Long Sloshing Poems
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Where bumbles bounce and witches fly
Faeries and jet streams in yesterday’s sky
I glance up and see an eagle so high
And I laugh at the juiciness of yesterday’s sky
They are hop skipping and flitting and fluttering too
The brownies and what-knots playing in diggery-doo.
My brain is on full delight energy mode kilter now
As I watch them spring forth with a kiss and a bow.
They give me that wink, the one I know well.
Mutter through supper, demanding yesterday’s bell.
I had forgotten the excitement of just sitting and watching.
The swish of the dragon’s tail, the water and sloshing.
It’s the dance of the bumbles, the rumbles, and more.
Dr. Seuss enters my head, running toward an old cottage door.
Library book smells come to me in drivels and drips.
It’s so much fun in the garden, with bumbles and bips.
Memories come fast, they land in my brain, screeching.
Remember the horror of reading about sucking and leeching?
Childhood gone, but the feelings are still right in there.
They come suddenly and hard, in this summer’s day air.
Written: 9-13-2019
Contest: Where Bumbles Bounce
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
surround sound rain;
I’m inside, out -
my feet feel bare,
naked, chilled.
fan forced to quit.
arms of Autumn breeze.
birds in the woods breathing
in the season’s petrichor.
noisy rascal - lamenting or
welcoming rain.
I welcome the swooshy-drops,
abiding chirps, puddling moss.
here it comes, the source
of time - lurking around wet bark,
reminiscents of perfumed family,
sloshing through crispy leaves,
pink coat
and galoshes,
yellow bus.
rain floats on air, infiltrates inside,
wetting my tongue and eyelashes-
perhaps those are tears. at last
too cold - boldness of October Sunday.
Shadow Waters
The water-bearer leans his urn silently,
pours starlight over forsaken streets
where neon lights flash their final confessions
and shattered promises accumulate like rain.
Here in the reverse trickle of time,
where advancement is lost in its own reflection,
the era turns in, searching for explanations
in dregs of what we believed we'd gained.
Electric prophets air hollow gospels
while the crowds scroll through ghost lives,
each contact another strand that entwines us
to this tapestry of lovely despair.
The constellation turns above, unchanging
those very stars that once held out liberty
now witness us tumble into the labyrinth
we built from our own radiant ideals.
In tower suites and lower-level clubs,
the children of the future sell their souls
to algorithms who recognize their secret names
and dole them out in morsels, afterwards.
Yet, still, the water flows, unceasing,
carrying seeds of something not yet born
perhaps redemption sleeps in darkness
of this shattered, brilliant age.
The carrier's face away from us,
sloshing the future drop by drop
while we stand dry in the flood,
suffocating in our own lighted shadows.
Anti-Poem — “The Membrane Electric”
(Poet’s Instruction: Play “Two Thousand Light Years From Home” by The Rolling Stones, while reading this anti-Poem)
susie and billy tripping into arterial los angeles
sloshing their young gonads with diet-rite cokes
riding now in his ‘72 cadillac deville on highland
susie’s in the front seat wearing a pink mini skirt
she’s swaying madly to the outrageous music
creating stardust sandwiches for the bewitched
the stones are jamming on 8-track with majesties
jamming and scratching the membrane electric
keith playing electric bass now with a mind claw
relax baby this is music from the perfume places
the bending plastic places where time oozes onward
sprinkling the silent cosmos with this gushing music
this atomic slide with mick jagger and the blues boys
brian hypnotizing death with mellotron madness
it’s so very lonely when the streets aren’t blinking
susie and billy careening now past the neon tributaries
this stunning urban interlude with handjob milkshakes
hey baby relax let’s just kick back and ride this music
this very cool mind slosh with charlie and billy too
ride easy baby as we slide into the membrane electric
yeah honey we’re two thousand light years from home
susie’s swaying now closing her eyes loving the stones
He is making a mud puddle.
Jumps in, squeals, delighted.
Hey! There is grass on my legs!
Sure is, I agree.
I’m DIRTY! Said in an accusatory way.
Yes, you are, I say.
He jumps in two more times, sloshing mud up his legs.
Looks at me. I smile.
His face turns serious.
He begins washing his legs with the slow cold water, coming from the hose.
It is cold! He announces, almost as if he is surprised.
Can you help me?
I help him drag in enough hose to get to the top of the slide.
He makes it into a water fall, and slides down fast, landing on his bottom with a thump.
The hose falls off, so I go over and show him how to keep it up there, using holes in the plastic.
He splashes himself in the eye right before his next slide.
Hey! I got water in my eye! Hey, guys, I got water in my EYE!
I look up.
He is over it, sliding again. Landing on his tummy this time.
After about forty minutes of this, he
releases the hose, and jumps onto the swing set which is about fifteen feet away from this slide.
Push me, Grandma!
I push him.
“HIGHER! High as the sky!”
I do as I am told.
“I am an astronaut, I am going into outer space!” he screams.
His mother arrives, and says “That’s pretty high.”
“I know,” I say. “But he’s at grandma’s house.”
He is invincible here.
The eagle arrives.
I point it out.
He names it Sweetie Grandma. Sunday heaven.
From shore to deep, the colors of the sea,
tan sand and white meringue bursting forth.
Can you picture the lovers on the edge
long after they're gone?
Footprints of fun
and frolic.
The ghost, of bikini and boxers
painted pretty with tropical flowers, on bods.
The ocean wall, an enigmatic blue and sand monster
like a cloudy day sky. It has the look of adventure
as it cascades.
I want to climb it’s peak,
examine it’s underwings.
Toes sink, knees deep, waist high -
I’m just an earthling enamored with the mystic sea.
When on a cruise deck, and God shut the lights off,
except for the moon
and stars,
I want to lean over -
don’t stop me as I dive with my prayers and imagination
into the frothing lullaby -
its rocking,
sloshing,
satisfying.
I hug the ocean more than any tree. It cools me,
surrounds me with
danger,
love,
romance…yes,
swashbuckles me, captures me, and lets me go.
The ocean let Jonah go and so did the great fish,
but I will not let the sea free me so easily. This salt
has it in her blood,
even standing too close
to the rocks
near the lighthouse that illuminates a warning.
Mrs. Muir saw the Captain in her dreams, full-bearded -
the cape cottage window open to the endless tide.
The danger now is not sharks nor shipwrecks
but the needles in the sand, the chasing off
of blanketed lovers by the unsavory beach pirates.
Us earthlings
must clean up our ebb and flow.
Illuminate me on pink sands. Draw me into a rapscallion tale.
I shall cross swords on the deck as the sea comes to my rescue.
Submerged in the depth of the abyss
Motionless nor missed
Submissive to fathom's organisms
Time had lost all realism
Amidst quiet grave her heart pulsates
Within the labyrinth iron hull
“Current, bring me the horizon”
The ship starts to breathe
Tremendous echoing sounds,
Creaking,
Snapping,
Sloshing
As the water draws back
Washing over the deck
Slowly ascends through freezing brine
Bow cutting through seawater surface
Waves lapping against the dressed floral coral hulls
A slave adrift at the mercy of the sea
Shadowy image upon its deck
Feeling the cool caress of bliss
Salty tears flowing down her cheek
10/31/2016
Seasons of Sanity
Affect my a$$.
It is ever thus.
Each season percolates
Distinct chemical essences from the
Cauldron of consciousness
Sloshing edge to edge in my brain pan.
Normalcy.
No one knows what that elusive
Formula could be.
Perceptions are refracted
A thousand times over
Within the smoke filled
Fun house of our existence.
Synthesis.
Earth’s seasons typify
But do not define
The kaleidoscope colors;
Moods and perceptions
Transform, intensify-
Lavenders to lightning blue,
Browns to lightening limes,
Maroons to neon ruby reds.
Thrashed strings of a guitar,
Spectrums of ambivalent
Harmonies theme my days.
Seasons of Sanity.
Anyone claiming to know
The weather of sanity’s seasons
Is to be avoided.
My Heart
I am a glass half full
Sometimes sloshing over the edge
A temple for fireflies, sand dunes
Water by nature, that cuts deeply
Beneath the reeds, flowing fast
Rapids, sometimes violent
Rushing past jagged stones
To still again, gentle ripple
My heart is like the ocean
Vast and deep and full of whispers
Rip currents and gentle foam
Licking over the stones and sand
Upon the shore
My heart is like fire
A column of flame rising from my breast
That burns down those old thorny bushes
Making way for new sprouting seeds
In the morning I’m bleary eyed
Fumbling for coffee and toast
In the afternoon, agape with wonder
At the cirrus clouds above
In the evening I am still
…or try to be
Dismissing the stirrings of the day
Shrugging it off like snakeskin
Fidgeting, breathing, sometimes tears
Sometimes laughter
By the blue TV screen light
I am a glass half full
.. except when it’s half empty
But I always, always
Thirst for more
Technically, not a sea at all,
Lake Superior churns up its share of sea storms.
There is not a lot to do in Marquette, Michigan:
Except for high school drivers to "buzz the gut",
Or cruise past a courthouse where "Anatomy" was filmed.
You could smoke dope or drink underage
Under a disused, fourteen story ore pocket dock.
Rusted off shards of flat black paint
Fall on the gently sloshing waves.
There is a breakwater of dumped cement blocks
That has a chain-linked fence and sign that says,
DANGER! NO TRESPASSING!
But of course, the young ones do.
And better yet if a sea storm comes.
Maritime law forbids including those who drown
As sailors lost at sea.