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
my imagination tragically drowns.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A recent edit
They call it a race,
but it feels more like a circus—
tightropes stretched over flames,
clowns tripping over their own pride,
while I, in my worn sneakers,
stroll past their delicate egos.
Let them shout.
Their speed is a gunshot—
all noise, no aim.
I’ve got the calm of a bassline,
the steady rhythm of knowing
that slow doesn’t mean weak.
Victory? It’s a cheap bottle of wine
that tastes the same no matter who pours it.
I don’t need their finish line;
I’ve created my own,
from half-burned regrets
and the bricks they threw.
I fell into a shallow dream
as often as I have, and do;
amongst sleep and wake where things seem
so nebulous between the two.
A dead leaf floating down a stream;
the cold unknown lurking below;
the radiance of sun on high,
slow winding in the gentle flow
while some familiar friends drop by;
a mourning dove, a cawing crow.
There’s wonder in our shallow dreams
just past the point of counting sheep,
where nothing is quite what it seems;
a world half in, half out of sleep;
where laughter interposes screams.
You can awake; it’s true to say,
sometimes awash with burning guilt;
did I really she betray?
Whose crimson blood was it that spilt?
The bedclothes wet, in disarray.
No we are all but standing sons and daughters
Barefoot is standing in shallow water
Bereaved and buried we walk
in unison in parade
underneath the cloud in heaven
the one that touches Embraces the Earth
Barefoot is standing in shallow water
we are not bound but bonded to our girts
and renaissance and truths we speak depression
while we learn in our sadness we abolish obsession nevertheless we stand a bliss and in our accomplishments we stand unopposed
Barefoot is standing in shallow water
Bereaved and buried we walk
Humanity negativity blah blah blah talk
Witness we raised hands
in the goodness and the bad we stand
So and confess nevertheless we are blessed
We are all God's creation children
BAREFOOT STANDING IN SHALLOW WATERS
6/1/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr 2024
Shallow Graves
Miracle Man
2/4/2024
Memories, we inter in a shallow grave,
are the one’s we’re better off forgetting.
Perhaps we were wronged and never forgave,
and time’s lateness now finds us regretting.
“Peace of mind catnaps on a bed of feathers,
while anxiety lies tense on ticking filled with straw.”
Tom
Pity all those souls unkind
Shallow hearts and weak of mind
Many here have yet to find
They walk through life deaf and blind
Reasoning remains unsound
Empathy nowhere around
Love and joy so rarely found
Till the day beneath the ground
The Bahama Islands
our nation of shallow seas
our archipelago in the sun we live on
which the Lord our God
laid our foundation of life
upon the shallow plantations
of The Atlantic Ocean
We are a consecrated nation
the envy of our Greater Antillean siblings
the best kept secret
for in the eyes of our Creator
our seas as transparent
as the bottom of a glass window boat
and prickly coral reefs
glistening like Christmas lights
an easy targets for astronauts
to choose next year's tropical vacation
while spying from deep space
Columbus and the Spaniards
even called us "Baja Mar"
because of our glorious foundation
upon the shallow seas
from our Mighty Creator from up above
hence our area code being 242
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