Short Tributaries Poems

Tributaries meet
Splash, flash, gush, and rush converge
Whitewater rapids...

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I love when shadow splits
and bitter silhouetted
form gangs of better self
intangible tangles
and breaths of star
become the tributaries
of Bit
frost
The space in reality
where i once dwelt...

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Proverb...


“All religion is like the tributaries of a river
they ultimately flow into the ocean
similarly truth comes under different names
but the end result is always the same”.

- Ravi Sathasivam...

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Patsiliga overflowed, nine inches of rain so I'm told
Those wonderful showers coming down

Filling the ponds and all around
Needing rainfall everyday

So the creeks and other tributaries 
Is  a reservoir for the spirit...

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My own proverb......

“All religion is like the tributaries of a river, they ultimately flow into the ocean, similarly truth comes under different names but the end result is always the same”.

- Ravi Sathasivam...

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Playful pony promenade
Quietly quizzing querulous quail
Respite regulated regimented rabbits
Studiously steering sterling striped starlings
Tricking trinkets, trunks and tributaries
Undervalued, underdeveloped, and underdone...

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Life is for the living
giving it our best

and sometimes less is
better: a mouthful, a
tree not fell, an extra 
wife/husband

but hearts should give
their all, never doubting
tributaries of love

though often ponds on earth

are oceans up above...

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Tributaries of thought become rivers
which run deep...and slowly;
rapid...and passionately,
until their confluence becomes
one infinitely miscible flow
--dynamic, yet less mercurial,
because their width and depth
are too immense to easily
           dilute...

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Ancient river, passing song
always here forever gone
rippled by flirtatious winds
disappearing round its bends.

Crooked fingers drawing lines
tributaries, twisted tines
counting coup on drum roll stones
ancient rivers heading home.

John G. Lawless
©7/6/2022...

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There's a river winding gently through the pastures on the flats,
collecting tributaries of little creeks that the lower ground attracts.
'Tis the river that the angler seeks - the stream where pools run deep and slow.
I net the crayfish just for fun and there I let them go....

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I'm going with the chi inside of me. I'm humming to the sound of the gong. I'm saying good bye to anxiety and emotions that don't belong..Let the tributaries flow and set me free. They've been there all along. I'm listening to my blood as it speaks to me, it's writing a brand new song....

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Tunnel vision.

Superficial image
Of an acquired mental sickness.
Breath constricted.

Face pale, eyes bulge.
Tears of blood

Form a river and its tributaries.
Writing my own obituary.  

Pen on paper, ink on snow
Snowy fields, melted bones.

Thinking fast, moving slow.
Growing old....

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Streams of colour
In constant motion
showing shades of beauty hidden
Powered by the wind
As it caresses the river of scent
Gently, softly, lovingly
And moves through the rows
Never stopping, always moving
Following the wind 
Lavender tributaries 
in a Sensual  scented sea of colour
Never ending....

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For years, I never realized that poetry could
be so vibrant and filled with so much life.
Like the Amazon, or the Mississippi, or
the Nile, poetry ever flows from a mighty
source, and like a river accepting many
tributaries, she provides life and
restoration to everything in her path.
Poetry. If she is in you, let her flow.

060523PS...

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I wish I could bleed her tributaries,
The words of her wildest dreams.
How did I fight, 
When I've grown weary?
How am I hard on me?
Wickedness, get into my embrace,
And bring me to my knees!
Which words deserve the loudest praise?
Perhaps that's you, not me.
Which pen would even speak my name,
And blame the nature breeze?
It's time I write, and dare I say,
Her words are lovely....

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Everyone you see is the main character of their own story
With their own plots and supporting casts 
Friends are just people with overlapping narratives 
That's why train cars are fascinating to me
The entangling of so many narrative threads 
So many people that i'll never see again
We are a series of rivers 
Thousands of tributaries flowing and converging 
For a single shining moment...

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Near the belching
condensate tanks
off the interchange,
slinks a mammal
with abnormal need

to find a blind
with water to drink
and flapping fish to eat
instead of concrete.

He sheds a scowl
under the amber glow
of buzzing sodium lamps
until veins gather force
like throbbing tributaries

that course from a source
pure in flexing purpose;
despite how we deprive
he drives to survive....

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I begin to sing
just me  
my guitar 
and a song God gave me

From snow above
tributaries of hope
twist and turn
the sun has come to warm
Another season 

Snow melts 
as a sacred offering 
for the vale below
giving
life sustaining water
to reap and sow

Tranquil and serene 
a rainbow arched high
brings anticipation for mother's favorite springtime flowers
as I kneel down
and cry

...

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It flows around
without much sound
to fill us whole
in rich glory,
our soft story:
I shall extol.

We split apart
right at the start,
I ignore why.
My trap gets set
when I forget
your glowing eye.

Lilting words danced
when we both chanced
to allow hopes
within our plot
tied in a knot
perched on tipped slopes.

Distant goodbyes
always disguise
the tears and fears
that must arise
at love’s demise
woe reappears....

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The familiar rhythm of the drums,
The beauty of the dance,
The haunting chants
Are still whispered by the wind.
The `aina breathes and shares
`Ohana with her guests
That come by ship, by plane;
So unaware they walk with Gods.

Ancestry clings o'er the ages
To few left with pure blood.
Songs related to growing
Generations hold fast
The Aloha spirit. . .and as
A river separates into tributaries
The mixing of blood flows in
Many directions, exalting new life....

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Prism turned
as another memory refracted
against forgetfulness.

Motes caught in the cross fire
of synapses,
[collateral damage]

and like the sightless,
depression is read
in those delta lines
of arid tributaries,
cascading from salted pools.

Contentment or inevitability
are caught between a sigh,
where tumbleweed disguises
any tracks left behind;

I need no spooks to follow,

all my demons are an audience
watching a monologue mimed,

as my tube of life
tapers....

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Tuned Ebony Shades of Ecstasy

Here we are—
black as the night;
sable souls singing songs
of Nubian love—slow dancing
on opaque rhythmic nimbus clouds.

Unshackled melodies of generations
flow from charcoal tributaries 
slowly undulating—streaming
between ebony sheen banks.

Estuaries of ecstasy splash joyously
into the wetness
of the dark hued sea of our love.

Tuned and harmonized
in the abyss of relief,
fading moans moor themselves:
waiting the coming of the next tide....

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Tuned Ebony Shades of Ecstasy

Here we are—
black as the night;
sable souls singing songs
of Nubian love—slow dancing
on opaque rhythmic nimbus clouds.

Unshackle melodies of generations
flow from charcoal tributaries 
slowly undulating—
streaming between ebony sheen banks.

Estuaries of ecstasy splash
joyously into the wetness
of the dark hued sea of our love.

Tuned and harmonized
in the abyss of relief,
fading moans moor themselves;
waiting the coming of the next tide....

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