When does the sand stop the shark?
When will I understand the
simplest song?
Why do the heavy heaves
of my (core of a nut
in the pit of this) heart
respond to piano?
Do I always fantasize
about lost romance
played to music?
Helen Jane Long
isn't making the air beautiful tonight
just for me
But, thankfully for me tonight,
she helped me reignite
my own self-beauty, and sight
Ring sonorously, industrial mega-chime, for which the shallow art is devoid of form, another tree's shadow in time limping passed the finish line, denoting curators in the museums of cunning that too ran dry, but whirr it does, like insectoid wings, and that which promoted took the win.
This battle is a hassle
A wrestle for survival
Where everyone
Hustle for revival
A battle between
Good and evil
Light and dark
Up and down
Wise and fools
Great and mediocre.
You gotta know
What to hold unto
Because the greater power
Always suppress the lesser
Your mind is your ladder
Elevate it, so it can elevate you.
This battle is within you
Your shadows
Make you shallow
Swallow it with
The light within you
Brimming with fire
To burn all that's draining
Before it nails you.
25.
Shallow Ocean
Swerving black plane drives helpless onto water, unseen
Now the greedy hole comes to the liquid it, sippin'
From shallow ocean away vessel
To dark, tongued, toothed pit, don't bid farewell
Human mouth ousts it unscathed back to soup basin.
-01/13/2007
(Dumarao)
*Topsy-Turvy Limerick Ironic
I wake up in the morn, shiny and bright
gray-dull outside, held over from night
There goes my mood, sinking rapidly
try to up-route it, no capacity
Noontime arrives, sun peeking in
cart away the gray that’s long-gone
Plenty of room left in the day
giddiness surrounds me, out I dash to play
The earth's alive, happy-face flowers greet me
puddles evaporate, sidewalks smile
Far away I gallop, beyond a country mile
Toward eve, what’s this? ~ Crackle of lightning
thunder booms, disappears the day’s room
Will I make it home, shut the door tight
in the face of the storm, desperate my plight
And so too my mood, ever-evanescent
darks as night without new moon’s crescent ...
O, fair goddess of the skies, how shallow I must be
my mood so tightly tethered to thee
Her float was shallow.
Her pyramid was a beautiful theme
of dreams she wished time would,
first of all,
let float.
What could she have done
with so many butterflies?
She respected her furious nature.
Her beehive held a limitless wealth,
but she never forgot
how it was almost empty.
“Allow nature to emerge in your belly and drink.
Beautiful rain can fall on stones
and still make voices that represent God too.
Allow the honey to heal you,
and dance with its sage.
Let lavender flowers bloom on your forehead.
Pursue the romantic desires of motion,
and just let things float."
Bernice Zoleka Mannie
LYAIOZ MANNIE
I see streamlets gush
On hilly terrains entwined,
Rare do rivers rush,
Silent and sure, sound they wind,
Bestirs but a shallow mind.
______________________
Tanka | 18.08.2025 | streamlet, river
I am not like an ocean, blue and deep.
You needn't peer into my soul to peep.
I am shallow like a puddle or pool,
So, darling, why don't you kiss this fool?
When handed a stuffed pullet
looks like a stunned mullet
should I turn surly
in high dudgeon
please don't bludgeon
this old curmudgeon
and not to be outdone
altho' I am an only son
blame my parents
by all means
as I'm the result
of their poor genes
which run the gamut
of the spectrum
but I don't care one bit
not a jot nor give a sh*t
more politely put
I really couldn't render
a rodent's rectum
Many are doctrine heavy but Kingdom shallow
With a mellow attitude, they become arrogant
Displaying the components of theory but
Their lives lack the practicality of the Kingdom of God
Doctrine heavy, Kingdom Shallow is a common mistake
These are the men who are generally fake
They speak a lot but do not know the Kingdom
They hardly know their KING
They sing but cannot bring themselves to study the Kingdom of God
They are doctrine heavy but Kingdom shallow
These men have a flock
But have locked themselves out of the Kingdom
Their lives lack the practicality of the Kingdom of God
Mark Frank
Copyright 2026
joining the dots, mind game inane,
tracking pitter patter of rain,
the pull of divine magnetism,
cascading in body-mind prism,
God’s benediction healing pain
Why do we mingle in the shallow end.
Yet allow ourselves to drown in the deep end.
Why do we allow ourselves to put
our guard down when it should be up.
Why do we allow ourselves to
Continue to fall for simple words.
My heart is blocked and sealed.
My walls are up and no longer
Want to feel.
I want to be numb to everything
And everyone.
Maybe I’m too simple
or too shallow
but I’m not angry.
What’s wrong with me?
I was trying to think
of someone I hate,
Jews, CIS guys, republicans,
palestinians, blacks, democrats,
the left handed, authority figures,
central americans, parents, vagrants,
the usual suspects, but I’m coming up empty
Things aren’t perfect
don’t get me wrong
I’ve got a pug nose
a flat chest
a giant forehead
and too much work to do
but I’m trying my best—
Worse yet, I’ve no plummeting anxieties
no obvious neurosis
—that one could be a misdiagnosis
no painful hangnails
no sad life tales
no addictions to defend
or hated ex-boyfriends
I have no emo hooks to pin my verse.
no current melodramas to cozen and coerce
between you and me, I think I’m off the rails
It’s really no wonder my poetry pales.
Yeah, that’s what’s wrong with me.
.
.
Songs for this:
Gee, Doctor by Dimie Cat
Sweet Lovin' (feat. Anna-Luca & Iain Mackenzie) by Club des Belugas
In Shallow Hours, graves are dug
By words morose,
Their hollow powers seem mundane,
But are much worse.
Being Lonely in a crowded room,
With empty words
Muttered by survivors;
Whose frosty breath in time,
With second hand,
Will still ones heart with breach of mind
From gestures grand;
So gentle souls as we,
Will speak no more about it.
This too shall pass as melancholy.
Whispered mischief of the gods;
The poisoned fruit of folly.
As seasons run their course;
Whose touch so coarse,
Flow unrefined.
A baking of our Maker's choice,
Upon which we have dined.
Too many courses chose
Again, the Blackened Rose.
Life without salience
For such as those.
Naked She,
No longer seductress,
Temptress to youth
Our lives attempt atone.
Experienced eyes, now show revealed;
A Harlot to the bone.
What drug could so impair?
What game be more unfair?
What beauty in beholder's eye,
Less rare?
False Gods flail.
Chariot wheels on ipad screens
In most minute detail.
Now kiss your new God
Soft upon His cheek
And in a moment, through Alexa,
He may speak.
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
imagination tragically drowns.
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