Long Drying up Poems
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Ticks imperceptibly further from tocks
Sally-anne gracefully brushing her locks
Perusing the papers in yesterday's socks
One eye on the news on the old goggle box
Lawns that want mowing, maybe today
No firm decision on that, either way
The daffies sway gentle their livery gay
As early the spring edges out winter grey
Wave at the neighbour out washing his car
Seems in no hurry, he's not going far
Exaggerate motion of tipping a jar
Inviting a post dinner trip to the bar
Somebody passing outside shares a laugh
While yellow billed blackbird agitates bath
Fido brings slippers, wife calls him staff
Then aerates the logs to enliven the hearth
Upon us the day when no desk shall tether
And only the mower shall fret over weather
A shower means trim the lawn next week or never
Well maybe not never, simply whenever
Dinner now served at family table
Sneak Fido a tidbit whenever I'm able
Courteous chat with mum in law, Mable
Kids stifle giggles, she's slightly unstable
Now Mable snoring, I do the dishes
Kids drying up conceal Facebook wishes
Mum by the pool sprinkles pellets for fishes
Whimsically lost in multi-finned swishes
And when gibbous moon gives off scant shadow light
And gone is the sun that shines somewhere else bright
Retire to our slumbers prepare for the fight
Batteries energise over the night
For five days or six we shall toil away
Earn twenty four hours to rest and to play
So never forfeit the day some people pray
This one day in seven, the Sabbath, Sunday.
The branching trees stand proud in the evergreen forest
On the canopy clouds torn from the sky come and rest.
Moist leaves get luster from the morning sunrays soon
After the dust is washed by the night rains of monsoon.
Humankind expanded like forest in clustered population
Vibrantly nurturing the tenets of its diverse civilization.
People prospered sharing the earth’s common resources
Developed kinship and trust as parts of survival process.
If the rains don’t come for some years as they should
The forest soil dries and the trees soon become wood.
Hit so hard by the current trying times people are busy
To find ways to merely survive for life is no longer easy.
Soil of humane feeling called kindness is drying up fast
The touch of empathy in desiccated hearts doesn’t last.
Life has turned into stagnant river, it doesn’t flow free
In ravaged forest people are soulless defoliated trees.
In vortex of turbulent time emotions sink, don’t ripple
The humanity is making a museum of wooden people.
December 4, 2017.
gray skies above me but my heart is gay
weather man promises a rainy day
“but then why are you smiling?” you may say
others may frown when wet drops hit the ground
I am simply delighted with the sound
and splashing in a puddle can be found.
but no dandy umbrella do I bring.
For what would I need such a thing,
to enjoy the cool showers of the spring?
I won’t hide watching the storm from inside
instead, through the slippery streets I glide
til the sun is spied
peeking round a cloud beaming proudly down
drying up the ground till no drop is found
and I’ll miss the sound
of the crashing and splashing of the rain
then I’ll have to wait till it comes again
so come on let’s go play
and splash about
before the sun comes out
and ruins our rainy day
Each night after the evening meal
there was never a discussion
as to who would wash the dishes
and who would do the drying up.
My mother was the washer,
my sister and I did the drying up.
Hot steam would rise from the sink
before plates were plunged
deep in foam and scrubbed
with a brush - we would wait,
tea towel in hand to pounce
on the first plates to come out,
rinsed and white -
dishes were easier to dry
than heavy pots
and fiddly knives and forks.
It was a time for talk, for laughs
and sometimes snuffled back tears -
everyday life lived within the space
of our touching elbows.
I can still feel the tea towel
in my hand wet and warm
with those blessed memories.
Seventy years on, I bend down
and load the racks of a dishwasher
with soiled tableware from
the evening meal. Its quiet whirr
will fill the winter silence
and play a soulless ditty when
the washing and drying up
is done.
Drip…Drip…Glop…Glop!
Hydrants on – water stops
Scorching heat – summer’s here
Water scarcity paves the fear!
Water for bathing and even cleaning
Ice-water chugging only for dreaming!
No water to wash clothes or dishes
Only dripping drips and glopping glops always misses
The ever-streaming fountain waters of the faucets
Scorching heat has no raindrops to even pause it!
Soaking up the summer sun is drying up the creek
Even birds dive their beak
Into bird-bathing tubs and ponds
To refresh themselves while they bond
With even puddles, swamps, and ponds!
Such is the soul that seeks not the Lord
Spirit quenches; soul deters; loss one cannot afford!
Drying heart and withering mind
Panting spirit; panting soul; never finds place to unwind!
Panic strikes fearful expectations
With no foreseeable explanations
All the signs of a soul’s dehydration!
One may feel a thinning creek seeping through
A trickle of peace painting your blues,
Dripping drops of gladness or cheer
Should one praise and feel God near
For but a single moment ‘til praise arrives to full completion
But, one’s world returns to deterred depletion!
That’s when you know something stones your resurrection!
A little explanation leading to confession is the right direction
To relieve you from further pursuit of your dehydrant frustrations!
If there’s ever a pebble stoning your way
Hindering your peace every day
Blocking your steps to stepping into God’s throne room
And blocking your sunlight with feelings of gloom,
While you find yourself entrapped in a circle of strife and fear,
And can only draw a thin-flowing creek of joy and cheer,
I’ll have you know that sins are lies
That only untie
When sin is confessed and forsaken!
Take the Word…it’s NEVER mistakin’
Truth, then, will shine its light
Forever bright
Floodgates of heaven will burst wide open
Desert Rivers and streams will halt your mopin’
When you elevate your praise to God above,
The Father of Light…The Father of Love….
“Behold! I am about to do something new; even now it is coming! Do you not see it? Indeed, I will make a way in the wilderness and streams in the desert” Isaiah 43:19
i drew
my bedroom curtain
this morn' and scanned
the outside world
for inspiration.
i'm stymied by writer's block,
yet I bruise
blank papers with my pen
to craft the extraordinary
out of the ordinary.
my poetic ink
is drying up, yet I feel
this gnawing yen
to keep scribbling,
to keep taking
the overlooked in nature
and beautifying it;
a leaf,
a pebble,
a crack here,
an aperture there.
i look for inspiration
close to, or confined
within my home,
worthwhile moments,
sounds,
emotions
that still gift
my imagination
wings to soar.
Woe unto you!
a miserable acquaintance,
it seems you want to taste
the unpleasant half of me
and toil in the inferno of my anger.
Get up and leave!
because I burn and yearn
to inflict misery and disaster.
As you go,
pick up with you
what is left of our union.
The same Sun
which provides nourishment
to the flower
can equally burn
its beautiful petals
and dry its stalk.
The same water
which enriches the Earth
can swallow all its belongings
when tried and tested.
The same dog,
attractive, loyal and humble
can become a raging storm
to its master in madness.
Any bond we have at all
I want to break up
and the fire you've ignited,
I want to build up.
My anger will catch up with you
as you've used up to fullness
the cup of my patience.
Placing my evil wand on your inner organs
to stay forever itchy
and a curse on you, directly from hell
making the hole of your under
to stay forever moist
The rusting of your senses is my pleasure
and the drying up of your vitamins
my trophy
I'll shatter your well being into strands
and pull them out piece by piece
b'cos my compassion on you is now on a lock down
My every word
is a syrup of poison
their effect; nothing can cover up
not even the best make up.
As I wish to set you up
and cause your downfall.
I line up the soldiers of your torment
and mix up your blessings with curses.
As intense as this may be
they are mere words
from the lips of my anger
uttered just some minutes ago.
Come and dine with me
Cos now, I'm calm.
As we eat our meal
and share from the same bottle of friendship
while you forget these words and forgive my soul.
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The million dollar question is........ Can you forget these words, if said to you?
Can you taste the turn of a season
writing a new page on your heart
Can you smell the burning of reason
usher a new age into your art
Can you see the drying up river -
mind-induced matters no longer thought
Can you hear the cry of a giver
giving to a war no longer fought
Can you touch the mind of a poet -
emblazened eyes that see through your self
You might do such, but your mind cannot know it
the mind of the heart dwells somewhere else
Heart or mind, which do I follow
what is the food on which I thrive
Fact or feeling, which should I swallow
which one will keep the soul most alive
The mind is ever prone to wander
from its chains it would be freed
Its absence makes the heart grow fonder
for the two are twins indeed
Written 20 Dec 2020
They put me together like some heavy crane.
Stuffed my head with blueprints and legal jargon—telling me exactly what a useful life was supposed to look like.
I was meant to be a hub.
A big anchor holding the town down, shifting weight hand to hand.
Then the money moved.
The market slipped off to some other coast. Left me right here. Just a dead-end saltwater slot.
A lifetime of training turned into dead data—like old grease drying up in an empty engine bay.
Go take a look at the barge rotting by the pier.
Nobody gives a damn about the tonnage it was built to haul.
The tide rewrote the cargo list.
Where the coal used to sit, it’s just moss now. A wet, green carpet eating the rivets.
A heavy machine turned into an accidental garden.
You look down and see a rusted chunk of iron in the mud.
But inside? It’s a slow, choking panic.
Knowing you are ready. Knowing you can do the work (and knowing you’re completely unneeded).
It’s a quiet sort of violence. Hosting weeds when you were built to cross an ocean.
The market has a blind obsession for unweathered steel.
They’ll dump seasoned cargo space any day just to get that glossy, fresh-paint look of youth.
They catch a glimpse of the silver on my frame and assume the hull is shot.
They skip right past the grit inside the rust.
The kind of mileage that rides out the exact same storms that flip the new guys over.
The dry cracked earth moan under its crust while the languishing trees hold firmly beneath its grit absorbing little moisture within its root sending memory of hard time way back to its youth. The grass has dried up in the hot dessert heat and the animals have no place to sleep.
The sun rises in the morning walking with vengeance through the corn field, scorching blades and burning limbs from the shades then sits on top of the roof. It splashes its beam everywhere penetrating the asphalt melting it in front of my bulging eyes.
The heat continue to move around drying up rivers and sucking out water pipes while the busy trucks moving around the town with big water hose, filling the residence drums, bottles, pots and everything that they have got with water.
At nights they open their windows wide, trying to get some cool breeze but only hot hair kept circulating in the atmosphere and the crying babies keeps the mothers up late at nights burping and spewing sour milk on their shoulder while the heat continues to play a brazen rhythm in their feet.
It is a strange heat that is taking over the street, it burns the energy out of man, weakens his limbs and when he goes to the field he can hardly move the plough. It drains his spirit and put nature on the run and so the day went by holding man to his conscience while the curse of nothingness penetrates the earth.
I couldn’t bear to see the drought that is flirting about the earth
Moving between space giving rise to tension and ripping up the emotions. It sets the earth on fire and replenishes the desire, it cause justice to rise to its feet and solve the murder in the third degree.
The suffering was intense and so I had to do something. I walked towards the south and stretch out my hands and hum a song. All of a sudden the skies start to get dark and the birds start moving towards the south, hundreds of them flew in a pack while the old lark lingered at the back.
I know that something was about to happen so I watched it played out and just as I moved my hand the thunder start to shout and lightening respond in seconds. And so the heavens broke loose and fill the southern earth with water.