Pebbly Poems

Mindscapes

A deep pit with a crumbling edge.
Far below,
is a muddy pool swarming with crocodilians.
There is someone with me, a boy.
I shouldn't have taken the child here.

I am slipping, taking him with me,
he won't let go of my hand.

We are sliding on pebbly scree.
A gun drags at my hip,
its weight pulls us down
to where green-scaled
and armored reptiles
thrash in a melee.

One mindscape devolves into another.
I’m a visitor to strange
and as yet unmapped streets.
I've lost my parked car
somewhere between many unfamiliar
city blocks.

Home is a door in the back of my mind,
I suspect that behind it
is a child who knows the way back.

A small boy appears,
he is holding a tin wind-up crocodile,
one his dad once bought him.

At his side a long-barreled revolver,
the same type of weapon
I purchased in Florida
in the event of an alligator attack.

Tariff Free

A single dream is worth
a thousand realities.
                    J.R R. Tolkien 

When the world
closes in and presses all ill 
to squeeze what space 
you have into a tiny ball - 
there are always
places where you can go, 
be it a quiet wood
or beside a pebbly stream 
or any other refuge 
your soul can dream.
Such places are beyond
the machinations 
of the State, safe provinces 
of the creative mind,
chaos and tariff free  -
the real estate 
of the Sublime.

A Walk On The Beach

The most peaceful time of day is just before sunrise when you are alone and have the whole world to yourself. 
Quote by poet. 



At dawn I went for a stroll along the lonely beach, 
waves were lapping gently on the pebbly shoreline. 
Then there it was before me a golden orb; sunrise.

Outdoor Classroom

Jump, thump, six graders jump
from stone to pebbly stone.
Chirp chirp the robin flies
Across the sky alone.
Crunch chunch the graveled feet,
Sh. . . shoo, a breathy whisper,
Hard, cold bench for a seat,
Rough wood, perhaps a splinter.
Puh, puh, puh, a boy spitting,
Mosquito slap
A girl is hitting.
Scarlet leaves on willowly stem
Dance in the crisp fall air.
I hear a chuckle.
Is it he
Playing over there?
The last bright orange, Autumn mums
Await their yearly demise.
A glance at my watch.
Oh, no, it’s time,
I’m thinking as I rise.
Fall day, sublime
God’s perfection.
What a task to study!
Until next time,
We’ll have to leave
Renewed, refreshed, unhurried.

         ~ Judy Bausch

Jagged

Written: October 19, 2023

Poem in the Fragmented Form Created by Poetess: Constance la France

The good work is done by people with jagged, broken edges because those edges cut things and leave an imprint, a design. By Harry Crews
                       _______________________________________

                        Love's blades tear within as a dull scalpel with teeth
            Leaving merely a crushed, dead chunk of flesh
It shreds, gouges, and weeps till the heart bequeaths
Offering its heart gambles will be accepted fresh,
                        Being hugged frowns as it gulps the vile reality
The dagger sinks further, piercing the frailty of sanity
A heart still bleeds while succumbing to sociality
      Pathetic, petrous parcel with pebbly peaks
            Jagged-toothed dome rising into bespeaks,
                        Each is engraved, erose, and has surface breaks.
Swallowed by a murky quagmire of an abyss beneath,
            Snapping at heels all life, laden with vessel mensch,
      Unfathomable evil clings to grief and jagged vitality
            Vow to thrive with every word your soul speaks.

Whispers of the Shore

Written: June 24, 2023
______________________________________________________________

Soft waves embrace the clean seashore.
Caressing the sands we once walked before.
Leaving footprints imprinted on the land,
A memory crafted by nature's loving hand

The shore, a canvas of dreams,
Where sand castles stand tall, it seems
Guarding our secrets, our laughter, our joy
Until the waves of high tide destroy

Plovers dart on fleet feet,
Spread out on the damp sand, the fleet 
With grace and precision, they dance and play.
Adding life to the shore's enchanting display

Pebbly and pure, the sand beneath our toes
Soft, wet, and cool—a sensation that flows.
Beige and tan, a palette of hues,
The shore's gentle whispers—a symphony to amuse

Whispers of the shore, echoing in the breeze,
The love and memories that forever seize
The tender tides, akin to kisses on the land,
Caressing the shore with a gentle hand

The smooth shore holds our footsteps dear.
A testament to the moments we held near.
Sandcastles stand guard, proud and strong.
As the tides rise and sing their song.

Mary Jo

Mary Jo

Mary Jo, where are you now? Dusty bones in a cemetery?
A dashing man drove you through the night, over a bridge
that wasn’t there, into the water, and then you were alone
breathing, through pockets of air in the car, waiting for
him to rescue you. Did you hear steps on the pebbly road
as he was running away? And your tears became the sea`s
Mary Jo, I have not forgotten you; the man who betrayed
you., is dead too; they gave him a send-off, and the famous
came to his wake; did they think of you?
Your parents were paid off not to talk of you in public.
Yet I do remember and think of you now the charmer and 
his brothers have gone

Making Do

The holiday cabin smelled of wet pigeons
but it was lakeside and cheap.

The lake was not popular,
too deep and weedy for swimming,
too shallow for docking boats,
yet it suited our make-do mindsets.

Of course,
we were romantically attached at the hips,
feet glided upon air
as we wandered upon the pebbly beach
fingers entwined in a dank mist.

Graham crackers and marshmallows
were unpacked
alas the firepit was soaked
with too much leafy fog.

A desultory fire was sparked
in a damp bed beneath a mildewed roof.

We had only tomato soup, tough bagels
and a pack of Marlborough.
We had not planned for chills and hunger.

Inevitably the vacation
grew lukewarm.
Runny noses and sneezes,
the cheesy smell of wet footwear
all seeped deeply into our gestalt,

philosophically
we bailed on the quickly drenched dream,
and each other.

The Whale That Swam the Thames

It was thought the young whale was pregnant
confused as she was and out of her depth.

They waded into the river to help,
floated rubber rafts to buoy her up.
Marine experts posited ways
to keep her breathing in shallow waters.

In dockyard pubs
hard men openly spoke of her plight,
voices low and humorless
as they test-drove new technical jargon.

When she died;
rolling in the pebbly shallows
we threw a tarpaulin over her
as if she were a human cadaver.

We had televised everything,
implemented elaborate plans,
recorded last moments with ripples of hope.
Later we watched the sluggish waves
wash away her long drowning.

~~~~~
https://www.ctvnews.ca/world/young-whale-trapped-in-london-s-river-thames-euthanized-1.5421060

Nowhere Near Her a Phone

Quick like lighting, she is flown
To a darkness
With waters of murkiness
To a pebbly zone
To her practically unknown,
Nowhere near her a rescuing phone,
To be physically tortured for deeper groans
And psychologically for disquieting moans.

Now, she is mortally afraid
Of even the dusts into her eyes blown
And has herself made
To seem into a furnace thrown:
Increasingly picking the  sounds of her melting bone
And unnerving scenes of one crushed alone.

Gosh! The restless  voice of her sister,
Not here,
Could 've been an alerting megaphone
And that of boyfriend Peter,
Still out there,
A panicking microphone!

Strive For the Best

Endeavoring to earn a needle in a high stack. 
Such a story could be said to be pebbly. 
I'd admire to be by a moving plane slack. 
Step onward to the top mark of the mountain. 
To discover Paradise, I'll sail the ocean. 
Then, the matchless clock began to strike badly. 
However, I hide behind a delicate, humble fiction. 
Lose all resources totally in a fantasy yack.


Written: August 27, 2021

Rhyme: A/B/A/C/C/B/C/A.

Summer

***Summer's not quiet here yet, but I live in Florida...***




                                                   Summer


       Earth awaken as a plethora of whales disembark from distant places
       Frigid storms dashed into the skies destined to inhabit empty spaces
       Sea captain tell seadogs to hoist skull and bones then fire pirate gun
       White wings outspread dazzling albatrosses herald the season begun


       Bodies swathed in lotion fervently absorb bronzing rays from the sun
       Pushing crusted pails and trowels children tossed pebbly sand for fun
       Bathers in the nude deny nervousness while bravado displays finesse
       Footprints upon shores pay homage to the gods of true summer bliss







                                        Penned on: 01/14/2018
                                        4:53 p.m.
                                        West Palm Beach
                                        Florida USA

Coming Down

Pebbly scree slides and crabwalks
inside a dim dunk of fog.

The cragsman should not have climbed,
should have waited for the sky to clear its eyes
but anxious to reach a height that day
he took the Arimathea way.

Beat and disorientated,
falling down while still upright,
the press of a remorseless momentum
marches stumbling feet
toward an unseen cliff face.
Only this vaporous fear
swirling out of an open mouth -
a chill wraith invading every thought.

Beyond the funk
numb ears dimly hear someone
following.

Boot heels wedged into the rocky scrabble,
sitting now on the cold stones,
the climber waits to be rescued
by a more clear-eyed self.

Low Winds

Pebbly scree slides and crabwalks me
inside a dim dunk of fog.
I should not have climbed,
should have waited for the sky to clear its eyes
but I was anxious to reach a height that day.
I took the Arimathea way.

I’m beat and disorientated,
falling down while still upright,
feeling a momentum sliding me over 
an unseen cliff face.

I see only a vaporous fear 
swirling out of my open mouth.
The chill hand of fate grips.

Beyond my funk
I hear someone behind me

Sitting on the cold stones, boot heels
wedged into the rocky scrabble,
I wait to be rescued by a more clear-eyed self.

Weeds Will Win

Between fence metal hexagons
Vibrant weed vertical weaves
Leaves poke gaps obstinately
Battle with wire web pattern


Because it can get through, 
will get through, determined
To prosper within challenge 
To reach potential during tough 


Bitten by bug of bad luck
Crammed in pebbly pockmark
Threatened by shade smother
Bedraggled weed creeps up


Bemoaning status wastes energy
Positivity welcomes growth
Rehearsal bears bigger talents
Lustrous jungle is triumphant 




                 
                    9th October 2020 

Written for Contest : Will To Survive 
                   Sponsor : Silent One

• Short Pebbly Poems
• Famous Pebbly Poems
• Best Pebbly Poems
• Read Pebbly Poems
• Long Pebbly Poems
• Pebbly Quotes