I rock in this outdoor cheap chair
Its cushion foam like ice cream
Half-eaten by the winter mice in storage
I don’t mind
Don’t need a full seat to see before me
The drop off on Torch Lake
Its fine line drawn between sky and space
So turquoise on one side black and blue on the other
Top to bottomless cliff
A mere step to reach one side from the other
If I dare walk on water
Wind carves the lake into slices of pie
Pulpy blueberry squeezes out the sides
Dragonflies bob in lilac updrafts
Broke open moments ago from their crawling lakeshore nymphs
Split open on the rocks
Their brittle wings snap in the wind
Snacks uncrinkling to a Kingfisher’s snatches
Fate born that way is hard to take
Of course many of these spindles escape to the flowers and meadows
But not all
I stand up
Boy to Dad to Grandpa
When did this happen? To survive this long?
To still hunger these many wonders?
To grow to know I am no more important
Then this oozing lake
Divided
And Memorial Day wind colliding with dragonflies and Kingfishers.
Robins seem to enjoy my yard
Awaiting the coolness of dewed mornings
To awaken the wriggling worms
A seasonal offering favored by the feathered ones
Dandelion waiters tend to the color and flavor
Serving up “all natural”, organic, pesticide free offerings
They can vouch for the claim
As they have managed the place for 30 years
A bold red Cardinal sits atop a fence post preaching
A Beyonce’ butted ground hog scurries away
Doves coo from within the safety of the hedges
A house cat stalks them from a windowsill
Buds dance to the music of the wood winds
A sparrow choir sings an opening hymn
As a disinterested hawk rides the updrafts
A chipmunk takes his order to go
Written: November 06, 2023
___________________________________________
A swarm of herring gulls amassed
Nexus Nautilus nabbed by zealous winds,
whitening the black soil
we hold spears in our hands.
blood-stained thorns on the side
sullen squawks a skirmishing sporophyte,
dubious, grayish rumors must be buried
drave in a drizzle, drape to deities.
Installation of sentry fences
Sisyphean stones
anchor down using seal and string
flaws in the swings used by blacksmiths
Unborn burning bullion bludgeon
Savage sunless swords embryonic
Edgeless, with no reflections.
Each peak over the Edenic Steppes is sprayed,
using torn paper candles as bait
climbing scaffolds with lumber rungs
pounding of leather-heavy boots
darkened, grimacing features
Flocks failing feathers or flight.
Our hold slips on windswept
Windswept updrafts carry us away
as offspring of the royal family.
Purple mountains, majestic against an azure sky,
Rise to greet the passing rain-filled nimbus clouds
Above the verdant forests along the canyon rim,
Where sparrow hawks and other birds of prey drift
The surging updrafts from the river valley far below.
Rays of the sun find paths through thick pine stands
And glint from the silver stanchions of the bridge,
Hover over the pensive grandeur of the scenic view.
I long for my home near the edge of the park lands
Where wildflowers bloomed next to our cottage there,
And memories accumulated over the ensuing years
Continually bring me back to childhood adventures,
So free, so happy-go-lucky, during hot summer days
In the wild, wonderful wilderness of West Virginia.
Originally written July 5, 2021
Edited for All Poetry.com
Chosen as Cover Poem for All Poetry.com
March 18, 2022
FIRST PLACE WINNER
Brian Strand 1096 Poetry Contest
March 20, 2022
We will write
For every thousand ton of ore
There is a nugget,
And so we will write like miners,
Breathing the dust of our darkness,
Filling our veins and lungs
With the choke of our lives.
As words are milk to suckled piglets,
We write with starvation and hunger,
Hoping to balance inequities,
Satiate an endless thirst for peace.
Past lives will crash and updrafts of multitudes
Will be born and born again.
Christians in a hurricane of rain aimed at
the ruin of Roe v. Wade,
And we will write.
Our Lantern is Hope, Our Plea a Silent Sea
Of Restoration.
Through the mist of shallow ears, into
The Droning Deafness of Controversy
We will write.
Words that speak the language of Mind.
An Internal Braille that rolls over tongues
With the coarseness and taste of strife
Luring all gentler souls to a softer life
We write in story, prose and poem
It does not matter if our words are never heard
Or read
From the moment we give them birth,
They are dead.
We also know that death is not an end
The line continues beneath the water
The lure is at the tip
It baits a new beginning
Something will end - something will begin
And we will write
They dipped our being in dirty grease
added a fist full of kernels.
Life turned up the heat
now-one by one we're popping out
little puffy hatchlings -
sweet songs in our beaks.
Growing feathers and talons
ready to fly now
on updrafts
of silent song.
Ready to ignite the world
that spit fire on our nest
one by one we'll pluck the rubies
from all of their bloated chests.
Lift up your hands
Lift up your hands
Cry out to me
I will give you everlasting joy!
Wipe up those tears that readily fall!
Take lessons from the birds
Who joyfully call,
Singing their hearts out
Before the raging storm
Take lessons from the swallows that ride out the wind
The mighty eagle that glides on updrafts,
Surveying the land.
God clothes them, He feeds them
He gives them shelter from the storm!
So will He in your life.
Just listen for that still small voice.
He will talk to you and guide you.
Let go of the past and live for each day.
Wear His cloak of Armour
And lift up your hands
Close your eyes
And sing for joy!
I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons,
neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth,
nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us
from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.
R o m a n s 8 : 3 8 - 3 9
Lift up your hands
Lift up your hands
Cry out to me
I will give you everlasting joy!
Wipe up those tears that readily fall!
Take lessons from the birds
Who joyfully call,
Singing their hearts out
Before the raging storm
Take lessons from the swallows that ride out the wind
The mighty eagle that glides on updrafts,
Surveying the land.
God clothes them, He feeds them
He gives them shelter from the storm!
So will He in your life.
Just listen for that still small voice.
He will talk to you and guide you.
Let go of the past and live for each day.
Wear His cloak of Armour
And lift up your hands
Close your eyes
And sing for joy!
I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons,
neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth,
nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us
from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.
R o m a n s 8 : 3 8 - 3 9
Poetic Inspiration 101
What inspires me to write poetry?
an old man on a park bench mumbling
weightless hawks floating on updrafts
trash strewn city streets
school buses at 5AM
huddled children waiting
the wrinkled face of an old woman
staring through a broken window
stuttering splash of skipping stones
sunbathing turtles lining a fallen log
the motionless pose of the Blue Heron
soft echoes of tearful laughter
hard, oft felt scars, of pain’s persistence
gentle music of a mother’s voice
whispering to a baby
the flag waving against a deep blue sky
draped over the caskets of those who serve
opening my eyes, breathing in
the sights and sounds of life.
©9/2/2017
submitted to – What inspires you to wrote poetry – Poetry Contest
HYPERGRAPHIA -- "STARECASES"
twisted as wrought iron spiraling down
surveying top gears stark dark regalia
holdhigh on tight here comes another
maniacal express spinning
HYPERGRAPHIA
dying I throw down a key in a sock and sing all the way up
bowing forehead to ground to catch thermal updrafts
grabbing more sky to do the work hanging plump like a plum
disease that confirms even normal is an unreachable entity
lofty orphaned kite out of touch out of sight that never
smells gender kissing mouth that swallows hurtful pride
crack open the gaze of sleeping animals… I am one and so are you
experiencing life with our blunted truths I would keep you open all
night even if it hurt us as we choke on the intensity and
move and cry through all life’s lies
then.. push our headboard when bored out to sea
sailing out of earshot past you and me so thoroughly
you distracted by the crease in my accent
I by your crown as the waterfalls drown your caress
to make a noise from your mouth with the
radical skill of my hands and sebaceous glands
as we free-flow our thoughts
© Kim van Breda—28 December 2015
Dandelions – Visual 1
Stems rooted as future generations silently drift
Dancing in the awakening of hope’s enlightening sunrise
Buoyed upon the updrafts of fate and synchronicity.
1/30/2015
Submitted to Glorious Sijo Fields – Poetry Contest
Sponsor – Andrea Dietrich
Soaring above the bushfire's flames,
astounded crows, blacker than charred
tree trunks, flap spectral wings.
Numb with loss, no caws drone out.
Wind rushes in updrafts from
the smoky heat: to rise as a vengeful spirit,
to hammer at fleeing pinions,
to witness aimless circles above coal black trees,
now absent of rough stick nests.
Suzanne Delaney
I am asleep
I dream
I am flying
I am the sky
outside myself
above streets and buildings
Time and place
do not exist
I am moonlight
staring back at the sun
Updrafts of light
echoes off distant plateaus
above the blue earth
into the sparkling void
Walking up the stars
through the nine heavens
and all nine earths
I am me
set free
so astally
in a sea of ecstasy....
Every now and then
life creates a gem of a human being,
a gem of genuineness
a body of truth, sincerity
written into sublime poetry.
And like all that is good
upon this planet, a situation
that creates reactions from those
usually, one eyed opinionated bigots
those full of self importance,
able to sweep all conception
bar their own out of existence.
So this Canadian genius
like the setting sun
has faded into the horizon,
no doubt to rise again somewhere,
after all the setting of the sun
and the rising of are perpetual,
and in his words not mine.
(*A perfect fusion of dark and light.)
Has I’m sure he is!
*Borrowed from his first poem
posted here on soup “Updrafts”
© Harry J Horsman 2012
Into dense fog land
I drift through other layer
Of deep transfixed sleep
Dreams of unicorns and trees
As giant as redwoods complete
Dreams that cause updrafts
In which one can drift up
In a wild dreamscape
Plowing high through space and sky
Landing in another place
Special area
To go visit and enjoy
Peacefulness abounds
Life seems easier to bear
But yet must return back home…
To wake once again
Entrant into Kim Merryman's "What Dreams Are Made Of" contest
7/31/2012
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