Long Knee deep Poems
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I search for words
To describe this feeling...
After you told me
You hate me...
I remember when
I went swimming in the ocean
One day in January...
Ice was curled in elaborate design
Of wind-blown swirls on the sand...
Snowflakes mixed with grains of sand
And bitter wind blew both into my face-
Sea foam blew across the beach
Like stray, sodden mushroom clouds
And the ocean waves were dark
And angry...
It was so cold, this January...
But I wasn't scared.
That day, I had I thought of
The ocean in autumn;
When I swam last in autumn,
It was October, and the
Wind was harsh and strong;
Waves were wild with
The fresh memory of stormclouds,
So they crested high and broke hard
On the beach...
The sun hadn't shone that day either.
The water, when I dove into it,
Was cold, but warmer than the air-
Vicious to look at,
But under the surface of the waves
Still gentle as summer...
Familiar...
I had gone back in more than once
Just because I loved the feel,
The pull of the current, the raw energy
Of the water against my skin,
And I dove through waves again
And again...
I knew it would be worse this time,
A few months later
And so many degrees colder...
I almost decided not to do it
When I peeled off my coat,
My shirt, my boots, pants, and socks...
The wind bit my skin hard, tearing
Into my warm body, and the gound,
Icy, was like bared teeth against the soles
Of my feet...
Too late to back out now.
So I ran, barefoot, over ice-ringed
Puddles of seawater and snow-flecked sand...
I reached the water, the first soft waves...
I was slowed by the foamy surf,
Which, only knee-deep, was a strong deterrent,
But then I was past it, and I dove...
That first, frigid, smack in the face
As the water closed over my head
Stole all heat, all memory of heat,
From my body all in an instant...
I surfaced gasping in shock,
Heart about to either stop or burst-
I'm still not sure which,
All I could think of was the cold...
It was so cold...
Colder than anything I've ever known...
I retreated clumsily-
I should have recoiled from the ground,
Stepping quickly and lightly
Over cruelly sharp grains of
Equally mixed ice and sand,
But I could no longer feel the cold...
I could feel nothing...
Could think nothing...
When you told me you hate me...
It felt like that.
Amongst the oaks and the maples and shrubbery so green
Runs a translucent flow, a stream so pristine
It's meandering contours hugging the land
Takes me back to the day, we met unplanned
The sky was pale blue on this hot summers day
Cotton wool clouds in mesmerising display
It's as if you could reach out and brush with your hand
This candy floss coating ceiling our land
Many meadows I walked through capturing the sounds
Listening to her marvels in cinema surround
Technicolour rainbows so radiant to the eye
Such beauty in nature, understandably why
I reach the turn-style that leads to the forest walk
Listening to the breeze through the trees as if they talk
These pillars of stature, as old as grandfathers years
Many stories they could tell, that would bring you to many tears
As I stroll through the leafy lanes, mapped out over many years
Trampled underfoot by it's inhabitants, badgers and beautiful red deer
I now reach the stream as I follow it's meandering flow
To a pool at it's end where past maidens bathed in glow
My ears now pick up sounds of singing and a splashing
Resonating from the pool, a glimpse of pink now flashing
A lady stands before me, bathing in the stream
Scarlet clothing in sporadic lay, am I in some kind of dream
I call out to this beauty as she turns and looks at me
Towards the bank she walks, and invites me in with she
Knee deep in crystal waters our bodies close in touch
My clothing now drifts away, the two of us in clutch
Into our eyes we both now look as blood flows through my veins
Her touch is soft and gentle, my hands now stroke her mane
Deeper we edge out as she floats and hugs my waist
The two of us in join in this beautiful serene quiet place
Our emotion creates commotion as our undulations reach the shore
Ripples of joy they are as underwater hands explore
The coldness incites a reaction, in pert and firm caress
In delightful blend we release, two souls in loving press
Kissing we reach the bank, on her summer dress we lie
Sighing in breathless spoon, we stare at the green canopy sky
Many, many hours have passed, lying naked below the peeking sun
This is the day I met my scarlet woman, the day our lives began
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/love-11.php
“Each man follows his own trail, but he rides it all alone,”
Was what Free Will always said when he turned his horse toward home.
But none of us knew it then, just how true those words would be,
As we went about our business knee-deep in green grass sea.
Few knew his name was William Preston – we called him Free Will—
No cowboy was ever freer; no one quite fit the bill.
He only slept under stars; his pillow was a saddle—
His mattress was stone and earth; his alarm a snake rattle.
None of us boys saw deeply into things that cowboy sowed—
We saw a bent mustached gentleman with legs that were bowed.
He said few words but when he did, they all came from the heart—
And he always finished fist fights or feuds he did not start.
Free Will rode down his own path and he always took the lead—
Never afraid of nothing – be it bear or wild cat treed.
And when his pards would let him down, he would smile and just groan:
“Each man follows his own trail, but he rides it all alone.”
The years went by and it appeared Free Will never did age,
It seemed he kept his cowboy ways like mesquite and the sage.
Never did he wed or own a house – things that tied you down,
We called him “poke” and “ol’ cowboy,” but he still hung around.
But then one day some suits stopped by and asked about taxes
That Will, they say had never paid when he lived in Texas.
They say he owned the IRS and had to go to jail—
We knew it would just kill Free Will, so we all upped his bail.
But Will refused and shook his head and said it was his pride,
That long ago led him astray and no more would he hide.
He thought he could slight the feds and pocket all those green bills—
Then ride right out of Texas into the far distant hills.
But as they snapped the cuffs on Will, he gave a little wink—
“At my age they can’t cage me, I’ll be free before you think!”
And next day sure enough, we heard the news down at the bar—
How some old cowboy died en route while in a police car.
It made us sad to think Free Will had rode that last sunset,
Yet now we sit around the fire with words we can’t forget:
“Each man follows his own trail, but he rides it all alone,”
And that’s just what Free Will now did, riding that last trail home.
Whilst cute quotations, and perfectly formed sentences have been reared and pampered on the lawns of perfectly kept estates...
These words...
These words have been sweat.
These words have been cried.
These words have been bled.
These words have been laboured into birth
And have now emerged pregnant with life.
These words have grown with time, matured with age, and been shaped by experience.
These words have pushed through the cracks in the concrete.
They have broken free from the shackles of shameless poverty
They have smashed through the barriers of continents and language
And fly liberally refusing to acknowledge yesterday's trauma.
These words have withstood a barrage of abuse.
These words have waded knee deep through social sewage, flicking away flies of low expectations and perceived anticipated failure.
These words have:
- stood against the bullets of bullys
-dodged the fiery darts of doubters and the fierce flames of the fear of failure; and
- they have survived the ariel assaults of derogatory self-accusation.
I did not seek these words.
These words sought a free tongue, and a willing heart.
These words sought a brave soul, and a firm hand.
These words sought a fertile mind and strong loving spirit
I did not seek these words, these words sought me.
Cover your ears if you feel you do not have the stomach to hear these words.
Because...
These words have been purified
These words have been fortified.
Amidst a dialogue of diatribe,
These words have been distilled.
These, are not the words of an idler.
These words have been dug from depths
Forged with feeling
Finessed with thought
Perfected with practised
Constructed to plan
Crafted with Passion
And conclude, towards a towering purpose.
These words have been drawn upon by masculine men
Flattered by feminine lips
Looked up to by youthful eyes
But not wretched I!
These words were mouthed by me but inspired by our Father in Heaven.
These words...
If there be any good, and if there be any virtue
These words...
Are the words of Mike Concise.
Mike Concise © 2015
www.mikeconcise.com
Summertime is finally fleeting
and oddly, though, I am not sad.
Yes, the fields will soon be emptied
of pastel-colored flowers and buzzing bees
and wading knee-deep in tall, wild grass
as the sun takes its time in setting,
late into the warm-breeze nights
that cause one to linger
and gaze up into a sky
transforming from azure to cobalt
with stars in infinite millions
bringing on a sense of wonder
that never ceases to delight.
However, Autumn is waiting
quietly beyond Summer's bend
and now and then you can hear it,
see it, feel it as it approaches.
Just little touches here and there.
But sure enough, it will break free
of Summer's green and yellow dreamy hold
to announce itself in snippets
of orange, red, russet and gold.
Yes, the days are still warm and sunny
but the darker early mornings
and darker early evenings
are tell-tale as to what
Autumn is really up to.
So this is the time that I relish most,
that in-between moment
when we'll soon have
a new seasonal host
that will require of us to put away
the shorts, the sandals,
the beach towels and lotions
that made our Summer
a sensuous journey
peppered with sunshowers,
thunderclouds, swims in the lake,
collecting shells on the shoreline
and charring vegetables on grills
and catching up on novels
for requisite lounge chair readings
and picking flowers in the garden
awash in scents and ladybugs
as iced drinks are sipped and savored
under umbrellas striped and wide.
Yes, this is the time
when flannel, quilts and nippy nights
become the wardrobe,
the bedcoverings,
the almost-black frosty evenings
that draw us to lighting candles,
tending firesides,
brewing up extra coffee or tea
or reaching for cups of hot chocolate
or perhaps sifting through cookbooks
in search of something soothing to bake
that'll taste even better while
wrapped in a blanket or thick fuzzy robe
for requisite armchair readings
of long-held books, old letters, old photos
or just recalling beautiful memories
of golden Summers past
that now bring comfort and peace
to our yearning Autumnal souls.
Summertime is finally fleeting
and oddly, though, I am not sad.
Yes, the fields will soon be emptied
of pastel-colored flowers and buzzing bees
and wading knee-deep in tall, wild grass
as the sun takes its time in setting,
late into the warm-breeze nights
that cause one to linger
and gaze up into a sky
transforming from azure to cobalt
with stars in infinite millions
bringing on a sense of wonder
that never ceases to delight.
However, Autumn is waiting
quietly beyond Summer's bend
and now and then you can hear it,
see it, feel it as it approaches.
Just little touches here and there.
But sure enough, it will break free
of Summer's green and yellow dreamy hold
to announce itself in snippets
of orange, red, russet and gold.
Yes, the days are still warm and sunny
but the darker early mornings
and darker early evenings
are tell-tale as to what
Autumn is really up to.
So this is the time that I relish most,
that in-between moment
when we'll soon have
a new seasonal host
that will require of us to put away
the shorts, the sandals,
the beach towels and lotions
that made our Summer
a sensuous journey
peppered with sunshowers,
thunderclouds, swims in the lake,
collecting shells on the shoreline
and charring vegetables on grills
and catching up on novels
for requisite lounge chair readings
and picking flowers in the garden
awash in scents and ladybugs
as iced drinks are sipped and savored
under umbrellas striped and wide.
Yes, this is the time
when flannel, quilts and nippy nights
become the wardrobe,
the bedcoverings,
the almost-black frosty evenings
that draw us to lighting candles,
tending firesides,
brewing up extra coffee or tea
or reaching for cups of hot chocolate
or perhaps sifting through cookbooks
in search of something soothing to bake
that'll taste even better while
wrapped in a blanket or thick fuzzy robe
for requisite armchair readings
of long-held books, old letters, old photos
or just recalling beautiful memories
of golden Summers past
that now bring comfort and peace
to our yearning Autumnal souls.
In midst of night,
When I was deep in slumber,
The memory rattled,
Eyes sunk with fear,
Saw the houses crumble,
The trees tremble,
The thunder storm made me nimble,
The ocean in fumble,
Tried to reach me and hug me in grumble.
I went slowly to the balcony,
Tried to reach out to see this mesmerized agony,
The agony was far from imagination,
It’s a terrifying situation,
God is slowly destroying its creation.
The waves shook the landscape,
The geography is jeopardized,
The houses drowned,
And with it are the people,
Cries of the birds,
Made the atmosphere filled with shrill,
The painful and subdued voice of the animals,
Made it sure of their fatal deaths.
The water is beneath,
Thunderstorm is above it,
No place for shelter,
The houses gradually decreased,
With water slowly increased,
I saw human beings floating in it,
I knew some of them, were also in it,
Saw the animals gradually going deep in it,
Trees are getting shaved,
Houses are getting razed,
The plateau near my house is gone beneath.
The things happened so quickly,
And it was so horrifying,
that I forgot my own situation,
Now I am in pain and sorrow,
for what I have seen slowly,
Happening beneath my eyes.
With this grief and agony in my heart,
I turned back to get inside the house,
But I was knee deep in water,
And the water is rising faster,
I am late in making my action,
Now my life and my existence is in jeopardy,
And with the flashes of the scenes running back and forth,
Made me cripple,
I wasn’t able to run,
I gradually gave up to the faith,
But when I saw the death creeping near to me,
A terrible fear ran through me,
My face became pale,
And the blood started drying up,
I started weeping and prayed to spare me,
But a dark shadow engulfed me,
And a terrible wave galloped me.
I was desperately moaning,
Then suddenly my eyes opened,
My bed was completely dripping from the sweat,
For few minutes I couldn’t make out what’s going on,
But then I realized that it was a dreadful dream.
I closed my eyes and prayed to God,
Thanked him that it was a dream.
Hmm
What is life ? some say life is a puzzle and I ask is it one we will ever complete?
Huh? Tell me will the puzzle ever be complete because I know and you know you can't just go in a store and buy the pieces in a box all pretty and neat.
For these pieces people compete they don't just open a box and pour the pieces on a table and sit in a seat while munching on sweet treats!
They walk roads nebulous and rocky until they get blisters on their feet
Rent has to be paid two jobs three kids and they still have to eat!
They try to keep their minds neat even though their knee deep and bound
For defeat they continue to dig deep.
The pieces for this puzzle isn't cheap! Some pieces you throw away some
Pieces you keep but some pieces you hold in your hand and contemplate
Without sleep! Some pieces might cut you inside and the wounds are
Root deep.
I saw my mother bleeding I held her face and said you need sleep she
Said you know son that's the only time everything seems complete!
She dropped some tears and walked away it reminded me of a rainy
Day I grabbed her and said everything is going to be ok she said I know
The Lord is going to make a way but we just get emotional when he takes
Away so we break away those pieces he hides and temporarily takes-away!
We try to regain it because of our thirst it makes it worst instead of
Our power we should make his first.
What is life? Some say a puzzle and it is complete all we have to do
Is keep it neat but because of the devils deception we suffer blindness
And defeat . Let The Lord complete your puzzle you just keep it neat.
Put aside your footsteps and let The Lord plant his feet don't walk
Ahead but walk with in his trail and you will never fail on the road to
Victory you will sail and when you fall don't cry to hard you
Might drown his voice instead give praise and rejoice and he will guide
Your choice.
At the end your puzzle will be complete so hard so easy so soft so bitter sweet
But with The Lord you can keep it neat.
By: Elliott Bowe aka the DrUnKeN PoEt
FLOODING EMERGENCY IN HOUSTON. HURRICANE HARVEY dumping 25 inches rain on Houston and other cities like Rockport, Corpus Christi, Victoria and HARVEY won't leave till Thursday, so storms not over. NEWS NOW shows people stranded, highway is flooded and motorists are stuck. Live video shows many cars under water and motorists walking knee-deep in water on highway. STUCK STUCK STUCK. People out wading in water and CAN'T go forward and can't back up. Power lines down, buildings, homes churches blown apart and electricity off; people in the dark. Hundreds of people bundled together in shelters.
NEWS said many people have climbed onto their roofs because their homes are under water with living area insided house flooded like victims did in New Orleans in Katrina Hurricane. Looks like Katrina all over again, and looks like Hurricane Harvey skipped Louisiana and East coast this time and struck TEXAS.
Roads, streets, highways turned into rivers and we see women, men and children being rescued in boats pulled toward safety by rescuers with water up to their chests. Helicopters flying around trying to lift people to safety, if they can reach individuals without rescuers placing their lives in danger. People need to watch out for snakes that swim in water, and possibly, alligators and other animals.
READ how to survive Mother Nature disasters like thunder lightening storms, earthquakes, horrific hurricanes, tornadoes, etc. NEWS says "Turn around don't drown." BUY NOW life-saving tips are suspenseful, and shocking! WHAT A MESS.
This means people can't go to work, schools, churches, stores or their homes for, perhaps weeks; therefore, will lose income. Many homeowners don't have home and flood insurance and have lost their home being torn up, their pets, and everything they own in this world!
VIEW Adventures of the Heart, a book of short stories sold on www.createspace.com/7022170 and Soothing Words Spoken from the Heart, a book of poetry sold on www.createspace.com/4929895.
Wagon John's Campsite
Bald Hill, Okla
By: Tom Wright
9/98
It was a typical Oklahoma August and the temperature had been soaring above 100, for several days. John was camped about 15 miles from our home and we,
(we being my wife and I), had driven to John's campsite to deliver his mail, and to share his wit and philosophy. He, his two wagons, five mules, two horses, and three dogs were on their way to New Mexico. We were delivering medicine that he would need. (My wife is Postmaster) His campsite had all the prerequisites of a good campsite as it had huge Oak trees for shade, green grass, and water in a nearby creek for the animals. He had been mending harness and it was strewn about the camp. Like John, being well weathered, it surely had a story to tell. During our conversation, we discussed his dogs, the price of horseshoe nails, and the intelligence of his mule Mollie, who I saw eating Poison Ivy from a tree while standing knee deep in green grass. Go figure. While noticing that he wasn't cooking, nor making what he called "Cowboy Coffee", my wife mentioned the heat and the campfire. Wagon John asked if we knew why he had the fire? Having been blessed with an analytical mind I shot back, ambiance or atmosphere. For the same reason people burn fireplaces in homes when other than for heat. That it makes your camp seem "Homey". He replied that was true but only a part of it. (There are no incorrect answers with John). That it was really for company. That the crackling of the embers were actually talking to us. In his solitude, he has learned to feel and appreciate those little things that most of us never notice or that we take for granted. While I looked at his fire and saw heat, he looked at the same fire and saw companionship. The first time I shared John's camp, I arrived a stranger, having no preconceived notions. I departed as a life long friend having been made much wiser for the experience. I thank you'll find Wagon John to be just "Folks".
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