Mounded Poems | Examples

Express Train

Door open,
hurtling loud and at full speed
towards my destination,
beneath me a blur 
of mounded ballast
and withered grass,
the world coming into focus more
the further out I look -
graffitied fences, factories 
still wearing the soot 
of steam trains from decades 
before, a mountain of stacked
wooden pallets, car wrecks
piled four high. 

Late sixties, on my way
to work on the 7.10 
from Alberton, all stops 
to Cheltenham then express
to the City. The station names
flash by, Woodville, Kilkenny,
Croydon, Bowden all pass dreamlike 
through a disconnected stare.
A vague residual left by the thoughts
back then still seem to slop
around my memory. I can feel
panic claw on the window
trying to get out.

I arrive fifty five years later,
on time, here, a world away
looking out on a soft fall
of summer rain. My journey 
has gone by all too fast
on the 7.10 express train.

Truth? Really?

The Wizard of Oz has embraced you within his curtains
Safe inside, YES!  Truth comes in flavours with versions

Scoop yourself a high mounded float of fanciful demeanour 
Perouse the fifty shades of "God, That Sounds Much Better"

Now spin, hold your finger to your head and again spin
Only hold your nose while you conjure up what will be sin 

Each turn twists so fine to obstruct what was once a Singularity
You didn't know?  Really?  Truth for real became a plural Entity

Downs

Velvet verdigris
solid static tsunami
mounded muscle mass

Word Strokes

Nestled woodland, leaves on line,
   thick, straight, and curving.
Mounded upland, forms eternal,
   Rounded, angled, and yielding.

Circled valley, meadows, fields,
   shapes, and pathways winding.
Seasons quartered, warm and cool,
   rust and mustards flying.

Upward outward, textured daybreak,
   quiet breezes low:
Close encounter, canvas earth,
   to view, to feel, to grow.

The Avenue

A cold wind shreds
into moans
through the gritted branches
of apple trees then quietens 
to a yawn rippled
across the waters of a lake.
Further up the valley,
half the trees have been uprooted
and mounded into bonfires
that smoulder through
a moonless night.

Nearby, long lines of traffic 
pass on a highway where
lives, cocooned in comfort, 
barrel by through drifts of smoke.
One hundred years ago
and a hemisphere away,
young men from here
stood propped in trenches
in fear of a more
lethal smoke.

Folded over
a bypassed road, an avenue
of trees commemorate the dead.
Each bears a weathered plaque.
A century on, the names
have been hollowed out
and no longer live in a memory
housed in the mind of a parent,
wife or child. Come April,
in the pre dawn mist,
they are lifted high above 
their earthly station to become
the saints of a secular nation.

Visions

Walking to the tea house
Under a clear blue sky
Mount Fuji soaring
Majestic to the eye.

Blossom in the air 
Being blown around 
Until a gentle breeze
Drops it to the ground.

Afternoon with a Geisha 
Taking ceremonial tea
Listening to the sound
Of the rolling sea.

Kimono rustling,
Sound of finest silk
Mounded to a body,
Colour of Buttermilk.

Exquisite smiles from
Behind a painted fan,
Imagined images from
This strange, exotic land.

Maybe one day I'll visit
If fortune is kind: 
Until then I'll keep it 
Gently in my mind.

Cemeteries

Sad graves comprehend
Red dirt freshly mounded up
Flowers crying out!

Love: Male Hypnosis

We love them everywhere we go, 
Every size and every shape,
We dream them when we’re fast asleep, 
And we stare when we’re awake,

And some are big and round and warm, 
While some are firm and pert,
And some are out on full display, 
Some are squashed behind a shirt,

Then when she runs they hop about, 
Try escaping to be free,
And when they do this fantastic dance, 
It’s the only thing we see,

And so we see them everywhere we go, 
The mounded rounded pearls,
Our beautiful women in our lives, 
Her jugs, her gorgeous girls.

Landlocked

rolling up
with pedaled breath
I came upon the mounded snow
that telltale shape
in streetlight glow
my prize! 
my goal!
crumpled bills, rising hope
I spilled off my bike
ran up that shoveled icy slope
cracking door, splitting light
I threw the cash, I grabbed the key
my hopes now soaring above the night!
(no more pedaling for me!  Hee hee!)
I tore off round the house with haste
ah, the fumes!
the freedom!
such a sweet, sweet taste!
scrape the glass, then jump inside,
that musty smell
ah, who cares, it's now my ride
turn the key
a sputter, another!
click!  click!  a muffled shudder!
but soon a wheeze
a petrol cough
a roar to life, 
I'm off!  I'm off!
down the lane
I rolled and sped
new found freedom on Vulcan's tread
but wait!  a pop!
an urgent whine
what fell spirit steals this dream from me?!
rolling stop with shivered needle
a dashlit arrow stares right back...

pointing laser straight at the letter E.

Dawns Joyful Arc

Dawn’s Joyful Arc

The old bridge is gone
as is the rapid chatter
destiny’s wheels,
steel on steel progress
streaming a black ribbon
of hope’s hubris.

The river rose up –
a revolt against
the cold black film –
perhaps.  More likely
in self defense
as empty words
now filled the silence.

A swan sits upon
a mounded nest
eyeing the muskrat.
In the  mist
dawns joyful arc
bridges the river.


©10/23/2018

for – Rainbows Poetry Contest

King of the Hill

He sits on a throne;
a green and mounded hill.
a velvety yellow crown
on a cat without teeth.
Waves are gently blown
on a carpet of grass,
in the palace of nature.
as if a royal envoy
brings forth a message:
"summer has come,
king Dandelion."

How I Became An Oak

I stood as though reborn on mounded dirt which seemed so moist
it strangely could assuage the ache from my bowels howling
from so much hurt! Would ground then be my cure or a mirage? 
Enticed, I deeply pressed my feet through the soil! They took root!
Then they fixed me to the spot! My ever-thickening trunk 
served well to foil the plots of those who’d fell me. . . . they could not!
My limbs, though mighty branches, could not bend; Oh, how I fought
my transplantation, weathering storms God or man might send, 
living so long in desolation! Self preservation
did this much for me: loved ones passed and I remained a tree.


Sept. 19, 2017
10 lines of 14 syllables each
Syllables checked with Howmanysyllables.com
For the  Personification of Plant Contest of Kim Rodrigues

Poppa's Victory Garden

Papa’s Victory Garden
we begin

many folk began vegetable gardens 
in answer to a call from Ottawa.
be a good citizen help support
the boys overseas, fighting for us.

Poppa took it very seriously.
He asked the land lord
for a bit of land hidden beneath
the prideful lawn and he began to dig.

I loved the mud all squishy 
between my toes
making cakes decorated with pebbles 
and dandelions for sun icing.

squatting like a little toad
by mounded earth I got to poke 
holes for corn, peas, tomatoes, 
salads, especially momma's potato.

I didn’t understand about war 
I was two, life was growing
in me and the garden.
The sun made me warm, 
the vegetables grew, the world was simple.

Visiting Dad

Through tall iron gates into total serenity

as past meets present, though undesired,

from consecrated earth of high fertility

giant conifers and oaks flourish, undisturbed,

sorrow and pain dispersed over green marbled ground,

labels engraved in black or gold where loved ones are found,

roads and paths that direct our route to our deceased,

history of local communities, gathered without discrimination,

ivy entwining distinctive arching pagoda,over flagged passage

inviting participants that resist, yet encouraging minds imagination,

sight of a procession, sad occupants in spotless black carriage,

freshly dug earth mounded covered with green baize, creation of a hole,

permanent dwelling for all time, the resting place of their soul,

a place where our past relatives and friends can be visited,

deep below the soil covered by a carpet of emerald green,

loved ones that will never again be seen.



Composed 12/06/2016.

Humanity Loses To Big Oil Dakota Injustice

....happening a few hours north and west of where I live in Minneapolis


Bulldozers pushed earth into mounded walls all along the watchtower. 

Wild Sunflowers, roots exposed, gasped for life, uncomfortablysideways, faces driven into 

mud.Stun-gun wires, the few that escaped the eyes of the cleaners, barbed claws still red from piercing skin, poked up in human ignorance.

Earth raped, a violation of sacred grounds, burned in the hearts of Dakota Native Americans. 

How can Native Peoples tresspass on Treaty Lands?

The world is watching, and we see with clear eyes, our hearts are heavy with your tears.

10/28/16
Dakota Territories

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