Undercurrents Poems | Examples

Kiss the Ring

‘Satire is traditionally the weapon of the powerless against the powerful.’ – Molly Ivins

don’t believe the many bots
dripping fermented honey
extolling the clown’s virtues
Gaza graveyards bid sunny

an emperor without clothing
dressed in naked ignorance
his vitriolic poison spewed
golden statues at the entrance

undercurrents of the morally corrupt  
tables laid in great halls of fame
the silver gleams; imitations on the walls 
of imagined ancestors – all the same

guests dressed in penguin suits
the matching red ties like the blood 
of their foe in some computer game
a victory claimed,  I never understood

kiss the ring of the king as he howls
the laughter echoes in the beggar’s bowl

thou say villainess or mistress

I was listening to roller skating tunes.
Yes, I am shallow, sir.
And though thou may say villainess or mistress,
I am content to be who I am.
One noon, we were over dull
and our hearts we serviced
like two thieves there
in the kissing place
where breaths are both as one
and the first of many kisses doubles.
He made vows in mine ear.
He has such hands and lips
and his fortunate nature fed mine eyes
oh, nothing was scarce.
Our horns locked together
with the intensest chutzpah
and we well-made our match.
We sparked feelings we all ascribe to heaven.
I would not tell you
I can serve a man
that by slow designs
men can melt.
He swore oaths
and dropped
half won.
Later he paid
the sweetest
after-debts
—he did owe it.
.
.
songs for this:
Find Me the Pulse of the Universe by Laetitia Sadier
Stormy (Bossa Mix) by S-Tone Inc

another abcedarian for fun

all automatic alligators arrive arrogantly
barely behave beautifully but brazenly
carousing with creepy cruddy crocodiles
desperately denying despicable wiles
effectively expediting expediency
forever forsaking fruit flies who flee
glaring at grazing gritty grouses
hijacking horrific herbivore’s handy houses
igniting ingenious iguanas in I-o-Way
jubilantly joining jerky jaguars along the way
kibitzing kinesthetic killers from Zion
lollygagging like lively luxurious mountain lions
marvelously marking multitude of mini monkeys
notoriously noting nefarious nodules of displease
ostentatiously opening overt outages in Oregon
providing panda putrid prey Paul just spit on
quarrelsome quicksand quail
rapidly reading registered mail
saying sassing sentences swiftly
turning terrific tarantulas toenails thickly
utilizing underwater undercurrents down under
verifying valid villans' voluptuous plunder
with wild willingness and witchy wonder
‘xacting ‘xactly ‘xtreme ‘xestentialism supreme
yelling youngster’s yips on front of the queen
zinging zealous zealots into zebras galore
end of this abcedarian poem, there is no more.

Parched earth

A wedding celebration,
should be time for fun and joy
but we see undercurrents,
displaying fissures.

Fading Drumbeats

Long past war’s fading drumbeats 
And beyond the miasmic mists of time
Run undercurrents that displace peace 
And fancied futures hoped sublime.
Once staccato beats of war drums abate  
Far from war graves and their dead,
We find loved ones’ dismal fates 
And lonely lives now filled with dread.

Soldier’s sojourn in the dash dividing 
Dates on their eroding tombstones
Remind us that their lives, though exciting,
Ended not with hope but love unsown.
Once draftee’s dreams become forgotten 
And their past romances are long since lost,
All that remains is what God left them  
And scars they earned at frightful costs.

We too, wonder what will become of us 
And we hope to pass our test divine
Once life’s abating hoofbeats leave us 
And we’re enveloped by the fog of time.
Who will remember who we were? 
Who will proclaim, “I KNEW THEM WELL?”
Who will stop and silently ponder 
What our tombstone epitaphs fail to tell.

A Rising Lament

I know, I grow old, I grow old….
As silver threads peek in my head.
The flush on radiant cheeks wanes, 
And a pallid tint creeps unseen.
Fading years have robbed the ardour,
And a rigid sobriety sinks and settles.
With EXPENSIVE health gadgets
I cannot bring back my lost youth.

I hear the howl of autumn winds, 
That come to shake off the yellowing leaves.
Dragging tired feet through pavements
I try in vain to keep pace with the young.
Mind grows agitated and distressed
As the bones beneath the skin go brittle.

I drag myself with BRUISE in mind and body
Like a rusted machine never overhauled.
The soul grows anxious and annoyed,
With no CONVINCING solutions to track.......! 
There is a tumult in my silence
Like the undercurrents of calm waters.

Through miles on dreary miles of gloom
That stretch out before the eyes, endless, 
Where can I find a quiet haven
To lower my burden and rest awhile?

::::::Undercurrents of Life::::::

Oh come tide wash over me, this agnostic has no role 
      Take me under ice cold brine, feed electric eels my soul
     Eat away, charge these eyes, i’ll light up unknown shoals
    Shock me back upon life again, euthanised within charcoal 
   In time a diamond will form, when compression takes its toll 
  Precious I wait until I’m found, come creation make me whole 


BiteSize Poem no.57 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Line Gauthier
Monorhyme checked rhymezone.com
12/18/22

Maelstrom

MAELSTROM
a making
of knowledge
in
didatic
  observations
of
slow motion
thoughts
in
uncertain
images

a safe
space
on the
periphery

time-worn
yet
venerated
despite
crumbling
undercurrents
of
unease
gathering
then
plummeting
  off
stage

NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE   using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand

Dreamcatcher

DREAMCATCHER

the
new attention
in undercurrents
to emphasise
self
as
 the focus
&
the inspiration
&influence
among
the present
day
 counterculture
now
mainstream

alternatives
to the modern
 outlook
of
self
consciousness
dreamcatcher
   myths &
 practices

mainstream
 sensibilities
&
arguably
morality
of
the
orthodox
 elitist

NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE   using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.

Pare Wharf

On the seawall a rocky jutting shore
  and white breasted gulls and shags flit the sky.
Yes, there was a time but not anymore
  I gazed the stars over Whenuapai.
Crazed by lunar tide and hearts asunder -
  some Anglo-Saxon lass or native girl,
or some legless dumb fool fallen under
  feeding the fishes with a mighty hurl!
Its dark undercurrents reminiscent 
  and its depths of malaise I drank away,
but now my star glows less incandescent 
  upon these springs of youth in beard of grey.
By the salt marshes of this cold gulf sea
I carved my name for a posterity.


           Written: February 1995

Midnight Swim

There is magic in a midnight swim; 
Permeating the air I taste sea spray,
you can hear an echo of a hymn;

Glittering undercurrents convey 
a conch holding the ocean’s sound; 
Rippling waters of mermaid decay;  

Shells like a song cover the ground; 
Under the Moon a siren wails 
reflecting the souls of ships drowned; 

The water glistens with star trails
divination is in the smallest details.

Whitewater

We shelter secrets, holding them close 
and encrypted. Hidden truths,
like submerged rocks that create 
snapping undercurrents and choppy, 
white-capped rapids for navigating affinities.

Island of Rest

Take me to serene, island shores
where zephyr breezes whisper sacred songs
a hidden place where the remnant dwells 
apart from the tyranny of rushing streams.

There is a tangled turbulence in the waters
undercurrents of urgency that lead to nowhere
where many a soul are set asunder
setting their worth on fleeting success.

Serenity permeates the island sanctuary
can you hear the church bells beckoning?
people are on their knees, asking for forgiveness 
come, let us find rest for our weary souls. 






10/15/2021

Oh Sweet Mystery

Said Earth's Oceanic Therapist
to Heaven's Meditation Master,

Silent,
aparting meditation
naturally exhales
toward inhaling wet green co-passion
dipolar communions
following appositive surfing inquisitions 
of courageously resilient undercurrents 
turbulantly co-arising curiosity.

Wanting,
needing,
craving an orgiastic climax
bilateral
dipolar warm and welcome baptizing

Without first give and taking turns
active working,
listening and speaking
nonviolent foreplay 
co-passioning cooperative intent,

Is like going to church,
singing Bach's Alleluia Chorus
before getting back into our aparting cars
and trucks,
trains and planes,
ready for another exhaustive
extractive
sexless secular week
of win/lose devolutionary 
impotent weakness,

Sang Earth's sex therapist
to Heaven's green communion liturgist.

Driving Through a Rolling Dawn

Long after first light
night yet clings to the slick highway.

Lungs steer the wheel;
breathe out and the wave-riding shocks
follows their beamed lights, 
the road adjusts to unseen rapids,
curves around blacked-out river bends.
Breathe in, and eyes shutter out,
yet what was seen sails on.

I am scaffolding for water,
knowing this I have faith in
in the flow, the roads ability 
to avoid Niagara or deluged rest stops,
the low flying raids of sky-drenched winds.

Mind rides its rafts, skims undercurrents
weaves in and out of dreaming sailors,
the drunk rocking of back axles
as they negotiate one Rubicon 
after another.

Night parts its dim waves,
runs downhill into landscapes,
structures rebuilt only moments ago.

It might be raining, or it might be
spume and spindrift, 
intermittent splashes of shorelines 
just beyond the off-ramps.

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