Long Quicksand Poems
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A slice of light strains in vain
through murky glass,
pouring shadows into corners like spilled ink.
Dust floats and coats the acrid air,
white with stale light.
The room is always grey, always silent... at first.
Until the silence breaks---
splintering like snapped wood.
A spindle without thread
drops from nowhere, rolls in karmic circles
across the floorboards in my head.
It stops at my feet; I bend to pick it up.
But when I open my palm,
it's gone--
And in its place I find an hourglass
Then - suddenly - I'm encased
in a giant vial of glass,
swallowed up by quicksand
that turns to sinking ash.
I bang bruised fists against glass walls,
but the more I thrash,
the deeper I fall.
I open my mouth to scream---
And I'm a china doll,
sitting on a dusty shelf -
paralyzed, demoralized,
with flimsy limbs, expression grim.
All I can do is stare
until morning's glare
answers my prayers
and wakes me up.
Oh, Africa, a vast and varied land
Yet overshadowed by IMF's hand
Structural adjustments they decree
Yet bring nothing but misery
Forced reforms they demand
Leaving nations bound in financial quicksand
Economic policies, cold and stern
Often leave the people for more they yearn
African soil, rich and ripe
Yet resources drained in IMF's grip tight
Development hindered, dreams deferred
As IMF's demands go unheard
Structures shattered, communities torn
As IMF's programs leave them forlorn
Debt burdens heavy, futures bleak
In the name of progress, the poor they seek
Yet the toll on Africa's heart
Tells a tale of IMF's misguided part
Forced adjustments, a bitter pill
Leaving scars that linger still
Is slavery actually long gone
For the burden of debts we still borne
Ensnared in shackles of disgraceful loans
Why can't we just be left alone?
8/9/16
Why settle
If I haven't yet been successful
To reaching a higher level
Forever I just may wrestle
With the devil
Until I twist them into a pretzel
Extinguishing the flames, before throwing them underneath quicksand and pebbles
Too many worlds revolving around money
It's no longer funny
Considering it's happening in every country
Meanwhile people are starving and hungry
Been struggling day to day and monthly
People on television trying to make others look bad
It's becoming rather sad
And far too much of a fad
You should be glad
And more thankful of what you have
Instead of getting mad
And attempting to prove your point through an ad
What people will do for the spotlight
At times is just not right
By: Dalton Ogletree
first man borne of earthly woman
wakeful n'fresh as the morning dew
the heavens fell he, was false as hell
over which he was meant to rise and rule
There was sin, waiting in desire for him
only one shade darker than quicksand
sunken in haste, so as to mask all trace
blood of Abel crying out from the land
chasing tail in a cycle
of blood and of grain
bold and profane
the mark of Cain
expelled from all the glory of Eden
sent forth n' far from the grace of God
flesh o' his brother, fruits of th' field
he built a city in the land of Nod
industry of lust, engines of sin
we begin wi' all fair favor spent
sound n' fury, live n' love thy mis'ry
daggers in the smiles of foe and of friend
'laws of human nature
they won't ever change
ne'er to be forgiven
the mark of Cain
the mark of Cain
I am stuck in this rut called life
Not going anywhere
People around me move forward
While I'm mired in despair
It's like swimming in a fish tank
Or walking in a cage
Where the only thing that's moving
is my increasing age
It's like running on a treadmill
In circles, going round
Weary of waiting and waiting
No change, no purpose found
I am caught in a strange quagmire
Not sinking in the slush
Nor coming out of this quicksand
Life is in no great rush
I am stuck in this rut called life
How longer should I wait?
Sometimes no answer is in sight
No rescue from this strait.
3rd April 2023
111 words
For Sotto poet's "Free submission" contest
Wobble chops in 99, was driving cars and doing fine'
He'd was in 'top gear' where his sweaters looked drear
On a roll, he was always really; ready to talk and stroll
Smugness poured out of him, he may be deaf from his own din
Also discontent I saw' he changed loyaltys as a revolving door
Rover built the 75, it was easy on the eye, orders just began to fly
A solid build the people liked, time for old wobble chops to strike.!
Its like a doctors car he groaned, him all grimace and stone dead tone
Causing orders to dry up quick, bashing British Jeremy thick.'
Clarkson you should have been banned' pushing rover into quicksand
Causing so many jobs to die, pompous twit are you satisfied.?
Fonty was a vegan Vulture.
Other Vultures tried to offer their advice
Told him they were created as carnivores and eating
meat
Is an essential part of their diet.
He stayed true to his commitment to be a vegan
Ate fruit and berries but they never satisfied his appetite
He resulted to stealing stale bread from pigeons
Crows kept him away from the cornfields
He was too weak to put up a fight
The Vulture Committee knew he wouldn't last much longer
Sure enough he died from starvation
The Volt joined together as a Wake and all said a prayer
Then they quickly ate him.
Judge Santiago Burdon
Stray Dogs and Deuces Wild, Not Real Poetry, Quicksand Highway, Fingers in the Fan, Tequilas Bad Advice, Lords of the Afterglow, Overdose of Destiny, Architect of Havoc .
He's not proud that it came to this.
He's very aware that something's amiss.
He never chose to be lonely and selfish;
Or dreamed of not having a want nor wish.
A well-mannered man, meek and mild,
Mr. Blue always greets with a smile.
But he's sad, sorry, and blue.
He has no sisters or brothers
And no room for others;
Neither for me nor even you.
He lives in a cave,
Far from roads paved.
He lives of the land and
Digs for gold with a pick and a pan.
He feels secure with a gun in his hand.
And doesn't care whether others understand.
He only knows it feels like sinking in quicksand,
Since his dear wife died suddenly some 20 ago.
He often broods in the cave pacing to and fro.
He keeps busy most of the time with this, that,
or the other and occasional sips of whiskey and wine.
At other times, he cries, as the world passes him by.
052121PS
Let the final countdown begin
Proxy war in Afghanistan
Saudi Arabia vs. Iran
India vs Pakistan
Sunni vs Shia
The 38th divide of Korea
China taking over the sea
As the US debt is skyrocketing
Militaries expand
Droughts and famine in farmlands
Christian exodus from the middle east
Refugees from the lack of peace
Annexations by Russia
No one screams in hysteria
Pocket nukes are ok to use
Mankind has a short fuse
One, two, three, four, five
What to do to stay alive
To simplify, put your head between your legs
And kiss your *** goodbye
God, please hold our hand
The world is sinking in quicksand
Angry, greedy statesmen
Sounding the drum of the horsemen
Artificial intelligence
Climate change and mass surveillance
With two minutes left to midnight
Listen for the sound
Drop the beat, hit the ground
Dynamite as bright as daylight
Signaling for help with a flashlight
Playing the rave, igniting the night
The blasting wave, in the grave, later love
Smitten with the fireworks above
The nuclear deterrent is gone
Nothing but an oxymoron
The plight of mankind fight
Cockroaches become the spotlight
As they write what happened at midnight
February 7, 2018 - Updated 5/14/2019
For Emile Pinet
Contest The doomsday clock 2 minutes to midnight
Form:
how many years have we got
until there’s nothing left to sell
in this daydream of an insane lad?
all these changes, kooks and supermen
are sinking in a quicksand of Mars
while pretty things rise and fall
there’s a panic in the city
of rock’n’roll suicides,
rebels and diamond dogs
while golden years pass by
from station to station
now we are low on a speed of life
always crashing in this art decade
like heroes of the silent age
so how many creeps of modern love
in the labyrinth of scary fashion
will fall down with the world tonight?
when earthlings are the loneliest
and the stars are out for hours
the next day becomes a wide circle
where Lazarus waits
for Starman to come
*In memory of one of the biggest musicians and artists in the world, the great and only DAVID BOWIE.*