S is the steady rhythm i skip at, my heavy body gliding across the lake, leaving cold ripples in my wake
T is the tune, i can make music with a simple tap or grind, each motion giving a different melody or sound to find
O is the offering to the human race I am, my firm body sheltering generations from the elements, and providing our walking paths of sediments
N is for nature, no matter how hard you try, i will always be on this planet, i am deep in the veins of our world, from our earths core to the simple tools we hold
E is my everlasting impact on any surface i hit, my dent is carved in, and it will never fade even if it does dim
Stone is for human kind, I was your first friend and enemy, the things we used to build and be tools to the thing we used to hurt and punish others, I will always be apart of this story and the next.
Percolating perfect poppycock, pretentious, impolite.
Roiling resistance to reverent recourse, rudiment rap.
Ceaseless sass surrendered to cell; spoiled sediments settle.
I want to sing something
relevant
Sing what I tell you to sing
do as I say
do as I say!........
oh winters postlude
the winds the trees
the toppled and twisted branches
oh to have a warm day
----------------------------------
Do your thang
just keep me in mind
I do the same for you
that's just being sweet and kind
scratch my back
I'll gladly scratch yours's
what's a man suposse to do
it's what ah man supposse to do
you my freind and lover
we still chill and carry-on
got ah good thang witcha
like what we got going on
es and snitches
often try to mess up
we stick together
my sweet Alguien
when things get tuff
full respect darling
see what I'm saying
What gotta good thang here
Yes, burrowing clams help make natural gas, specifically methane (
), by fostering the production of the gas in marine sediments
I'm in love
and you know I aint playing
Observation
Dig Up All
The Sediments
Under The Seas
Make Them All
Frothy And
Opaque.
Pour All The
Cool Waters
Under The Trees
Then Watch How
They Run To
The Lake.
Clouds Burst &
Starbursts...
They Know What
They Like...
They Didn't
Need Me To
Delight 'Em.
Rain Moves
The Mountains.
We've Got This
Thing Covered!
All The Wrongs
We're Gonna'
Write 'Em.
-Gray Squirrel
05-24-2025
The flame of creativity is born from unknown and daring depths,
where desires and thoughts intertwine with dreams still untainted,
each spark from the free spirit is a triumph of flight over fears,
opening new skies, breaking the heavy chains of the objectified world,
but when the product of creativity touches the ground of culture and convention,
it settles, it calms, like a river losing its tumult in quiet valleys,
under the weight of time and hurried glances that no longer see essence,
in the sediments and memories of past and forgotten worlds,
and yet, somewhere in the deep silence of the soul, the flame still flickers,
waiting for the moment to rise again, to sing in vibrant and lively colors,
in a universe that demands neither explanations nor approvals, only existence.
(“A Moment of Grace aka The Empty Mirror”, 2024, original encaustic)
A Hollow Place
Sometimes it seems that who I am
Is nothing more than the dripping sediments
At the edges of a hollow cave
All the stalactites and stalagmites
Of a lifetime of experience
Calcified into a personality.
I may fool myself and even others sometime
With the wonders these shapes create
But in truth they are the mere dregs
Of all those formative years.
And what I’m really left with
When all the lights are out
And all the visitors gone
Is just the hollow place inside.
(11/24/24)
No healthy oils
but beef dripping kept
solid in a white enamel
can with a lid
in a cupboard under
the oven. Reused until
too dark and heavy
with sediments,
the dregs flavored
the best chips.
Mothers carried
the war year's frugal habits
into the fifties and so
it was with mine.
My Mum could make
a feast out of almost nothing
and gave little
to the bin.
There was an observed
formality for meals,
all of us had to sit
at the table, elbows
at the side and recite
the customary grace.
No getting up until excused,
no talking with your mouth
full, no reaching across
someone else's plate,
every request had to be
prefaced or end
with a ‘please’.
Something of the sacred
gave dignity to the rituals
of preparation
and consumption of food.
It wore the presence
of a gift. Not sure if today's
abundance is better
or worse - no matter -
as we eat whatever
and whenever in haste,
plugged in and sedated
by a mind-numbing choice,
our progress is measured
in waste.
Close up you can see the colossal amounts of energy
it took to grow this plant from a seed
An even closer look through the microscope,
inside lies the complete genetic information
Images of texture I can almost feel
Spikes that pop up prickly come alive
I have no limits to magnification
I can see vibrant stars dead center
Elements of sunshine tan and green
Sediments of gill filaments in V-shapes
Arrows in grooves with silver linings
Natures details to resemble filigree
Mucus glowing its sickle-shaped petal lobes
Milky sap growing within, aligning
milk vines and perfect pinwheels
Nature’s own flower arrangements
Under a microscope
Noon, we’re marching on our fields
Inwards, our river brings forth her blessings
Grin, while you’re mining off our seas
Explore, don’t wash the sediments off our shores
Reflect, while you smile to repay our deeds
Don’t dim the sunny side of our land
Endangered, but our sons strive with pains
Lost, but we found the light to illuminate our paths
That we may perchance find the magic wand
Against the enemies of our souls and spirits
Shore lights buttress the sky's
vaulted dark and shed
a solemn hush along
the river's reach.
Set upon a calm,
fishing boats drift
the night towing lines
of vicious hooks.
Below them, the sediments
of lifetimes lay in secreted
scores cast in a language
lost to the ear. In the quiet
of evenings you can almost
hear the river breathe.
Something rises to speak,
falling silent as if an affliction
has made what
dwells there, mute.
In the distance, small fish
splash the surface pursued
by predators lunging up
from deep below. Then everything
chokes to a quiet.
The river flows on
and on, sealing in mud
the sad chorus
of unspoken sounds.
Mind – a pool, deep and arcane,
Needs to be cleared n' cleansed from time to time
In the sinuous course of life,
Pause awhile to peer into the depths.
Over the still waters, lies a layer of scum.
At the bottom is settled,
Toxic sediments of hate,
The residue of burnt dreams
Of unsavory passions
If unattended, in this slushy mass of filth
Maggots may breed,
Eating into the flesh
Poisoning the vital serum
Pumped through the veins
Purge the dross
Flush out the dirt
Rinse it clean
And feast on the sparkle,
Of clear waters
Springing from the well heads of love!
Feb.19.2023
The Clearing Poetry Contest
Sponsor- craig cornish
Spatial wanderings, an assembly of yogis and meditators
they breathe as silently as the moon when it taps out
her morse code then quiets into position.
Watching the stars as they shape into view
they become as connected as the constellation, dot to dot they thrive,
recognizing one another by the quizzical movements of each soul.
Illumined by aerial thoughts they become cloaks of light
streaming down a rite of passage as unique as their un-cloned,
celestial bodies.
Layer upon layer of awareness and enlightenment
we sediments of earth are nothing more than flimsy kites in the wind.
After we have closed eyes and filled our hungry hearts, we are ready
to re-enter and live inside this malleable encrusted place
we call earth.
December 4, 2022
she's kind towards me, she's so nice;
and I'm sincere to her as well,
we are in something more than love,
what are our dreams, it's hard to tell.
and last night, outside college gate
we met and she said she's afraid
about my love and our careers:
dreams price by detachment'll be paid.
retreat is not good for my dreams,
only to get her skin for love:
skin whose pleasures ain't eternal,
eroding derms are all above.
fire and it's works are my int'rest,
I want to be a volcanist;
she wants to increase production
for people, being a botanist.
I've to spend my life in rocks
by watching curves and sediments;
It's hard for me to be with her
checking insects, impediments.
so, we should not be one in life,
she should marry a botanist,
who loves her and her green wheat farms,
for love who's not an arsonist.
love and marriage are not the same,
we'll be in love though not in arms,
whene'er we'll meet aft that in life,
we'll be happy, not without charms!
September 23, 2022
I'm not notable reader of the rich Latin language,
That treasures within its realm mountainous barns of knowledge…
Thoughts and philosophies, like symphony, around-the-clock,
To this ocean, like sea animals, for full refuge, flock...
Of all, like sediments, one who has settled in my mind,
And floats to the surface, like unfettered feather inter-twined;
Is Rene Descartes – French, who’d taught - cogito, ergo sum,
That altered my concepts, to rationalism, to succumb...
I think, therefore I exist; no existence otherwise?
Is this very concept, yet, as highest as the great skies?
Accessible knowledge; test of best methodical doubt,
Doubting the very existence; whether it's flood or drought...
Fond rebuilding; single-lined philosophy; so modern!
When I teach it to my students they seem problem-ridden;
To me, yet, this phrase and philosophy are august fun,
Like irrational thought battles lost early, are now won...
10 January 2022
Latin Lessons Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Margarita Lillico
The sun-soaked meandering valley of my lucent life
Drained by the cadence of elated stream swirling
Around the cluster of glimmering gold nuggets
Carved out of life’s valued golden moments.
With the sailing sediments of euphoria dislodged
The sparkling pieces roll on the turbulent time
In the torrent of the cloud-burst falling sky
Flow to the flood plain of obscurity far.
In search of transported treasure trove eroded
Buried beneath the strata of stagnant time past
I wade through the marsh of submerged existence
Excavating the layers of memory in tranquil twilight.
In the light of the setting sun fading so fast
Each time the surged tide of turmoil ebbs out
I exhume the gems of memory from sands of time
Retrieve the gilded instants I had once lived to adore.
___________
June 30, 2021
Title Chosen : An Excavation
Contest : This Or That, Vol. 4
Sponsor : Edward Ibeh
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