Meanders Poems | Examples

Songbird Rise

Songbird Rise ~ dawn's chorus flickering fire of life.... burning endless embers...song birds sing at the coming of light...
peaceful pearched in heights lovely gaze,...high above pastel colors flow from distant range...
spiritual chants spill in loving song...birthing a new day...
as a warm breeze meanders on...

The Silent Kiss

In silhouette of fervor hovering
 That meanders vivid upon the night
The hum of music from so long ago 
   Romances the air... a twirl, a lyric
While tunes of mist stir of rhapsody
       Along the harbor to fling and gently play,
A rhythm of craving beats, as lips intone
 love's  silent quiver, still as secret whisper;
From this earnest heart deepened by time
When dulcet songs of wind now fondle 
Breaths' charmed trails gushing on- and on--
       And words become an impassioned call
 Deepening my hymnal interludes; 
As our mellow kiss jangles like chime of bells 
Slithering  like a windblown mantra
        ....Luring my beloved at sea to come home.

Morning Unfolds

A soft wind lifts the curtains.
light spills across the wooden floor.
dust spirals in lazy circles
and the quiet hum of the house
feels like a gentle heartbeat.

I step outside
the earth smells of wet grass and stone.
a bird’s song cuts through the stillness
small, specific, lively
and i bear in mind I belong here.

The sun melts my skin
the world extended, slow and planned
shadows bend and bow
a leaf meanders, holding the gleam
and i am awake, completely.

Rhythm of a River

                                               Rhythm
                                               of a river 
                                      meanders timelessly 
                               with shallow edies that lie still
                          until the season's tempo moves along 
                               and I hear haunting siren's call 
                                    when the river flows by
                                            in unbroken 
                                                rhythm

Kundalini

In the opaque night across the space of silence, 
enfolding the languid landscape of my existence,
bereft of the beguiled essence in indolent life,
my pathway meanders in the labyrinth of torment.

Trudging at the fringe of trying forbearance,
I hear listless the whispering wind of wisdom 	
tell me, this journey has no meaningful end.
I’m entangled in the nebulous mesh of ambiguity. 

The ill-conceived venture of the errant mind 
finds gloomy dead end in the introspection path.
That’s when the serpentine force opens the innate door,
releasing the feminine energy of yogic awareness.  

My soul shines then with the ethereal radiance
in the infinite depth of the discernment space,
like the flaring brilliance of dormant tantric power,
flashing through the seven chakras of perception. 

In my self-searching spiritual odyssey 
toward the edge of the enlightened eternity,
I perceive the acuity centres configure consciousness
and turn it into living beacon, lighting my inner self.

No More Mister Gneiss Guy

Geologists say ‘by your leave’,
we’re famously polite:
we wear our heart upon our sleeve,
rejoice at rhyolite.
We’re very patient people, but
I tolerated stuff before
that I’m not taking any more:
up with this I will not put.

Don’t bring to me your xenolith,
preposterous, fantastic:
I’m done with make-believe and myth:
my ire is pyroclastic.
Don’t tell me pressure makes a gem,
discomfort forges what’s sublime:
the aimless drip of frameless time
creates a speleothem.

Some things improve with age, it’s true,
while others just feel dated:
to sleight of hand, to me and you,
I’m simply indurated.
I’m wise to every move you make –
I’m distanced from your wiles,
meanders, stratagems and smiles -
a placid oxbow lake.

Where Silence Listens

A snow-capped mountain where nobody goes;
             a forest thick with foliage and trees;
      a river which meanders as it flows
               through spaces that nobody likely sees;
an expanse of sand too wide to be traversed;
             a tundra where no man cares to abide;
a spot deep in the sea that’s not yet cursed;
              a forgotten weed-infested graveside.
In this world where so many places teem
            with humanity and the chaos we bring,
there still exists the quiet of a dream
           and nature has evaded mankind’s sting.
Where silence listens, sounds are wild or raw,
       like wind-rush, 
                 wave-roar or 
                                  simple crow-caw.

In the Heavens

In the heavens,  
Light pervades and intervenes.  
Mystery is unmasked,  
And the night trembles at the feet of the Divine.  

Souls that ascend to the heavens  
Stand in awe of their majesty and magnificence.  
The arts and crafts are beyond human imagination;  
The glow and glory surpass what the mind can comprehend.  

In the heavens, an ear listens—  
Our songs and heartfelt cries ascend.  
We await a descent,  
Optimistic that our ascent is a sweet sound.  

In the silence of the soul, there is an outpouring from the heavens.  
A river meanders through the mind,  
Treasures, as the sages say, await us there,  
For the river flows to reveal these hidden gems.  
There is a gathering in the heavens,  
And the princes of chaos are dislodged.


May 31, 2025.

A River Meandering

 

 "There's a river meandering through the mind"

I love nature and wandering among the green trees,
and following the bubbling path of a cool blue river;
as it meanders and twists by jagged rocks and reeds,
where ducks and swans make nests in the shade,

And when I go to sleep at night I meander that river;
I explore and rest upon polished by years stones.

I really like watching the sweet fish swimming along,
so graceful, and quite impossible to catch;
the sun reflects in the water and makes them like gold,
like angels floating here and there so beautifully.

The birds sing in the leaning trees a symphony for me,
with a thousand callings drifting in the forest air;
o, the river is moving, flowing, going somewhere for me
so always, there's a river meandering through the mind.

Mirrored Driftwood

A lone prisoner of my own making,
a cocoon confined within introvert isolation,
I see all the familiar faces recede nowhere,
leaving me stuck in the maze of acuity.
In the weed-webbed wasteland within
piles up the wreckage of life unlived.
My mystique mind turns into Nemesis,
makes a wilderness of mirrors for me,
reflecting the pernicious perception of anguish, 
an emotion engulfed by intuitive foreboding.

The sane sense losing the route to perpetuity,
disappears in the miasma of lonesome reflections. 
The marooned psyche meanders in desolate darkness,
trying to find the deluded traveler, instinctive me.
Enshrouded by despair I turn into a dead wood, 
afloat on the turbulent flow of the ordained strife.   
With secluded mind I drift in the time's eternal flow,
and on the move, I don’t remember where I started from,
for like mirrored driftwood my memory has no memory.

The Butterfly

As she drinks nectar from a flower, sweetness from heaven falls like dew  
anointed with a gentle rain amidst sun showers she appears as if on cue   
 
Lifting her wings she lands on a Zinnia beneath a tinted sky of April blue 
flight of fancy fanning fast, fabulous marvel, she is beauty true on true

A curious witness to this mummer in Mother Nature's magnificent scheme
she magically meanders in the mountain meadow by the flowing stream 

A youth, in floral print as new as Spring, wonders, is paradise what it may seem
and after eighty Springs, an aged girl asks, was it more than just a dream

Still, I wait

The moon meanders,
consuming the seconds,
minutes, hours
until it fades in the dawn.

Still, I wait.

         The clouds dance their misty
         ballet in the sky playing
         hide and seek with the stars.

         Still, I wait

                   The morning mist dances
                   on a stage of pastel hues,
                   swirling and repainting a landscape
                   that passes before my unseeing eyes.

                   Still, I wait

                             I wait for my heart to fill
                             with the winds of passion
                             and take me to undiscovered
                             places…

I wait for the forgiveness
         found in love.

I wait

A Shallow Creek to Nowhere

In flood the creek is still a walk over.
 A listless washing of the land,
a hesitant flow, never meant to be a tributary,
 or delta of anything at all.

The opaque water meanders 
through sunken banks
then after a few miles, seeps into a
 wallow of bottomland.

It recently has been given a name,
a new housing development
built beside its muddy channel
has named it ‘Silver Water Creek’.

What’s left of Silver Water Creek
scrawls an epilogue in the mud.
A leaf beached on a pebble
mimics a lilliputian wreck,
and that is where
my imagination tragically drowns.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A recent edit

Jolted by Twilight

Quote: "Tomorrow's sun will rise, either in splendor or behind a mask of clouds, but it will rise." Unknown Author of a well known poem.

As the day meanders by,
Sunbeams still stream from the sky, 
With so many promises left to fulfil.
And a relaxed sensation lingers still.
Euphoric stimulations rush through my mind,
A pulsating tempo, urging me on to unwind.
A peace in knowing, what I know to be so,
I fret for the knowledge of what I don’t know.
Alarmed yet inspired by the sun’s sudden sinking.
The loss of this day sets my mind feverishly thinking.
A panicked realization, harshly jolted by twilight.
The day is ending and turning to night.
I watch the golden orb with its crimson halo.
Each unfinished promise must wait, this I know.
The sun melts into the far off shadowy hills,
My failure to complete each task, now gives me chills.
However, sunset’s glowing beauty of splendor untold.
I rest as night’s velvety blanket begins to unfold.
With a sweetness, and a warm tranquil overtone. 
Knowing that tomorrow’s arrival is surely set in stone.

November serenade

the stream meanders
its ribbon rippling under a tired sun
that time seems to have forgotten

yet the afternoon warmth
exudes its ambrosial cachet
in the most gracious of manners

meanwhile a september breeze
gently rustles playful leaves
that have begun to turn

and autumn most willingly
parades in robes of elegance
with multicoloured jewels

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