Bee sat on drooped lotus
Days back lovey abloom lotus
was at focus
of fluttering butterfly and humming bees
in rapture to capture
fragrance and nectar.
Now lotus drooped with shrunk wrinkled petals
floats on marshy mossy low pond.
Swarm of flies assemble
on bosom of withered blossom.
Willow standing on wet muddy brim
mourns in silent scream
weeping watching dry deceased flower
abandoned by bees and butterflies..
Bumble bee sat idle on bosom of drooped lotus
with its broken antenna..
Spring's youthful moon explodes in gold
mingling with tangerine tones of skyline,
That I reflect languid reveries holding me
captive in the glow of a byway...
A portrait of birds, flora in endless variety
weaves through marshy lanes,
As couples mingle with strangers
for light exchanges, closing the finale
of day's rite in enchanting sways :
The movement of kind gestures
beneath glide of clouds stills my heart...
And I am awed by this soft rise of a view
which glimmers in a rhythmic wave
of spontaneity--this gentle blend between
man and nature -- reminding this woman
the reverence within the stillness on a byway.
The marshy lands,the meadows green,
The miraculous creations are yet to be seen.
The nature's beauty spread around,
The swaying flowers,the chirpy sound.
The mountain peaks ,reaching the sky,
The wonderful creatures, fly free so high.
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
He sang the song at sunrise, to the morning dawn
It rose into the atmosphere and carried on and on
It fell in gentle rain upon the barren lands
It moistened upturned faces and was caught in outstretched hands
It blew within warm winds across the marshy fen
Was whispered through the waving reeds and reached the hearts of men
This song is never ending all around the earth
The song that started long ago with our sweet Saviour's birth
marshy mossy fly
fuzzy crowding cattails
green bulldog croaking
music in the bog
evening buzzes and humming
wild things aboard
I feel as though I'm between the devil and the deep sea.
Helplessness, like a gale, culls me away from existence.
From all clutches of stresses and strains, I want to be free
Moments move as though streams with no sense of deliverance.
With sloth, wrath, envy, and pride, my plates and cups are full
I thirst for mercy, compassion, forgiveness, and healing.
I wash and wash my linen, which soon turns again soiled wool.
Why do my jars of hemlock provoke in me a proud feeling?
Like a child fallen into a marshy pit, I raise my hands.
Tears secrete from the wells of my heart and flow through my eyes.
My life has often been like a dream of desert lands.
Will it be quenched with drops of grace and reach the divine highs?
Lone I sail on deep seas at black nights in my broken boat.
Far from feeling of finesse, farther from fullness, I float.
Freed from burdens of cold ice carpets
Grasses resurrect from marshy pits
Rays from a red fireball from far
Shine like gold dust from a long lost star.
Songs of each bird have volumes hidden.
From freedom no one is forbidden.
Scorching Sun in severe Summer brought draught with arid field.
Rainy season followed, when cracked soil about to cry.
Roaring storm and floating clouds rushed and fought.
Appeared showers when Summer is gone.
Loud thunderbolt, gust thrusts, cloud melts, rain showers.
Plants bathe with branches, foliages.
Silky shiny leaves are kissed by rain drops.
Glistening greenery embowers.
Sun not sizzling, raindrops drizzling.
Soil gets moistened, glossy green grass in mass.
Flooded damped ground .
Football played wearing soggy Jersey.
Immersing one leg on muddy marshy land
standing long - necked crane to catch fish.
Rain showers soothe when Summer is gone.
Dry Nature gets blessings to relish.
All around fine freshness sparkle.
New love cheers, excites, entertains.,
confusing amusing muse of lovers.
Refused love blends in tears with ceaseless rains.
Existence, herein, is like water in an earthen pot.
A grit on the problem is enough to bring it to naught.
The water in it is cool and as clear as a crystal.
Though physically brittle, both within them are blissful.
Does the fish in a drying pond die of fear every day?
Amidst the dangers of dragnets, doesn't it find its way?
It's movement is gentle. Consciousness is concentrated.
No harm to anyone is done. Is life consecrated?
Stuck in the marshy mud, the sunflower raises its head.
Bees, peeping through it and finding no honey, fly ahead.
Butterfly, dragonfly, hummingbird, parrot, or sparrow
In a Zen flux, as though a silent stream, it seems to flow.
Like the fragrance of basil or mint, I merge in the breeze!
My pilgrimage towards perfection never seems to cease.
Acts of compassion, as though the fin of a fish, breathes love
Though legs measure the clement earth, the mind flies far above.
AFTER THE FLOOD
After the flood has subsided
With insurance claims made
Pertaining to the destruction
There’s all the reconstruction
The memories will never fade
And reluctant moves decided
Now leaving a riverside location
After years of increasing prices
Insurance premiums now sky high
And still the ground is not dry
Fearing a repeat of such a crisis
And little advance information
Perhaps a home on a mountain
But never on a low marshy plain
Nor situated by a body of water
Flooding offers few any quarter
Is our future to be constant rain
Drains overflow like a fountain
It’s climate change, they all say
But there’s been floods before
Seas just a metre or two higher
In coastal regions it will be dire
It’s history, so just talk to Noah
Maybe it’ll happen again one day
The master artist stroked with his brush of beneficence
The canvas relented. There, hence, blossomed magnificence.
Each stroke gave birth to a rainbow of multi-hued images.
Each dot gleamed, as though waiting to be alive for long ages.
Trees, shrubs, and herbs; hills, mountains, fountains, rivers, and oceans
The galaxies, heavens, and Hades each depicted his notions.
Ponds, lakes, and waterfalls— everything seemed good in my eyes.
None couldn't avoid praising the way he had sketched the skies.
Why, yet, are these desert storms, volcanoes, and earthquakes sketched?
Why are these charcoal-like black dots, like landscapes, seen outstretched?
Is it the soul wish of the artist, who has his own way?
Are these, like gems fixed in jewels, a part of the array?
The master may have many unique morals to impart.
Aren't good and evil, hope and hopelessness, parts of one's heart?
To brush up the marshy, bushy paths, I should add my mite.
Isn't continuing the master's work my divine right?
Like a brick-by-brick castle unfolding. with scaffolding
Petals after petals of distress go on unfolding.
Feelings of hurt, ache, uncertainty, and anxiety
Like rust in iron, it pokes and corrodes my gaiety.
Is it my physique, which is ill within, that causes pain?
Is my psyche, like a parched, cracked earth, screaming to be sane?
Like a termite-eating piece of art, I crush and crumble.
On the rocks of my sadness and loneliness, I stumble.
Is my blood boiling like water at 100 degrees Celsius?
My fear, anger, and pessimism make me nefarious.
My unmet needs, relational plights, and suppressed powers
Have grown in my orchard of hearts, like cannabis flowers.
I should come out of tension, like chicks out of shredded shells.
I should, like a lotus, raise my head from these marshy wells.
I should allow the graces of the sole spirit to flow.
Like the lilies of wild fields, by divine glows, I must grow.
Marshy, muddy, like the alluvial soil after rains
Slippery, clutching, quaking, and giving way underfoot
Pulling the solitary wayfarers with vein-nerve strains
Pets and cattle, as though sailing on sinking boats, get hooked.
Is human kinship as smooth as rolling on fresh flowers?
Amidst love, laughter, and unbridled joy and fulfillment
Like seasons change from sunny summer to monsoon showers
Don't relationships bring in quagmires of self-concealment?
Under the seemingly muddy water of emotions
When headaches and heartaches dare to abide with happiness
Within opens notions of communication erosions.
Grass blades hiding the messy marshes lead to fussiness.
Ponder! Meditate! Contemplate! Walk in a Zen rhythm!
Quagmire says, Beware of the existential vacuum.
Aged man walks on the busy street
Beyond his ability to cross
Cane in hand, old friends he needs to meet
Delayed by rain, worried about loss
Earlier, he fell into a hole
Finding out he damaged his right leg
Good that he didn't hurt body whole
Heading to the market for an egg
In the dark of the night without light
Just then, he saw a mean dog and swayed
Knowing fully well the turn is tight
Lingering for a moment, dismayed
Managed to lose his footing on ground
Neck deep in marshy land off the road
On witnessing the scene the dog frowned
Prepared to attack but turned and slowed
Questions stormed the old man's fevered mind
Reminding him of his old weakness
Should he shout for help or wait to find
The dog's aggression or its meekness
Until the dog heard sounds of people
Viciously running towards the ditch
With clubs and sticks making it feeble
Xbox games came to mind was it dog, b tch?
Yet, whatever, it did not relent
Zeal is good, finally, it was bent
At last, he was saved from emboggment
But he never learned what was meant
mbfarookh
Spanish Moss hangs over my face
a gentle caress
green filaments brush my hair.
The flat-bottomed boat
glides on a slow current
but it pushes me,
it urges - but to where?
Florida has a lot of water,
this stream is green,
a backwater making its own way
as it slides between marshy land.
Perhaps it will wind into
a Floridian suburban stream somewhere,
there will be blue swimming pools,
perhaps the odd plastic flamingo?
I hope there will still be
these enrobed Cypress trees,
some curtains of trailing moss
that will part
revealing new ways for this boat to go.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.