Long Damp Poems
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Written: August 26, 2023
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Oh world, all swollen with pain,
The opulent smell emits an almost harsh refrain.
Languor fills the air as the sun still hides.
Behind a shroud of clouds, where it softly abides.
Every surface is damp as the rain falls heavier.
Oh, world, don't welt the earth; don't be a destroyer.
Don't shush the air; let it whisper its song.
Don't dry the water; let it flow swiftly and strong
Don't engage with fire; let it dance and ignite.
It injects warmth and ardor on cold nights.
Allow me to fit in and wander toward my goal.
Let me speak; let me share with every soul.
My voice needs to rant, rave, and roar.
To echo through valleys and reach distant shores.
Let me walk and let me talk with fire in my eyes.
Whenever there's a flame, words can reach the skies
Oh world, all swollen with rain,
Let me speak my truth; let me not be in vain.
For the earth is in need of a voice that is bold,
To protect and preserve, to break free from the mold.
To remind us of all our duty and care,
To cherish this planet, this world we all share.
So, don't harm the earth; don't wield it with greed.
Let's heal, nurture, and fulfill our every need.
Don't shush the air; let it carry our dreams.
Let it whisper hope as it flows in streams.
Don't tumble the water; let it quench our thirst.
Let it sustain life, for the best and the worst.
Don't be angry with fire; let it guide your way.
Let it bestow light and warmth every single day.
Let us walk and talk with passion in my stride.
Let us spread love and wisdom distal and wide.
As long as there's a flame, my words might fight.
Someday, what I say could inspire and ignite.
Let us join, constantly rise up, and transform.
A higher world, where love and peace will swarm.
A man bought a weeping Willow tree
He would plant it by his fence
Water it every day to grow
Makes the roots damp always
To grow,grow from the ground
Before long the branches appeared
One by one spreading slowly out
Reaching out to touch the ground
Then in darkness weeping,weeping
All around the tree a huge puddle
Growing wider and wider spreading
First a puddle then a small pond
Before long it is a stream
Rushing spreading into lakes
Then they turn out to be
A huge waterfall
Its grows into a big ocean
All these tears from a tree
The Weeping Willow tree tears
That has spread into lots of water
Woke up this morning
What can I say?
It's not starting out
My very best day
Already stubbed my toe
And just hit my head
And I haven't even gotten
All the way outta bed!
But Yah,
When it's cold and dark
And I'm all out of power
I'm gonna praise you
Unto the final hour
Now, I've made it to the shower
To find it's ice cold
These young fit bones
Seeming kind of old
And I'm not feeling so hot
First flu of the year
And the boss says,
"Really need you here!"
But oh Yah,
When I can hardly crawl
And I'm all out of power
I'm gonna praise you
To the final hour
It's raining outside
Got soaking wet hair
As long as you're with me,
That is all I care
So my socks are damp
Shoes squish when I walk
Boy I'm a real mess today
Some people gonna talk
But,
When I'm cold and wet
And in my darkest hour
Yah, I'll be praising you
Unto the final last hour
~My Morning~
The moon is going to bed now, I watch it slide away
The sky a beautiful shade or orange getting ready for the new day.
The pigeons start cooing taking turns in the eaves
The dawn chorus is starting, birds waking in the trees.
Morning is here a mist hangs low, the air is feeling damp
I turn, its time to rise once more, I switch out the bedside lamp.
I return to our bed to snuggle hubby, before works calls him for the day
“Did you have a good night?” he asks knowing the answer will be “nay.”
Three cups of coffee later the first in bed with my man
It’s time to tackle the day; and get on as best one can.
To waken and see another glorious night give birth to a new day
But I would love to miss just one and sleep through one dawn is what I pray.
© ~GG~ 6/08/2012
RAINBOWS FILLED WITH GOD'S PROMISES
Tiny drops of water
Flossing in the valley
Using Ponderosa Pines
While the sun falls
Evaporation time
The chill of the warm breeze
Begins to surceases
Caressing winds of valley swirls
Waterfalls crystal gold
Truth be told
Tells the truth
Truth be told
Falling drops of mist water
Never again shall God punish man with water
The next, last time shall be chastised with fire
Thus, says the Lord God the ribbon, the bow in the air
As light shines through the raindrops
The atmosphere is somewhat damp
Filled with the rainbows, of God's promises
09/09/18
Photo Artist : Akirakusaka
Author of Poem: Mystic Rose
I stood there in a field of tall tall grass light pouring softly from the moon
beneath my feet, earth was getting ready for a dormant state of mind
I watched the dandelion puffs huddle amidst the dark and wondered,
what it would be like if we finally achieved world peace...
My gauzy gown of gray floated in the wind. As I hugged myself
real tight, I started to pray to the moon that it would not withdraw
its liquid light of gold. World peace had been sleeved for too long
and now I wanted to see it, before I grew old...
Laced in a field of nature I rounded up all my hopes and wishes
then I blew the dandelion puffs one by one like a brave child;
Yesterday I danced on a hot sidewalk with a skipping rope by the sun
tonight I dance on a patch of cool damp earth, hoping the battle is won
I cupped my ear to the sound of silence and sure enough it sounded
like a cease fired moment of nothing, a sound never heard before
one I knew nothing about, the sound of world peace.
Sponsor Anoucheka Gangabissoon
Contest Name Your Peace Message to the World
Here is a reimagining of the girl in the ash, where the magic is a curse and the palace is a tomb.
The Cinder—Witch
The hearth is the only heart this house possesses,
A pulsing throat of soot and orange glare.
She kneels within the grease and grey distressed,
With spiders braided in her tangled hair.
The sisters' laughter scrapes like rusted hinges,
High in the rooms where sunlight dares to creep,
While down below, the frost-nipped shadow fringes
The cellar stones where eyeless rodents sleep
Then came the Godmother
But she didn't drift on wings of gossamer light,
But stepped from corners where the damp rot grows.
A thing of crooked lath and moth-wing white,
With needles hidden in her velvet clothes.
"A Carriage," hissed the crone, her fingers twitching,
As pumpkin rinds began to swell and split,
Not into gold, but membranes, wet and itching,
A ribcage forged of vine and garden grit.
The horses were not stallions, but the vermin,
Stretched long and screaming, fused by ancient debt.
Their coats were slick as peeled and bloody ermine,
Their eyes like blackest beads of frozen sweat.
"The gown is yours," the shadow–woman whispered,
And stitched the silk directly to her skin
The needles bit; the girl's own breathing fissure,
As bone and bodice pinned the spirit in.
The Midnight Rule
The ballroom smelled of lilies and decay,
A velvet trap for prince's sleek and blind.
She danced on glass that sliced the floor away,
Leaving a trail of crimson salt behind.
But when the clock struck twelve, the glamour curdled,
The silk began to shrink and turn to shroud.
The pumpkin-beast back to the soil hurtled,
And Cinders shrieked–but not a sound was loud.
For in the attick now, she sits and waits,
The glass is fused into her blackened heel.
The house is hungry; it has locked the gates,
And shadows are the only warmth she'll feel.
The Prince still wanders, searching for the bride,
But who would seek a girl made out of ash?
The one who keeps the cellar-beast inside,
Behind the door, beneath the whip-crack lash.
Walk with me
along the pale green shadows that fall
on the thin and winding pathways of the wood
where all is quiet and full of growth
wet with the drops of midnight rain.
Breathe in softly,
the heavy laden air
thick and burdened by the drops.
Keep watch at every step
as large and small puddles form
that lay stationary for a moment
then flow downhill to the ponds
where the river runs cascading on the stoners.
Stop a moment
hold your place
take in the view.
Listen to the sounds
birdsong as it fades in and out the trees
wind rustling branch and leaves
where deer step and pause at their surroundings
and squirrel and chipmunk chatter in chase.
Catch the sun
slipping thru the canopy
with light rays resting in the shade.
Smell the scent wafting in the wood
where pine and honeysuckle burst on the air
and every rain drop blushes in innocent clarity
wafting across the damp wet fallen leaves
left from autumn's winter.
Walk with me
escape the hurried pace of the outer world
and submit to the marvels of nature's blessings.
Dark grey first autumn breath a bone chill hint,
summer’s sun- rash boom absconds on trailing glint,
luscious terrain brazen in hue’d rose cheek,
hazy mountain slope a sombre damp peak,
tint and tapestry awakened brisk fall gasp,
dapper drift net shades spawned to grasp,
pigment in meadow mould a gold rim beige,
tone shift bold red, earth brown, copper rage,
sweet gum tree orange, purplish fervent die,
to sniff katsura pink tree, charred candy sigh,
hail harvest bountiful, heart rippling feast,
red fire ablaze, hungry tongue wild yeast
beetroot, turnip, parsnip, root crops galore,
“Falls” raw lungs whiff hearty soup of yore,
yet honey-tinged morn, fleet of foot pause,
fades as cold plummet primes its icy claws,
green copse shrunk, drab moon weepy tune,
woodsy wren hoarding food in mournful croon.
mud squelch booth on path, smog purged lair,
wet moss splurge rinses pollen, season gulps air,
spry children, spruce grown ups, senior agers eschew,
the callous jolt of swift month baton swop anew,
later inklings mired in blizzards, frost bite, black ice,
has the fall as sly baptist with its soft blest vice,
warm July sand castle bounce, blue sea wave swim,
consigned to wistful hark back, stark ninth month grim,
latent edgy blue mood, strayed focus, dull phase,
strict shift to rationed bright spells, murky welkin haze,
decay in dwindling twilight irks sept.stuffed nose,
yet Fall cleans its passageway with breezy prose
Through the trees, they saw a light
As a haze o’er the village ahead
And weary from walking many miles
Two travellers thought they may find a bed
As they made their way to the village
A mist descended, cold and damp
Hindering the traveller’s on their quest
Shrouding the light from both window and lamp
Cloaked in the mist, the village was still
With no sign of life to be seen
As the traveller’s made their way to an inn
Ahead in the distance, a clock struck thirteen
As the last chime rang, from beyond the grave
Ghosts of the dead filled the streets
The travellers were frozen, unable to move
Fear and dread chilling their bones, head to feet
The traveller’s looked for a haven
But no matter how hard they tried
There was nowhere, for them to run to
With all routes of possible escape denied
Surrounded by the walking dead
And powerless in their plight
They were quickly consumed by spectres,
Who carried their souls off into the night
Satiated, the dead, returned to their graves
The clock once again struck thirteen
And two piles of dust, were all that remained
On the spot where the traveller’s had been.
Janette Fisher