Silty Poems | Examples

Finding Clam For Sustenance

My feet touches the bottom land
As my feeling start to quiver damn
Scratching those toes on silty sand
In the hope I can find a clam.

Fortune pay a price in waiting
Inch by inch I'm starting to find
Boulders of clam in seabed setting
Excitement painting my mind.

Labor showing enthusiasm I confess
A hungry belly want to cook an obsess
All in all a happy one sack we possess
A laborious day harvest of clam a success.

ROSE

I was born cradled inside your palm   
within the perimeters of a safe haven  
brought to life by loving silty fingers 

Rose is what I heard you call me 
staying true to my appellative name 
I chose to bloom inside your heart  

Many butterflies and bumblebees 
sat on my flowerhead but only you 
were the apple of my eye, dear heart

I was born to please you and only you 
enclosed and surrounded I thrived, 
like a rose, in a tangled mess of flowers.

The Washing of the Stone

a bed of stones unloosed to spill from its path
through fresh waters flow to the distant sea
laving pebbles from its silty rough wrath
from rivers fresh to brackish brine's debris
the journey ends where it began its ascendancy
drifting as the impetus of tidal destiny

Prevalence of Predators

Sharks in the ocean, killer whales -
prevalence of predators in knee deep water,
all because men know better.
They, we - bring disaster to the shore,
to the salty, silty, haven
of children, couples, the old and young.

The fascination of jaws, rows of sharp teeth,
claws at our imaginations; not as lovely
a ride as a dolphin does bring; gladly
gambolling along with a friend.
Sharks bite, out for a midnight snack…
even in the sunny hours.

Back to the salty, silty, haven -
the vacation spot, vacated
or kept on the land, not
wanting to become surf and turf, not
wanting an arm or leg
to be separated in the foam,
in the thrill of the wave.

The wave washes onto the coconut beach.
Ebb and flow of romance.
Dark shadows, inviting
and dangerous. Riveting, breathless -
the tide is precipitous. Washed up,
a half-eaten board. Bored or not,
keep limbs on loungers, toes
out of the sea. Don’t tow the line.

6/14/2023

Inland Swimming Pool

Inland swimming pool.

 Between two hills, a chasm, in winters rain fills up the gap
a lake is born, in May, June and the middle of July the water
 is fine, if a bit greying.
The lake has no outlet and is used by farmers for their crops
if there is scant rain.
In August, the lake is silty, but it is the only swimming pool 
we have, we sit by the bank drink beer watch children play
it is our day at the beach.
When the lake is dry, we find skeletons of animals and 
 that of a missing person who went swimming in the night.
Although we say next year, we are going to the beach
we do not it is too far away and crowded.
This year the rural idyll was shattered the dog sensed danger
something behind it swam wildly to shore.
As the owner of the canine lifted it out of the water, a monster
bits the dog in half, so much blood and distress.
As there is little one can do with half a dog, the owner threw
the remains into the water where it was snapped up by what was
described as an enormous reptile with a shark-like mouth.
The lake is a silent malevolent eye in the blissful landscape.
This year we are going to the seaside.

Kelso At Anchor

Kelso has a boat
smeared to the gunnels,
with cawk and greasy weeds.

At a prow of dawn
he hauls dripping lobster,
and their pots
up the scummy steps
of the silty stone harbor,
pushing a barrow
into the towns brick narrows.

Kelso barters claws and tails
to barkeeps, crab-mongers, 
to fish wives and their 
salty daughters.

At close of day
he returns
to the bight, the bitty harbor,
to eats mackerel 
from a spray-seasoned skillet.

Then Kelso lays back
with his reeky brown dog
and smokes a care-free
funky blue fog.

Dig

DIG

Dig with spade and a soulful heart,
Destiny’s soil chambered beneath.
Dust chalice canvas, questing art —
Dovelike Wings of lily bequeath.

Dig deep into the chasm of love —
Desired silty handfuls, free of
Debris, a blessed ruddy start.*

6/5/2018
Joseph May’s Pleiades Contest
*blessed with 2 syllables

The Mirror of Truth

The Mirror of Truth   
The face in the crowd worried me it was still
but the eyes were aglow showing an intense hatred
to no one, in particular, a man`s who dreams had 
been disturbed by reality; this is the way it is and
he is a slave of the conventional and his lack of courage
to break free a man who bullies himself and others,
if not rescued his rage will turn violent.

What bothers him is familiarity of the face he has seen
it before somewhere was it on the surface of the lake
so deep and silty those thoughts sink to the nethermost
conscience; he has long denied the veracity is shocking,
the face is a mirror image of him

The River

The river runs its winding course
along an ageless bank I stand
ceaselessly brewing silty soup
a recipe of dirt and sand….
I played in youth along these shores
And swam its raging watercourse
Wearing makeshift suits, swimming nude,
floating its breadth on inner tubes….
Alas! Those days are nevermore.
… As I mused my lost childhood years
Seeing this eternal river
from a timeless riverbank
it’s hard to fathom life’s changes
until I saw my wrinkly hands.

The Dying Perch

I found a perch this morning
Capsized and defeated by the early spring  
Washed into a silty little corner, waiting to become still 
The miniature heart, it beat so fast, it tried very hard 
Fiercely and with fire it tried, in its very unimportant way 
It pulsed a few more times, in vain, then the blood began to cool
Beneath the filigree of grey scales, tarnished with muted gold 
Painted over with strong looking black lines, like racing stripes 
I stirred then, upon reflex, as it was clear that the life had ebbed away 
Quiet within a hush, how small it became, I thought
Some lost minutes held me there in a brief reverie 
Myself only a distortion in the glassy button eye 
Then the moment was gone and I heard the waves again
My body towered above the scene once more, sun weary and sleepy 
I gave a parting breath and turned without another glance
With only a few steps I had forgotten everything
Nothing-thoughts took up the space 
I turned and headed back up the path that led me home

Hieroglyphs

papyrus symbols
myth shrouding reality
silty wall entombs

Absconding Muse: Vagabond Scavenger

Jilting muse with availing inspiration did wend
Barren reservoir doth futility portend
A bristling quill with no well to descend
No gratuitous frills on vapid contours suspend
Seeking with brokered shill to amend
Imploring vagabond seeking itinerant dividend
Wading through flooded channels, silty grains to append
From literary vault embezzled title apprehend
In voluminous discourse a simple aphorism distend
In ancient annals a trite fable from corroded parchments 
rend
From Medieval chronicles a homily with which to contend
Out of Victorian poet's graded folio a euphemism vend
From contemporary laureates' silken threads, new yarn 
spin


distend- to stretch out, to inflate

Winter Wind

Churlish wind hovers overhead
Ready to chart its path of dread
By wistful, listless conductor led
Twirling baton with rotors fed
A swirling blender over land spread
Careening, eerie echo left in its stead
Fluffing the threads of barren bed
Wispy fibers in ginning whirlpool sped
Silty granules from denuded top shred
Strafing the strands of every bare head

The Spell of Spring

Exfoliative sycamore
Limbs splay low above the water
like giraffe's drinking from the shore
at some silty, placid river.
Where once their arthritic branches
at the mercy of winters winds
it’s springs meliorative changes
that bring green budding knobby limbs.
Here I sit astride a boulder
overlooking the riverbank
awestruck by springs natural wonders
recurrent offerings enchant
me like a mesmerizer’s spell:
enthralled, hypnotized, compelled.

Summer Sun

Hoary sun now trolls the availing sky
Radiant lamp gilding all who under its shade lie
Golden streams of light kindle hearth on high
Burning parasol fans its flames warming all that draw nigh 
A fiery portent to all who under its horizon fly 
Spreading thermal blanket its spawning heat to re-apply   
Through porous seams sultry beams ply
Silty founts it doth bleach then dry
Scorching leafy tents that on its succoring warmth doth rely 
Streaming with misty vapors, earth's boiling caldron doth gurgle and sigh
Sending convecting currents across earth's table, its residual steam to pry 
Jealously blanching the darker hues that with its mercurial splendor doth vie

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