Long Levees Poems
Long Levees Poems. Below are the most popular long Levees by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Levees poems by poem length and keyword.
some poems ask to be naked
they have no use at all
for punctuation
not even for an en dash
an em dash nor hyphen
they play with a flowing grammar
that must be read like water
or paddled through on a leaky canoe
the poet can then hide behind
these unchained words
while demanding to be truly heard
while of course
all the suggested literary pauses and in-breaths
can be just a matter of spacing
it is quite a scrabble game
one played with disjointed symbols
on blank tiles
a stylistic approach that can
if done right
be thought of as avant garde
or pointlessly regressive
but
we all like a nude
a form without garb and baggage
and perhaps some of us wish
wish we could walk on water sometimes
A Cup Runneth Over
My cup in dry abyss boils over
Condensing dewdrops in vapors of blessing
Into foaming condensed extracts
Like effervescence of divine dust
That bubbles up to the rim.
Rescued like a fallen star
From arid droughts
You send my thirsting emptiness
Like a winter deer to search for streams
And find deep pools of dawning glory.
Purified elixir drips mercy
Into my crumbling calyx,
Molding a new chalice,
Brimming with benediction,
As tides of absolution rise into oblation.
A frozen vessel washed with snows set free
Bathes my nascent cup in all ruth
In swirling celebration’s release
As levees of grace break free
Spilling into this my new fashioned grail.
7-20-22
Contest: Pick a Title Vol 31
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Title Chosen: A Cup Runneth Over
"Blue Rivers"
Blue rivers
run through a
pale valley
branches merge
to an estuary
where life
Bleeds
All in vain
Dreams are washed away
Dissolved.
The Monster satisfied
is fed.
Open mouthed
“It” sits
where it all ends
and waits
patiently
for the next
flood tide
to begin
to drown
it’s next
Blue River
dream
Rain will wash
crimson sands away
Blue Rivers
Held in pale valleys
Life bleeds
from different tributaries
watching each other
from distant levees
stand the shadows
ghosts of once were there
golden Summers
a lost child
and memories
fall within the cracks
of a broken road
to a home
blind now with
broken windows and
burnt stairs
Two silent swimmers
Blue rivers
run through a
pale valley
branches merge
to an estuary
where life
Bleeds
Two Swimmers
a small life
in between
All in vain
Dreams are washed away
Dissolved.
The Monster satisfied
is fed.
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
"When beggars die, there are no comets seen; The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes."
"Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once."
https://youtu.be/thL9QpwS6g0
Hole in the River/Crowded House
https://youtu.be/IgVbYnPodIQ
Four Seasons in One Day/Crowded House
https://youtu.be/jkdQxEm1tR4
A Life Between Us/Finn Brothers
the saving grace -
http://www.shakespeares-sonnets.com/sonnet/3
They unearthed him from the Delta dust/ Do Fletch, a name whispered on the wind, in a rusted tone/
Born and bred in NOLA's humid heart, A city sculpted by sorrow, torn apart, then rebuilt from the start/
Do Fletch not a singer, not an artist, not a star in the sky, but a conduit, a vessel, for the blues to cry/
His voice, a Mississippi moan, rising slow and thick, like the river itself, carrying history/ He didn't sing the blues, he bled them onto the stage/
Each note is a memory, etched deep in a man's age. Pain poured from his pores, a vintage Bourbon stain/
Every tremor in his throat, a forgotten hurricane/ He sang of levees broken, promises betrayed/
of rent past due, and his future slowly fading away/
He sang of love lost in the back alleys and grime, of the weight of generations pressing down on his time/
His voice, a deep-telling blues, the kind that crawls under your skin, A symphony of sorrow, a chorus of what might have been/
He didn't offer hope, he didn't offer light, He offered truth, raw and unflinching, in the dead of the night/
So listen close, to the ghost in his gravelly tone/
Do Fletch, rediscovered, no longer alone/
Let his pain be a reminder, a lesson learned in hard sorrow, that the blues ain't dead, just waiting to rise again/
Nuff said/
I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel
the pain at times
or that it's easy fighting back
tears from eyes
These wells of water helped me
maintain my peace of mind
when buoyancy recognized
the row was heavy
Waves of emotion flow
with steady lucidity
bringing with them
a bevy of things to
mention
My levees & crystal clear
intentions are boundaries
that help me avoid
attrition
Strength comes subtly
when you aren't
paying attention
& then suddenly your
mightier upon
ascension
I fail to mention secrets I've
disclosed to self
that came in times
I was supposed as
lonely
I was supposed to be but
never seen loneliness
up close enough so it's
hard to glean
It's too morose you see
& I've always been so close
to me that my adjacent self
never portrayed the scene
The lack of complacency
keeps me moving
& looking forward within
for more things
to see
So if you were to see
the world through me &
my set of eyes
you'd see that I've cried
inside but wiped the slate
before the tears had dried
It all seems soooo contrived
to the point where
my face that was etched
in stone had no place
to hide
Still I bring forth what I
feel inside as a way
to emote
letting you know
this isn't a queasy boat
Nor is it an easy wave to ride
when storms are the norm
in these outrageous
times
In my dreams I slide
sailing on sunny days
ducking the overcast
& its greasy ways
Like a bird I choose to fly
leaving things beneath
my wings behind
while I enjoy
the sky
I've said goodbye to what's
under the higher mind
choosing to stand over
the lower times
As above so below
they hear the
cries
before they evaporate
like water that
falls from cloudy
eyes
"Dam it ...
I said dam it!!" she cried,
Tears soft-swimming in her eyes,
Welling up like the swift torrent inside her ...
"Can you not see the rising submergence in my gaze?
My vessel is yet full," she pleaded, "and will soon runneth over!
The waters of my ravishment have flooded the lowlands to breaking,
And the banks of my best intentions can no longer stem the tide within!
Please ... please be my sad salvation, and do what you must,
For should you not shore up this trickle of passions,
The levees shall most assuredly break,
And quickly drown us both!"
Indeed, he thought,
Brightening.
ON THE LEVEES OF TIME…
(APROPOS WHEN THE LEVEES BROKE)
When the levees broke…when the levees broke…
When the levees broke…
When the levees broke the world awoke
From a submerged reality
Flowing beneath the bridge over trouble waters.
The copious tears of the domed encampment
Could not wipe away the fears
Nor cleanse the minds of lost hopes floating
In the midst of the mockery I see:
This land, this water, this ransacked America!
Shame is a white cloud reflected from the dark
Side of the moon;
Guilt seeks its own level; but the Lord said:
Vengeance is Mine…
Indeed to err is human; to forgive divine…
Mercy on we mere mortals!
When the levees broke…when the levees broke…
When the levees broke…
Stitches that bound the veil and scale of justice
Were ripped at the seam;
And it seemed that the bowels of hell
Loosened their pregnant flow of terror
And unseen evil revealed itself to an intoxicating world
Drunk with deception.
No receding water can was away the pain;
The level of grief remains.
Like a wrinkle in time, minds of survivors flood
With memories of Middle Passage Crossing;
deferred dreams of festering bloated bellies
Of the dreamers; dreamers of a new Diaspora;
Dreamers drifting on the rafts of new leanings
Indeed we shall rise again from the depths
Of hell’s waters;
Sail on the tides of new beginnings; no political anchors
Nor the barges of time
Can hold us in check or prohibit our rising.
At our soaked wake, we shall keep a ripened vigil;
The shadowed veil shall ever be rent.
All shall be naked before the world; truth revealing
Its self like a burning bush;
And we shall come over into a new dwelling: a city
Not made by hands of corruption.
And the Orleans of our beginnings here shall not fade
From these memories:
When the levees broke…when the levees broke…
When the levees broke.
(Me slippery fingers slither,
slip and slide splashing ala
Jackson Pollock), sans slap
dash experimental, swiftly
tailored and harried writing
style, yes on par with purging,
spewing, venting...unexpurgated,
unexpressed, unexplained...
words, which this Engelbert
Humperdinck singer/songwriter,
(whose name inexplicably popped
into the mind of this Dadaist)
offers "FAKE" apology for any
self inflicted, or sadomasochistic
flagellated cranial contusions
out of utter futility to make sense
regarding following gobbledygook!
GOOD LUCK!
Mine groovy palmar flexion creases
forever moistened by porous size
damn leaking levees provoking deluge
outranking Biblical flood - handy history
(in miniature) replete with Ark keel
logical artifacts discovered by hall n
oats marked wainwright - about 10 stone and
5 pound huckster, circa Fin de siècle,
when callous ten hooks (calisthenics,
eh) caught without Noah shadow of a
doubt proof positive by Matthew Scott,
(amat sure his surname) linkedin to storied
testament rivalling epic of Gilgamesh,
nee the entire spoilers alerts since
dawn of civilization writ small impossible
mission to decipher indelibly etched,
(what appear as Egyptian hieroglyphics),
methinks his perspiration contains
preservative agent, (a natural formaldehyde
like substance) generated nsync to maintain
eternal youthfulness, which stumps
medical community, and earned him
hashtagged "hotmail" (eagerly sought
after human commodity), a blessing
and curse palms plagued with chronic
wetness, yet lines (little flushed streams
of consciousness) rowed by itty bitty
teensy weensy merry daydreamers harkens
back when life held faint promise for
scattered (contra) bands of bipedal
hominids fiercely competing with trumpeting
(Taj Mahal sized) beasts (donned tousled
windswept hirsute trademark) Euclid
heir'm barreling along barren steppes
all around the one straggly mulberry bush,
where one pensive monkey (protohuman)
chased the weasel all around the world wide web.
Day one; Katrina arrives and all the rich leave
till the only ones left are the poor and naive.
And sea and air meet in a mass of screaming death
as some of the sick and injured breathe their last breath.
Day two; levees fail and water floods the city
hospital shelters are abandoned to pity.
And those scooped from rooftops are featured on the news
while others wait for rescue and the clean up crews.
Day three; as looting and gang violence disrupt
strangers huddle in the dark when gun shots erupt.
And cops barricade themselves and won’t come out
although suffering and crime fester all about.
Day four; fire and corpses add shame to the scene
while survivors get angry at clichés that demean.
For how long must they suffer how many must die
are we deaf to their pleas do we not hear their cry?
Day five; President Bush tries to deflect the blame
sending food with the army help finally came.
And the people of New Orleans rose to cheer
finally freed from five days of hunger and fear.
When your heart
corresponds
with your mind,
then, give it a shot,
you write
back to me
what expressions
you so badly
need
to bleed;
the characterisation
of letters
are alphabet soup
to me, child's play,
peeling tattoos
like bells ringing
over a tongue
not speaking,
I swallow words
hungrily
then I spit them out,
bullets that pierce
a page,
bulls eyes
staring back
through the black holes,
the other silent horns,
all silently complicit
small missions
of truth
cornucopias,
wearing through
the thin fabric
of ludicrous
fantasy
feathers that fall
from soft pillows
quaking against
levees breaking
the barriers hitting marks
the sands of time broken,
river banks splitting,
the bodies drowned
and sucked up
like works of art
in a hyped up
Hieronymus Bosch,
if you are in deep
you can make sense
of it all,
you know you're in it,
that picture, way, way
up to your eyeballs
brushing against
all the others, removed,
flotsam and jetsam
in the wash, sensing
the path they all took,
but the mystery
of never quite knowing,
like a smell, pervades
charcoal tears
melt all the ways
a heart can be kicked
down and gutted
witnessed through
gilt edged windows
full and jaded
to a gate opening,
the sound cracking
like a mouth
terraforming
dustied and green
the shaman soul
found underneath
it all, humourously
rustling sage over
the external,
a serious novice
for burning
small
exorcisms
smoking out
renegades, those
stubborn seeds planted
in long spent sentences,
those true romantics,
the forgotten ill-bred,
well-tilled, rebel poets
small
exorcisms
for burning
Candide Diderot. ‘24
violins.