Troughs Poems | Examples

Glimpses

The grass waved hello
the birds called back.
Telegraph poles stood still 
like tall slender trees.
the birds liked that.
the crickets a constant tickle in the ear,
swathes of brown grass bouncing back after drought,
three troughs haphazard on a patch without
any grass. Bare dark earth.
the raven makes its cry
under a bright grey sky,
on a swampy, sweaty day .
my dog companion at my feet

"Come on then, let's go home."

Trident of Living

Yesterday is wrapped loosely
in the barbs and silky vapor of memory
Tomorrow is a Mahogony wall of steep hope 
slippery anxiety -
the what if ascensions and virtual vertical falls
the Present is a awkward roll on an ocean
of crimson crests and sable troughs
perfumed sails and bow crushing sirens
flashes of flippers and fins-
sudden slashes and clicks
the tapestry of grand sudden sorrow.

Glass seeds

Life is a starburst gift 
conceived in the gilded soil of angel hearts. 
Living on the other hand thrives in the salty eyes of swells and troughs
needles woven into bike bells and ice cream cones.
Living breathes to bend you into and out of its will
from valley to mountain to the misty hills
it bends you into things you could never dream about..
into the storm of eternity
into the tidepool of a stillness beyond stillness.  
It speeds up into a crimson tangle and slows down into thick blueness
swells and troughs kings and clowns
juggling brief victory and endless grief and loss

The bending is acceptable; we paint it the human experience
but breaking the soul of all things is the devil's only thought
we are its glass seeds tossed over the gilded swells
into the black throated troughs, where nothing ever grows. 

The mundane (the middle child) is a forest of contemplation
reflection 
a place of steady growth.... or not
 
The soil will eventually join the sea
bringing everything back home...
like it was always meant to be..

Life's troughs

no more time
to shed
tears

no more lies
to feel
truth

no reason
to be
nice

nothing left
to fear
loss

no vision
to see
God

In Spring

In Spring

In spring water troughs 
fart all the 
musical notes, butterflies go to 
Collage school, four-leaf clovers babysit 
bulldogs, placemats collect bits of 
string to 
make balls, lichen await letters from 
royalty all over 
the world, sticks go for 
runs, not to 
lose weight, but just for 
fun.

A New Year Wish - Intrinsic Motivation

Intrinsic motivation 
The cogs to elevation
To tick over and over
Tick, Tock, Tick, Tock 
To persevere, persist and permeate 
Whatever life may throw 
To ride the peaks & troughs
Till a perfect storm of dastardly acts
A kangaroo short of a circus
Came home to roost
An existential crisis…
Begone…asap
To begin anew
Intrinsically motivated

Green Water Avalanche

T -shirt man took his cell phone for a walk
his mutt, was just a four-legged after-thought
sniffing out an angel from the wildflower troughs...
but T-shirt man jerked him by the neck
over and over and over again.

I was trapped by T-shirt man's
underwater tuba cell phone drone
and the mutt's giant wiggly anus.
I slowed down to gain them distance.
They soon disappeared 
beneath a green water 
dream avalanche.

I Invoke the Sandman

I forgot how to endure,
Having relied on external things.
Decades lost to troughs, filling anxious voids with nonsense thoughts.

I forgot that I am.
Forgot how I always was.
This night, I remember.
Free from tales imbued in me by lesser spells. 

I invoke the Sandman now.
Coil your fortunes upon the Kundalini!
Free me from the tethers; the gated pasts unborn by the sheer of my will.

So I can ask, yet again: Do you want to see what happens to that which suffers and survives?

Face me, and I'll teach you yet again how reason works, and what it means not to be.

Drunken delight

Pleasant pulsations manifest;
boons bestowed by bliss magnetism,
wherein troughs, which once were the crest,
biding their time in body prism,
resurrect at our heart’s behest,
creating for us a new ism.

Pheromones strike joyful poses,
shape shifting in a dance sublime
on a path that’s strewn with roses,
wherein betwixt love’s blissful chime,
synced with a rhythm God composes,
in repose we heavenward climb.

Grace in-pours through heart’s open door
but drunken delight keeps no score.

The Midas Mind

The migratory mind indomitable,
the spirited surfer on surging waves of life, 
creates the curled crests of fractured moon,
and the dark troughs of sinking fallen stars.
The swell recedes with the ebb of time, 
seeking the secluded depth of the past.

The shifting sands etch the seaward footprints,
contoured as the corroding design of decay.
The time arrow finds the destined course, 
seeks the serene topography beyond the shore,
away from the eroded wilderness abandoned,
where emptiness engulfs the hues of hope.

In the weed-webbed terrain deep within,
piles up the wreckage of life unlived,
turns the flushing garden to template of wasteland.
The pathway paved outside its frail fence,
waits to be walked fascinated,
reach the mesmeric meadow of tomorrow.

The innovative memory then invents 
the arcane acumen of alchemy,
glitters gold in the rusted existential ruins. 
Marigold blooms in the aureate junkyard 
on the scrap stack of the bleak being, 
with the touch of the Midas mind.

Balanced existence

Oceon waves move in troughs and peaks, currants and eddys 
Are way down deep.' Permeating the fluids strong, salty grains
That pass unseen, echo of life be it bland or keen? As
Above in wayward events, all is changing to such extents'
Where are
Life or death? Its hard to sense' all things began from a
Void of deep dark dense.'  That shrouded the light 'about to start'
Its energy to move. And all construct.' It proves design
It shows out lines Of the God of life, who is out of our time'
Consider all is changeble? all we see won't last,!search for
God and eternity ere your chances are past.!

STRANDED

A gentle surf ruffles cold sand
They sit reveling in its scent
Shivering in its distant breezes

Sharing a memory of valor
Pummeled by an angry sea
Riding the curling troughs

Crabs plays hide and seek
Beneath their weathered forms
Seagulls shriek in frustration

They sit
Preserved by an ocean’s need
To remember

An Imperfect Union

Where to now, uncharted waters,
Two men vying, two men scheming,
Biden gloating, Trump now reeling,
Storm clouds gathering, eyes aloft.

So much anger, consternation,
A million words spewed every day,
Talking heads intent to sway,
Incessant noise drowning our senses.

Gone all reason, truth abated,
Daggers drawn, no time to ponder,
Where is grace, we're left to wonder,
Faint the beacon that shone so bright,

No aim but personal agendas,
Winning the game, no regard to cost,
So much broken, so much lost,
Legacies destroyed, a worthy prize?

Is there hope, slithers of light,
Where discourse and civility prevail,
Or just a forlorn dream, to no avail,
With troughs too deep, waves too rough.

Yet storms pass, the sun burns through,
Foreboding clouds soon dissipate,
Destructive winds gradually abate,
The dawn of hope a promise fresh.

America was born of freedom,
A welcome port, a haven sure,
Ideals the core, intentions pure,
Democracy the linchpin, autocracy despised.

So with heavy heart we bear,
This foisted moment of division,
Holding steadfast for our vision
Of one country united in a dream.

Travelin'

Keep it on the road,
Keep truckin', keep shakin' the load

Keep ridin' the troughs and crests,
Keep floatin', keep sailin' toward your best

Now chug, chug on down the tracks,
Getaway, far away from lack

And oh, keep lookin' up toward the sky,
Flex your wings; now get out and fly

Just move, keep movin' intently, 
Keep travelin' toward your beautiful destiny

The Arcane Skill

The resolute mind indomitable,
the feisty surfer on the waves of life 
of curled crests with strewn fractured moon
and dark troughs of sunken stars,
recedes with the ebb of time, 
looks out for the shore of the past.

The rolling sands etch seaward footprints,
contoured as the crumbling pattern of decay.
Time arrow finds the destined course 
to the topography beyond the shore,
away from the eroded wilderness abandoned
where emptiness absorbs the hues of hope.

In the weed-webbed terrain deep within
piles up the wreckage of life unlived,
turning the flushing garden to wasteland.
The corridor paved outside its delicate fence,
waits to be walked spellbound
to the sanguine meadow of tomorrow.

The innovative memory invents 
the arcane skill of alchemy,
glistens gold in the rusted crust of ruins. 
Marigold blooms in the junkyard 
on the scrap stack of desolate being, 
with the touch of the Midas mind.

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