailors ... sail
and sail ...
Days, months, years,
don't vanish ...
Always come back
to the land ...
The sea takes them, the sea brings them ...
The sea leaves them at the edge of the pier ...!
The year was 2021 and Christmas was fast approaching,
Fear and uncertainty were seeping into every corner of daily life,
Good will was at an all time low throughout the land,
With Covid spreading faster than the gossip surrounding it,
The people cried out in vain, many going insane,
Few safe in their own company for than a week.
With those in power throwing in the towel,
The situation was grim indeed,
Is this the end becoming the catch phrase?
Who would have thought that once again poets?,
Would be called upon to save the day,
With style and wit, the pens began scratching,
And keypads started overheating,
As out of the mist that hung over the many backwaters and lonely bye-ways,
Poems filled with the spirit of Christmas past began to appear.
As one after the other poets on the soup took up the call,
With other forums soon taking up the challenge,
To light another candle of positive thought,
And push back the darkness,
Saving Christmas for another year,
Giving those who threw in their towels,
Or failed to take sound advice,
Another chance to put things right in 2022.
Surrounded by tranquil turquoise waters,
Guarded on sides by oceans three,
In the east by the Pacific,
On the south by the Celebes Sea,
And on the west by the south China Sea,
There is an archipelago on the blue water crescent,
A group of islands, called Philippines,
Encircled by a girdle of gleaming silver,
With its shores of stretching sandy swell
That lulls the restless waves to sleep;
A land of green vegetation and terraced terrain!
It houses picturesque and breath-taking views.
Vast beaches of ivory sand sprawl before our eyes
Dolphins leap over seafoam, palm fronds wink
Soft breezes waft and cotton clouds float above.
Anyone will fall in love with these tiny strips of land,
Of rugged hills and meandering rivers
Of placid backwaters and blue skies
Of gibbering monkeys and celestial monarch birds,
Of strutting peacocks, pigeons, pheasants, and parrots.
The powdery white sand of Boracay
The Chocolate Hills of Bohol
The Caraballo Mountain ranges,
And the Cordillera Mountain chain of Luzon,
The Rice Terraces of Philippine Cordilleras
All these give the country a solemn investiture.
Volcanic peaks, standing mighty and tall,
Proudly line the landscape, dotted with dense forests
Where birds sing melodies and Tarsiers with bug eyes
The tiny primates, endemic to the Philippines roam and jump
Amid the slumbering hills, there is fecund soil,
Turned into orchards and plantations,
Its population with perseverance and patience
Work in the soil relentlessly and in unison.
Well known for their hospitality, they receive tourists,
And outsiders with warmth and camaraderie.
In this paradise of mixed fortunes, tragedy comes unforeseen,
In the form of natural calamities like typhoons and cyclones,
But nothing can tear the people apart and they prosper,
With resilience, bent on sustaining their tradition,
Adding value to it each day and proud of an identity of their own
This beautiful land of velvet waves and crystal sands
Lying as a pendant in a crescent of emerald cluster
Rightly deserves the title- the 'Pearl of the Orient'
Death is a best friend
she visits often to dissolve old cells
tweak dioxyribonucleic acids
carrying silver sword and bamboo pipe
to draw breath, pointing to moon
caped in indigo velvet with hood
her whispers are silent breath on
white pillow
I invite her to sit on my bed
she admires an octagonal quilt red
removing her cape, accepting offering
of camomile tea, her eyes smiling hollows hyena, warrior, eagle, dung beetle
all at once, elegantly slow she settles
closer, fingering my ears, cold breezes
ripple down my legs
With sidelong glance she asks :
“So what is your claim to fame ?”
I reply : “I know not a name. Fame is
a shadowy flame, an orange-purple
one flickering to become lame.
All the same, I claim to be the highest
version of what Source intended
nothing more, nothing less.
This is free fame, oxygenated.
That is my game, if insane, let it not
be a shame, or a blame.”
Smiling, she asks next : “How have
you helped fellow humans ?”
I reply : “With Pluto Sun squared as
a dominant in my Chart, I undertook to
integrate escaping gloom into Light for
Self and others. As God granted Ketu
long periods of rulership over my form
I pulped Self in backwaters, where
angels fear to tread, to be a Presence
for fellow humans.”
Her hollow eyes with high cheekbones
move closer to my face. Sipping from floral teacup, fingers spindly, she asks :
“How erect will your spine be before
THE ALL ?”
I reply : “Not as erect as when I practiced kundalini and hatha yoga, though I detect
zero regrets, bereft of debts, slate clean
as an uncooked bean.”
Laughing, she replies that Divinity
will be pleased with my use of poetics
whispering : “Know that your spine will
revert to 21 years when I draw your
breath into mine, to gently carry to
Divine. You will sway on your way
into a ringlet bay of rosy everlasting days.
17 more good cheer years, hear my Dear.”
I watch quick footsteps across the
garden path. A thoughtform follows
slender caped back : “My claim to fame
is to be what HE-SHE desires me to be
~ Co-Creator of my own destiny.”
Next time Death visits, I will word it this way.
__________________
*[new form: L&N : Letters and Numbers]
Boated through the tantalizing Kerala backwater
in a pleasant summer morning;
Coconut groves were adorning
our way and perky fishes were chased by river otters
Cacophony of the swaying lofty coconut trees
and the nearby evergreen plants
produced a mesmerizing chant
that certainly consoled the chaotic minds and appease
Majestic banyan tree with its spiraled pillar branches
enthralled the endemic birds
and the migrating animal herds
on the river bank, renovated the place into the ranch
Suddenly the boat entered into the hollow way
where tangled trees made archways,
and fallen flowers filled our pathways
welcomed us, it was such an unforgettable day
Reflections of the slender palm trees on the waters,
painted a flawless picturesque picture
with the kaleidoscope of colors and mixtures
Which was untapped only in the perpetual back waters
Coots and cormorants swiftly plunged into water
When they heard the sound of the boat
Tranquility of the place calmed the hysteria
and it led to the apocalypse of worldly emotions
Sep-9-2017
POTD on Sep 11 2017
I was so happy and I felt so blessed as I received this honour on the death anniversary of my favorite poet Mahakavi Bharathiyar.
The lip of childhood was bloodied.
When the CSX ran over my puppy.
For years I fired rocks at the metal devil.
Trains were supposed to be a boy's second-best friend.
Not a killer of soft things that wag their tails.
Lick your face when you come in from hell.
Sweet things that never have an off mood.
Or care that you're a slow learner.
Tossed to the backwaters of grade school.
Childhood was cut in half by CSX railroad.
Why couldn't the train have swerved and struck
that pervert 5th grade teacher instead.
Then again, trains don't swerve or lick your face.
They just plow straight into the pillow of childhood.
Then blast the devil's conch in manic celebration.