Long Dredging Poems
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Inside the water
where they float or sway in their rusting roots
are horse tackle,
buggies,
unhinged parts of eighteen wheelers,
a girl on a tricycle, her bones still cycling in the drifting meld
circle squirrel and possum pelts,
The sludge of a dredging flow
tows bodiless pockets of former times.
No one can tell what is missing, what is still surfacing,
what is now lathered into womb-bearing suds.
A wake nibbles banks, it heaps up
headless pomades,
a filigree of funnel cake,
cotton candy,
half drunken sups of rum,
antedeluvian arrow heads,
the painted missing parts of the once and will be.
A momentous loss drifts by, is found by stooping gulls,
their screams almost musical
on a carousel wind.
Under the brittle reeds late summer copulates with
eddy,
churn
and jism.
There are corroding blooms between spent shotshells,
condoms colonize cattails,
belt buckles beckon
to forsaken underwear
that blossom now like pale squid.
The river slops together every wind-plowed recipe,
blends the newly-unearthed
with the long abandoned.
A backwash seeps moon-spills,
or drives a John Deere deeper into boggy entrails,
while barges slowly push each muddy footprint
toward empty shoes,
sunken slippers,
pumps,
loafers and boots
dropped somewhere between Pittsburg and the Mississippi
yet still moving along.
Upon my museum walls, pastiche you are,
Pseudo piece of art dredging old memories;
Where I hang now, a fine authentic painting—
Love of my sweet dreams.
You claim I once bloomed your ardent reveries
Yet, I recall your dreamworld quite illusive
When you pulsed my heart in your glory within
Phantasm of deceit.
There I was with you in your place of conceit
Where you waltzed in my life sparkling like gemstone
But soon you were unmasked as spurious clone--
An unwanted stone.
Don't come now, pretending it was real love,
When you still are, frowning face of frippery;
You've no place in temple of divine worship
Where my goddess lives.
June 22, 2020
Pick-A-Title, Vol 19 - 4 Sapphic Stanzas – Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Title chosen: Simulacrum
Each stanza: 11,11,11,5 (howmanysyllables.com)
Echoes of the past,
Blast through my brain,
Dredging up the old again,
I feel I'm going insane,
Every morning feeling the pain,
Thoughts raining down,
Dowsing my crown,
Drowning out my will,
Still I stay strong,
How long must I battle,
This incessant rattle,
Babbling voices,
Pointing out bad choices,
The noise is unbearable,
I feel terrible,
A wearable past,
Left a lasting impression,
Casting me into the pen,
A time of depression,
A session of progression,
Regression therapy,
Tearing at me,
As i look to see the cause,
Pausing for a better view,
Getting a handle to hold onto,
As they keep coming through,
Staying true to what I know,
I throw them all away,
Now i can get started with my day.
Kid naps here, daycare!
Sick babies...About those
Kidnaps are there! Out there!
I wish I could, evocation, dowry!
For an already invested $275 nuptial Tyler Mowrey!
Gaza wall and Tel-Aviv- a , embracing in Jackson Church
Sameeha Azra- eel A and a PEER in peer pressure for air fryer
Is your oxygen an EIN? Bargaining overseas? Playing diplomacy? Daunts in ranting ramps where models stood?
Sometimes, data cable is not that a bad idea, where "inna lillah" is also a cliched Hinda call!
Long she served Holly Wood, May she come true among converts and traveler (pilgrims)
further in optimism in selfless "Sufism" not "Sophism or Hedonism",
Sin and Boon are all stamped with the sense of Shame, where the guilt is sensed after all!
Not a river dredging and to make a parable to river shifting, as no longer helpful!
Helpful and no longer! For once, try in Pickthall!
For the end of the time and the beginning, too
Time impeccable is Timeless Allah (SWT) and the all-knowing and all!
In time He begets not,
In Time He is free from the need of an obgyn,
of that specialty, departmental.
Jellyfish
Once I had a wild wish
To be a jolly jellyfish,
A quietly quivering jellyfish
Shivering in the sea.
I did not crave to be a crab,
A sideways-scuttling, crusty scab
In sluggish sludge and dismal drab
At the bottom of the sea,
Nor wish to be a sucking sponge,
Sea-sway drudge of the fathoms' plunge,
Dredging supper from the soupy gunge
In the dungeons of the sea.
I might have wished for shark or whale,
To lord the oceanic trail,
My dorsal fin a regal sail,
Imperial in the sea;
Or dared to dash through the dolphin waves,
Gliding where the wild seas rave,
Dive to a shipwreck's sunken grave,
Sunken deep in the sea.
Instead, I wished for a jellyfish,
A parachuting jellyfish,
A gossamer drift in the seas' vast dish;
That's what I wished for me.
Offspring between close family members
not biologically fit nor ablest
even if direct immediate relations
consider themselves best
buddies, emotionally intimate, and offload
heavy matters weighing down
on their respective figurative chest,
cuz lurking within brethren and cistern genes,
and/or chromosomes dwell deadliest
nastiest, and weakest link undermining
searingly robust reproductive human stock,
thru molecular hijacking gungho extremest
right wing trumpeting malefactor breeding
distilling, fomenting, et cetera the faintest
self destructive invisible agents provocateurs
dredging existentially faultiest
predispositions, and vulnerabilities
compromising in utero body electric,
asper offspring saddled with funniest
itsy bitsy teenie weenie yellow Polka dot bikini
donned flesh impossible to remove,
which surgery could imperil and render feeblest
unto Caesar, an ides of march, sans flimsiest
excuse for a successor
to the royal porcelain throne,
which progeny could exhibit the frailest
constitution, and possibly appear as freakiest
looking hominid this side of Schwenksville
with napped hair most frizziest
affixed to a beanpole gangliest
androgynous cisgender metasexual
being description also including geekiest,
not to mention ghastliest
simple minded looking gruesomest
human being, who presents grimmest
prospects quite dim tubby happiest
bellowing soul since...incest
came back in vogue when polar vortex
ushered necessity to bed with kindliest
people professing unconditional love.
pioneer esprit de corps front tier brisk.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Open arms and clenched raised fists raise
masquerade diametrically opposed to rodomontade sways
spewing threatening sacred constitution
expounding vaunted values déclassé 1968 degreed phase
Wharton alumni now on warpath to raze
via his bull dozing wreaks havoc on coven daze
ruining complex edifice
usurped storied super power craze
thru humiliation, liquidation of dredging bays
* * * * * * * * * * * *
and justification (viewed thru his warped vision)
scotching inalienable rights reducing to rubble bedrock division
with remainder of flinty stones,
and unlovely bones a wasteland fission
absent without a trace any evidence of Halcyon days,
which abomination, decimation, and gangrenous lesion
joie de vivre, when martial law decree deep incision
heil come rolled up (frightfully with egregious decision.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
the venomous, tenebrous, and rancorous white house
Head honcho viz prez) inside checkered hookahs lighting
one end per slow burn as hoary smoke emanates
in shape of Taj Mahal, then harmless as Mickey mouse
he iz well singed, seared, and scalded like a cook grouse
(yet of course still alive) sent to further douse
him into initiation righting tis basic human coup laid louse.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Acid test whereby he will be sold to Vladimir Putin for bunk
her hilled feather bedding rubles on the dollar, where clunk
key interim held up by cadre of well comb pence dunk
key Kong sated marionettes, which will carry fleshy lunk
dirty deeds done dirt cheap of this unmentionable monk
key villainous uber trumpeter, scabrous, recalcitrant querulous punk!
* * * * * * * * * * * *
keep your finger and toes crossed for the next four years
aware that such laughable ruse and superstitious scares
not one impish bot of fate, but more so gives false cheers.
Form:
I’ve lost the thread,
I don’t know why,
however much I sit and try
I still think lots of poetry’s crap,
(it’s not like me to think like that).
I struggle on from verse to verse,
as sometimes every line gets worse,
for long, long hours
though God knows why,
just reading all that meets my eye.
But hidden deep beneath the grot
sometimes a piece
will hit the spot,
a gem of creativity
absorbing every part of me.
It’s then I know why I still look,
for poetry becomes my hook
and like a fish beneath the sea
hook, line and sinker,
it’s caught me.
I’ll journey on this poet’s rhyme
absorbed by each and every line,
enraptured by the poet’s verse
this is the nature
of my curse.
Good Poets of the world unite
and feed my hunger when you write
such words delivered with such might,
it’s worth my dredging
through the trite!
Ivor G Davies
Love inflicts a pain that's hard to bear;
dredging up feelings time's steeped in fear.
And yet, you realize fate doesn't care;
facing truths you wish would disappear.
The sting of rejection scuttles hope:
adrift, amidst shadows of darkness.
And faith slides down a slippery slope,
as empty lies, embellish starkness.
Fragile feelings, like paper dreams tear;
caught in a cycle of push and shove.
For pride conceals a failing affair:
fueled by an unrequited love.
Find your happy place, and dry your tears;
cease crying and look for someone new.
Life is not as bleak as it appears:
follow your heart, and let hope guide you.
Unfit Gifts
by Rabindranath Tagore
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
At sunrise, I cast my nets into the sea,
dredging up the strangest and most beautiful objects from the depths ...
some radiant like smiles, some glittering like tears, others flushed like brides’ cheeks.
When I returned, staggering under their weight, my love was relaxing in her garden, idly tearing leaves from flowers.
Hesitant, I placed all I had produced at her feet, silently awaiting her verdict.
She glanced down disdainfully, then pouted: "What are these bizarre things? I have no use for them!"
I bowed my head, humiliated, and thought:
"Truly, I did not contend for them; I did not purchase them in the marketplace; they are unfit gifts for her!"
That night I flung them, one by one, into the street, like refuse.
The next morning travelers came, picked them up and carted them off to exotic countries.