Waterlogged Poems

Sad Man's Desire

I stepped on someone's gum
Now I'm part of a nation
I slipped on a paving slab
Now I'm part of another nation
Not that it’s up to my liking 
To change nations every day
But I can't argue if there are
So many nations that I don't have time to learn
Which one I'm a part of
At every moment of the day
Whose territories I appear on
And disappear without a care 
I don't mean to disturb all that 
Importance of power, those dour faces
That we are doomed to notice everyday
I don't mind if anyone is converted
To their familiar religions with those 
Cruel gods created by state-minded prophets 
In my view all this tormenting world
Was invented on purpose to spoil life
To intimidate us for no other reason 
Than power of the immortal troublemakers
Evolution is impossible
Consolations are rubbish
This species is hopeless
Not the first, not the last to become extinct 
I’m already gone fishing forever
Once I saw my eternal love’s face in the sky 
I wish to become a weed 
Growing on by a waterlogged stream.

Summer Heat

Sun is seen a flaming ball in the sky,
Darting down pointed spears of smarting beams.
Horrid heat waves, from the smoked earth, rise high.
For drops of water, the thirsty earth screams. 

The waterlogged piece of land has gone dry.
The soil is arid and left cracked and parched.
Drying crops have made farmers sadly sigh.
The once lush green meadows are lying scorched.

Sun's heat, like a spiteful scorpion’s sting,
Burns,  damaging the flesh and the bared skin. 
The fiery tongues of humid summer fling,
Licking up the last residue of green. 

The dry leaves under the feet whine and moan
Etna seethes, birds and beasts, for water groan!






 

Dawn Pond

Brackish lichen forms a raft upon the pond,
a low haze floats like a moored airship.
Small frogs chirrup sotto-voce
as if they were
dreaming sparrows.

Water birds dabble in their sleep.
Soon the sun
will dash across a drop of dew
bursting dams of light.

A fisherman in his truck
drinks his coffee,
rubs his eyes and smacks his lips.
He grabs rod and tackle,
hopes fat fish are lazily
rising.

Feathers shake off waterlogged shadows,
wings slap the groggy face of the pond,
ripples splash up
to rinse the air.

Coots and Plover call
until the water
awakes.

Fountain

As I drink from that strange fountain. 
I’m going to give you a single clue. 
And tell you where the treasure lies. 
The whole treasure, 
Could take hours to explain through the sparkles. 
I have nothing except my mind which is like a microscope. 
The sky is bugging me and made of dots. 
Rotting logs shaped oddly. 

I think the water around here is weird. 
Unwieldy, wild, and howling. 
The fireflies make sense. 

Floating is a cop out. 
It’s more like…
Water but also not. 
Fluidity which is part of my steps. 
I don’t have feet, just Them.

As I splash water everywhere. 
The fountain turned off, 
But I am the fountain, and I am the one. 
Let me hand over the clue. 
Paper which is,
Waterlogged. 

As I spit out the water from that strange fountain. 
I realize I might have a problem after all. 
They turned off the fountain. 
I’ll take a nap first. 
Then try to figure out how to get my legs to work again.

After the Flood

Stray cats slipped under a waterlogged night
only to drift back bedraggled,
as if today still pulled at their tails

Old Charley Winslow died
before the deluge,
before the river threw itself
over the dike.
Laid out for burial
he was seen to float out of a lower window.

Lots are gone,
welcome mats and watering cans,
sheds and shingles,
plastic peddle carts,
potted plants, stretchy pants, and porta-potties.

Many never made it back,
though some may turn up tomorrow
to be salvaged and put away
for a rainy day.

at the doctor's

at the doctor's

There are days when I feel bereft of the people I knew
are all dead and no one is coming to take their place
there is a sense that I'm a waterlogged tree floating
in a sullied inland lake where bathing is prohibited
my nights are full of ghosts from the past visiting
when not awakened by nerve pains traveling up and
down my legs and the burning sensation telling of
the eternal flames of hell
I'm sitting at the diabetic doctor's office complaining
about the depression of pain I suffer at night
the man has an ascetic face, a real doctor, not a product
of a mother's wish to have a son with the title DR
You are keeping your sugar level well-balanced
which is good, your weight is right! (at this point
I pull my stomach in
As for your discomfort, you have to see this as a part
of your illness, I think he calls my pain DISCOMFORT!
He prescribes prescription for Insulin pens and tells
me my blood pressure is perfect, with that he sends
me away with a friendly slap on my sagging shoulder

River Rising

waterlogged blue toes 
sinking feet down into mud 
river rising red 

Looking for Your Grace

Sun, a flaming ball in the sky 
Waterlogged lands have long gone dry 
The soil of the land turned crusty 
Oh God, on us, have some mercy! 

Scorched in the fury of the sun, 
Are hot humid days, with no fun
In sultry heat, men go crazy
Oh God, on us, have some mercy!

Just as water saves lives on land 
Your grace is needed for our mind
Don’t leave our souls dry and hazy
Oh God, on us, have some mercy! 

Sun, a flaming ball in the sky 
Oh God, on us, have some mercy! 

HEAVY DOWNPOUR

HEAVY DOWNPOUR
 
With heavy downpour and gloom so gray,
There walked a man on a rainy day.
With furrowed brows and an angry glare,
His umbrella high, battling water's snare.

Through puddles deep and floods so grand,
He trudged along the waterlogged land.
A gust of wind meandar & played it part,
But he held it tight, "You shan't have that!"

His face contorted, anger reached its peak,
As raindrops splashed upon his cheek.
With every step, a squishy sound,
As he stomped through puddles that he found.

He raised his umbrella with a mighty whack,
But Mother Nature just laughed back.
Though the water rose at showers spree,
This man pressed on with a stubborn plea.

Peeps pipping from windows couldn't help but grin,
At this angry man, finding joyful anger within.
Under the deluge, he refused to be swayed,
In the flood, he ignored their laughter parade.
 
The lesson for all is, even in storms decree,
We must be resolute, bold and free.
And come rain, come shine, we'll always prevail,
Even when walking through a watery veil.²4


VICK MANUEL POETRY {VMP}
Copyright ©? December 1st 2023.

Campfires and Thunderstorms

Campfires and Thunderstorms

Campfires and thunderstorms:
Heads poke out from under cover
To see clouds bursting
That swell the river.

Ears prick to hear tree-snapping sounds
As lightning cracks and thunder booms.
Torrential rains pour down to soak the ground;
The firewood gets wet, and the tent becomes waterlogged.

Dismal and miserable, the campers reflect;
Then, their eyes fix upon the canoe tucked away,
Still overturned and safely protected.
Sighs of relief are exhaled as they sit and wait.

Rain Babble

Often
the rain has something to say to me,
but this rainy day
it is hyperactively neurotic.
Each of my shoes are waterlogged
by a squelching sky-fall.

Then again there is the soggy dribble
when the flood falters
and it plugs the dripping air
only to burst out in hysterical torrents.

It is not mute,
it mutters and sprays wet words;
a babble of bellicose blather.

I am drenched in my own sweat,
as weepy warm sweepings
wash over me.

I was hoping that the last spatter
and squall of the day
would have something to say
but it only seemed to hint at:
'Coming back again."

My Body Is Waterlgged

My body is waterlogged
from the water springs of Your grace
You quench the thirst of my spirit
with less of me and more of Yourself
You pour all of your eternal goodness
into my empty cup
I can't sustain by my own might
no matter the many times
I am told by outside voices
that I am enough
once I truly show compassion
towards myself
but only You can truly satisfy
the endless desires of my heart
which overflows
within the spirit
of my waterlogged body
like the currents
of a thousand rivers

In the Grass

I was just a little lass
running barefoot in the grass
tiny feet were romping past
birds and bees along the path. 

Peering through the grass I found 
bugs and snails on the ground 
ladybugs were all around 
flit and flying without a sound. 

Then I happened on a pond
dipped my toes into the bog
tadpoles swam under a log
lying low and waterlogged. 

Crickets chirped and lilies laughed 
green frogs leapt along the path
trails of flowers and sassafras 
running barefoot in the grass. 






3/25/2023

Resolutions 2023

Celebration of a new year,
Thankful for life that chauffeurs my being,
Not forgetting a door is opened to the unseen,
Not forgetting it's my onus to decide 
where the needle goes.

My resolutions come to the fore, 
My planning against life's uncertainties,
My decisions versus life's twists, 
My prop for every tomorrow I see.

I'm climbing every dreaded mountain,
I'm going down the forgotten roads,
My eyes are in the dark for hidden treasures,
I'm reclaiming my waterlogged lands,
Though what comes must come,
Need they?
My resolutions are my frontlets.



January 1, 2023.

Rumbles Goppy Blubber

Only full of jibber jabber
Blabbing rumbles goppy blubber
Chat so lots it seems a big ole sea
That bellows jiggles up the sunken ladder
Waterlogged a smullen button belly
Swollen tub of lardy squishy goo
If only spit out complitastic words
Scales and skin could sag down too


Not sure if this is right but it was fun...

• Short Waterlogged Poems
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• Waterlogged Quotes