Short Morass Poems

autumn arrived too
morass of previous years
not turned to soil yet....

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A winter cold,
if truth be told,
gets rather old.

The runny nose,
a thousand blows,
I do suppose.

The brain’s a fog,
feel like a frog
slipped off his log.

Though out of gas,
stuck in morass,
this too shall pass....

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When we were vultures
Living in mangers
You told me you'd love me 
Forever.
The seasons cry into each 
other. The sounds warp.
You become a constellation.
A morass of deep meaning,
Filling my lungs,
Untill I can barely breathe....

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Snogging memories

              whist dreaming of love’s embrace...

in Monday morning’s morass

              reality gets stuck,

as clanging bells ring the alarm.


(Wayra)


05/21/2020
WEAVING A WAYRA
Sponsored by: Nette Onclaud...

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What have you done to me?
A shadow of darkness 
as affections twist.
Once we drank of heaven,
wide-eyed and innocent,
but your thirst soured.
A vengeful morass of agony -
tears follow blood, 
follow pain,
love taken away,
in a torrent of hatred.

I HATE YOU....

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I put my pain into my pen
so as not to drown in the
morass of melancholy
Bleeding onto blank pages
My lifeblood in every lyric
my essence
in each erudite
piece of prose
My song those pages
will sing long after
I have been silenced
by the tyranny of time...

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We’ve popularized everything,
from the classic to the crass

In doing so, we’ve lost ourselves,
neck deep in the morass

If everything is AOK,
then what the hell is wrong

Those standards that we’ve built upon
—abandoned and now gone

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)...

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I rail against it
Lean into its
Unforgiving wind
Curse its unfeeling cold
Savor fleeting moments
Left hanging
In quivering limbs.

Not time
But time’s assassins
Long trails
Forgotten paths
Unsteady gait
Wandering
In a morass
Of melancholy.

Searching for death
In mumbled
Prayers.
...

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What have you done to me? a dark black shadowy cloud of emotion
As commiserations twist. Once we
were together in bliss untainted and childlike,
but your desire died.
a horrific morass of bitterness-
emotion follow hate, follow darkness,
love ground to dust.
In a maelstrom of righteousness, I hate you...

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What have you done
to me?
A smoldering
indistinctness of
misery,
As sentiments
writhe.
Once we drank of
bliss we were
virginal and
untainted,
But your desire
drifted away,
A vengeful morass of
bitterness-memories
follow hate,
Follow darkness,
love condemned,
In a haze of sorrow,
I hate you....

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Nobody has no mind, no self .no flesh
No sense, no purpose, nothing that will last
What is worse, to be trapped in a mesh
To be immoral, sinful and loveless
To stumble in a  morass of distress
The sinking sands  of childhood thought surpassed
Nobody has no mind, no self .no flesh
There is a body-mind retrieved from trash...

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Long day did finally pass;
toiled along vexing its morass.
Arrived back home to rest and retire;
energy and inspirations soon to expire.
Debrief my conceptions and thoughts;
queery my moves and those aught nots.
Lay at ease to stargazes and dreams;
job well done for me it seems. 

http://skykingentertainment.yolasite.com/...

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Some pigeons pooped in the bottle garden 
Without as much as “I beg your pardon” 
Did loop the loop afore plopping their poop 
In the neck of the bottle with one swoop.

It is clear that it does cometh to pass 
Bottle gardens become mucky morass
For onto those bottles of flora, alas
Pigeons ejectamenta en mass....

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Out of sanctuary.

Into the wild.

Down..

Down..

Down..

Into exotic exile.

Immoral creatures.

Adorned satyr-like features.

In the muted night air.

Where murals stood to lionize the affair.

I awoke.

Confused.

Swimming.

Through the dark morass.

Slipping back into your fusion.

As flawed hearts seek union....

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Leave the tangle behind you.
This is the theory I omitted.
Quite a while back.

Dwelling in a secluded retreat.
I choose a dilemma.
Many years ago.

Shielded from hazards.
This is the reason I used it.
Almost always.

However, a scare was issued.
We dreaded the virus.
Frequently.

No way, no how.
Not in this case.
Not right now.

Written: Sunday 03, 2022...

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When there is no hope in soul,
When someone’s not really close,
When your heart is disconsolate, -
Life is looking like a morass.


Only golden water lilies -
There you will find - illusions.
Silly dreams unable to save you, -
Stem is fragile, weak as usual..

When the all strengths are exhausted,
Kind foe, - that is well known, -
shows up to pull you out ...
Wouldn't be better if he'd got late.....

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From poetaster to poet-ass
This ain't no leaf of  grass.
Walden's pond is a stinking morass
And love is but blaring brass.

No Elysian fields lie yore
And the  meadow is a blooming bore.
Nature is reduced to God's only whore
And all I feel is a whole lot sore.

Jealousy reigns supreme
Oh, why can't I just continue to dream.
If Life's best offer is a Krispy Kreme
Go to Hell if you don't like my scheme....

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The men of clay, mouths dehisce wide
     Voicelessly pass 
Arms at their sides; feet stiffly tight
     Perception dull
No meager light softens their skull
Inside my head their voices scream
     Nightmarish dream
The words conveyed I try to hide
Menacing threats infuse my ears
     Two bare knees 
Oblivion, morass of grey
Lethe embraces. Here I will stay.

***

May 22, 2017
Copyright © Darren White...

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If very hard read, 
take the log from your eye - 
or perhaps it's the wrong creed
meriting such custard pie.  

Language archaic? 
Well so what if it scans 
Neither Norse nor Aramaic, 
I'm certain most understand.  

A trifle obscure? 
My due consternation! 
Still … are you certain 'it's ... sure ...
not poor imagination? 

Leave critical muck.
Produce own Odyssey
Rather than to be stuck
In morass of jealousy....

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And so the day it came to pass
They just gave up, the oceans died,
No life at all, a dead morass
It was a day that angels cried.

We watched them in their dying throes
Never taking time to tend the need,
There was a different path we could have chose
But we were blind and deaf, so took no heed.

Now begin our starving times
No fruitful bounties from the sea,
No need now for net nor line,
We have forged a desperate destiny....

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a quire or two, 
or three, may be
uncharterd
uncounted
discounted, maybe
tablets
stone shards
heavy slabs of me
rain soaked reams
sloughed off of me
shoulders of clay
unweighted may be
separate from morass
the mass of me
plunged heavy and sunk
in a literary sea
of words great men
spoke to me
I look for words
so meanings i'll see
and write, and write,
and write, maybe
so inner thoughts
so quiet may be.

03/06/2017...

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I gave a lecture to an ethics class
Nearing the middle they walked out en masse
Of course, I felt like the dumbest jackass.
The students, they had not meant to harass,
Although they were quite high on laughing gas
I’d never thought ethics such a morass
In this case, though, I’d fallen on my a**.
I learned this through the candor of a lass
Giving a lecture to an ethics class. 

Written October 31, 2022...

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A light has always been glowing
Close to the heart of the universe.
Over the course of time and evolution,
We as mortals have lived in fragile transience.
Yet flickering in the soul
Is the sublime, primordial sparkle.
In this ember born of the primal fire,
The transient contains the immortal
And the infinite caresses the finite.
Through the morass of earthly chaos,
The crystal beacon shines, and
Its power has not been extinguished....

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In the vaulted sky where thunder roars,
Clouds rupture with a mighty force.
Lightning dances, a fiery waltz,
As rain descends in soothing salts.

The heart, too, can rupture deep,
In agony and pain, secrets it keeps.
Yet, unlike storms that quickly pass,
Time rains down, healing the heart's morass.

Years cascade in a gentle stream,
Softening wounds, as in a dream.
The echoes of pain may still remain,
But with time's touch, they wane.
...

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Out of the wind,
the brown carpet is marked
prosaic like petals swept away
My snowdrops weltering in the winter 
not even dead heading
can help their blind eye stalks 

I feel like a pebble
roughened at the edges
and Im gifting no one
Mother nature has unearthed me
My eyes remain shut
I finger past the muddy morass
I feel blazed over
from the cityscape of lingering dreams

Not even the recurring home
joyous and warm
feels my pockets
I am a sunbaked bun...

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