"alluvial" poems
for Alyssa Underwood
~~~
my poems do not trend, go viral,
Fast and Furious!
yet, they do not die
they lay in plain sight pebbles scattered,
smoothed by time,
upon the surface of the
green earth waiting patient, virtuous,
purposed for itinerants bards
to trip over one
one some someday
somehow they accrete a readership,
slow stepping and steady from,
|the seekers and the stumblers,
the droplet drinkers,
meanderers of the tomes and tombs of prior years,
miners for nuggets in the poem pools that form
beneath the alluvial streaming
of the waterfall crescendo
of words
I like this
when another traveler sends me a like,
a petite amuse-bouche bite of appreciation,
for a long ago, barely recalled, writ,
allowing them to carve their initials upon the
external, visible roots of my tree trunk,
invading me, by darkening a prior tree internal ring,
forcing me to look down,
look back,
take measure of myself,
accepting myself as not wanting,
nor lacking in other's acceptance
these statements are neither boastful or illusory,
*yet still joyous, like caramel pleasures,
slow to chew, fast to the taste,*
reminding me of old friendships,
well valued,
though no longer fully employed,
their uncovering is my own refreshed exposure,
their discovery is my own re-discovery,
exposing flaws and fallacies,
even fallow,
mostly shallow facts
about me
all of them,
a sundae of truths and lies, sharing a happy laugh
with and at
me,
when I think to myself,
Holy Crap! did I write that?
copyright 2015 by Nat Lipstadt
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 3:35 PM UTC
Honeysuckle running deep in nostril's recollection
Wafting nectar dripping in air, please stop
Must stay present, no time for memory swap
Sneaking in, yellowed dreams, desirous confection
O purgatory, keep me still, deviate no such inflection
Causeway flash backing egg yolk, and lemon spectrum
Road lined in runners, speckling scintillation
This loose maddening of honeysuckle titillation
Reverse your tendril's twist, quivers an ungated septum
Covers, green to yellow transitions, honeysuckle bedlam
I cannot dance down this lane for fear of you
Your ringlets curl, clasp, coil me
On such road of alluvial soil I see
How can I? Must I, escape steer of dew?
You're honeysuckle memory of all I knew
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 9:58 AM UTC
Step into my world & see what I see
Suit up in my armor & role play me
Once there, you’ll be shocked & alarmed
When you see him, allured & charmed
You’ll see my love through stormy eyes
Hold your ground, you may be surprised
For in my world, it is only him that is there
But, you’ll discover his love he does not share
He is the storm in my eyes, furious & surging
But, the fire in my heart continues my yearning
You’ll feel the way it jumps out of my chest
In my passionate world, not such a thing as rest
For I will not rest until his love does return
I’ve acquired to him watching me as I burn
From the fire within him I become impaired
He is a bit frightening, but don’t be scared
Just suit up in my armor, don’t make a sound
Take a walk in my world on my alluvial ground
It may be left destroyed from his endless rain
So try being me, I bet you can’t handle the pain
Though you'll have my armor big & strong
Darling even with that, you won't last long.
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 8:08 PM UTC
I am quiet in front of the ambient lights.
Confronted among these Ambien nights,
with alluvial life, a hot bed of technical idolatry-
It is hard in the valley of the sun
the people who over-extend
self, carry impotence and
a loaded gun-
The land of geriatrics filled with frolicking snowbirds
who cast out their alcoholic offspring
to grind under gears of the economic machine.
Modern man is genuflecting in the sanctimonious pantheon of self.
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 7:22 PM UTC
*Where the river meanders for the sky’s embrace
Her lovelorn bank pines in the banyan’s shade
Blue ripples sing to soothe her travel’s stress
Lay me when all poems are dead in my head.
Write me an epitaph here rests the river poet
Who loved the cotton clouds mirrored on her breast
As her tides rose high laden with desire’s weight
He broke away from chains to madly sail her crest.
Where shines the moon makes the lover’s pathway
Flows quiet the river in her waves shadows sway
Night heron’s feet kiss her soft feathered bed
Lay me in silence when all poems are dead.
Lay me soft down make for me a space
On her alluvial soil in her riverine grace
In her diurnal shine and night’s saline kiss
The river poet would find his eternal peace.*
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 6:12 AM UTC
In the far fringe of a woody island
With a winding river
Making circuitous pilgrimage
There is a solitary hut
Visible through the patches of light and shadow
With its precincts lapped by the waves
And the rich alluvial soil
Engendering plants of robust growth
In it live a man and wife
A pair made for each other!
Their likes and longings
Blend and bleed into one another
Though they are at the subsistence level
Who have just one square meal a day
They grow in the joy of a living love
Making life a celebration in a rare way
Their humble hut, ever blessed by
Seasonal yield from fruit trees of tropical kind
Added by plants’ flowery delight
A riot of pink, yellow, red and maroon
Where wild trees stand watch over
With creepers in greener leaves
And their foliage, in a merry dance
Latching and intertwining their delicate tendrils
In the air, there is a subdued roar
Made by the swish and swirls of life
But in the silent interstices
Between the rush and blur
There descends a heavenly peace
That sets their souls dancing
Making it a happy home
Sweeter than a mansion of gold!
Oct 11, 2017
Oct 11, 2017 at 9:48 AM UTC
Richness in thought is temporary,
and once the pen is summoned,
such that I may document this moment,
I am found by a resistance...
For Greatness does not wish to be Held in Legacy.
Jan 30, 2012
Jan 30, 2012 at 10:12 PM UTC
Floating
engulfed in penny light
the coppery-brine amalgamation penetrates my mouth
swallowing
viscous globe of blood-riddled ***
the shards of shell
spines split by the tide
echo my sentiments
current eschews shallow alluvial grave
cognizant cicumvolution
ambient gyre
diffuses carapace shrapnel into my calves
gulls enigmatically screech-stripped
slap briny padded patterns into the shoreline
pausing only upon my primal glottal stop
toes curl about inundated sand
clouting divets shift
dilatory run – slammed inert by invariable wave
cochineal effluvium plumes lilt
crepuscular rays refract further distortions
Neath the water I blindly ***** my body
Ridged projections jut from smoothed flesh
Puckering at my own touch
I sink beneath atmosphere
liquescent folds embrace promptly
I drop beneath chaos
Bare palm dig into viscid terrain
rung after rung demanding presence into the depths
I claw forth onto a sand bar
emerging
shard flanked form
eyes blazing
cuticles numb
pulse flit
patina of blood and grit
Fulgent tread propels
Upon shore
I walk back to my residence
A warrior - mortal
plated in copper and brine
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 8:46 PM UTC
the alluvial terra firma
appreciates
the pluvial troposphere
of the lunar differentiate
siphoning all
in a parched gluttony
leaving behind a viscous
residue
and few glassine portals
into a reflective world
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 4:48 PM UTC
an average of 2,830 cubic meters
per second of rich silt
forms an alluvial plain
spreads outward in a fan shape
from sedimentary deposit whereby
ancient Egyptian civilizations got built
adorning arid topography invaluable
like aorta pumping blood at the nape
of the neck, yet analogous context
engendered engineering feats without guilt
whereby artisans, craftsmen,
early geographers illustrated in frieze and drape
frozen timeless statuary exhibiting
phenomenal abilities to the hilt
associated from mainspring within
fertile crescent swollen like a plump grape
which longest river often overflows
banks whereby coveted materiel gets spilt
feeding the rift valley and allowing,
enabling and providing peoples to dominate
flooding the history of mankind
with accomplishments that marvel even today
epitomized by innovations -
alphabets, wheelwrights, pyramids, etc lives did create
baffling historians how each mortise and tenon
snug as a bug in a rug mortise and tenon block
construed edifices persons did intricately lay
perfect with near geometric exactitude
ranks as wonder of webbed wide world great
faint hints of daily trials and tribulations
recorded for posterity in clay
or shards of broken pottery pieced together
coupling revelations a mosaic plate
which functional artifacts
provided dietary staples
to pagan spirits populace did pray.
Feb 10, 2018
Feb 10, 2018 at 1:06 AM UTC
The illusions we chase in our work-a-day world
Our actions paint allusions to the person we try to be.
We neglect the elusive goals we proclaimed in our youth
While they sink silently into alluvial beds of time.
Ultimately we wax effusive about how we flew so high
And evasively rationalize the 'here' to which we have drifted.
As if we, exclusively, had missed that bus.
We wear obvious scars of the abusive universe.
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 5:24 PM UTC
The shore of Africa is holier than the west
Woodlands of sands flush the fertile sea
Drawing tentacles of colonial thieves
Drawing barbaric notions for terrorism
A weather that flecks pigments of all kinds
Alluvial plains of roses rise above Nile
Ebony texture full with agility
The color black resides in God
Carol of birds chants in my traditional hut
As crystal star light the still night
Our heart is holier than Vatican plight
As god is indoctrinated in extra might
The shore of Arabian gulf
Wields dome of bead of poverty
As the world cry in false mercy
It is the water that drunk our leader's self
As they toil in pilgrimage of self deceit
Followers ignites self discredit
Ready to die and empty self into any pit
They are by products of their fossil wealth
Written by
Martin Ijir
Dec 1, 2017
Dec 1, 2017 at 5:04 AM UTC
*A storyteller wears a denim blue blouse with a caramel , marigold apron
Her children wonder aloud , seeking eye contact , relishing her approval
Exploring leaf strewn trails through forested countryside apartments
Bearing joy constrained with certain peace beside the wildflower, carpeted alluvial shoreline* ...
Nov 20, 2016
Nov 20, 2016 at 3:48 PM UTC
The soil supporting growth
has long since been rinsed
down a muddy arroyo
to some alluvial plain,
someone else's loam,
ripe for seeding.
Roots were exposed,
gnarled fingers aching
for firm grasp,
finding air
and just enough wishes
to remain suspended
in place but not in time.
A place to stand under,
and understand
the stand of trees
nourished now only
by memories
of warmth and moisture,
the gentle showers
of tears and praise,
the embraces
of worms and earth.
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 12:40 PM UTC
she journeyed
to his alluvial plain
to explore
its enticing terrain
at this destination
they melded together in unison
thence their worlds became
a beauteous union
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 10:44 PM UTC
My heart is bestowed again.
Returning to the room I see her nestled
In a heap of a super soft blanket,
The burrowed belle in an ethereal dressing.
I would never sneak or speak or break
This gentle and harmonious blessing of
Beauty and majesty so bountiful. The amour
Wand has blessed us both, I only wonder if
We both receive the spoils of the miserly.
Miserable no more. My lips swept by sunflower-colored
Gold canvas blonde hair strands, wet with shower water
From a departure excited by her own palpitations.
My only nightmare is sweetness. There can be no sign of
Hallmark gestures. No buzz of cuteness or cleverness.
I may only sew that which unfolds as a stain. As someone special
She must never suspect nonsense. I may never relay it. And still Between everything that has happened between us.
She only needs three moments to be soundlessly asleep.
Me I may weep but she keeps in the alluvial grave of
Sleep I continue to induce for her, tracing my finger around your
Earlobe. My pinky swipes the cool white
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 8:33 PM UTC
Earth runs by mural
Grows on soil alluvial
Is more communal
And less commercial.
But all work illegal,
Love for such is official
All equal tasks disloyal.
But at Money’s arrival
They treat us special;
Bliss and bless us total
We are never trivial
Comes position initial.
Money is more disloyal
Will leave you at trial.
If one is in life’s trial
Success of Money final.
If you want to be ideal;
No value only Money vital.
Agree or not Money is real
As with it we are acquittal.
Don’t be completely asocial
No practice of immoral,
It leads to God’s dismissal;
As we are never trivial
Comes position initial.
Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 12:24 AM UTC
i am tethered to my sickness—
brain worms and implacable affinity
soil and blood like strings on
careful fingers, knitting precariously
the loose ends, every alteration
another implication, pull hard enough
and i am tightly bound to peril
deeply fused into your liquid mercury
insensate though that may be
unliberated; as my mind is a metal can
rust and decay so effervescent
an empty clanking of unlinked adages
circulating alluvial expectations
throughout all of my weeping nerves
and stillness, if i were still able
pain could only wake me for so long
before attachment becomes a
blunted weapon, and your infection, my
bereaved maladaptive paradise.
Jul 9, 2020
Jul 9, 2020 at 11:51 PM UTC
Skin like alluvial soil:
I remember her vividly,
She was different than the rest.
Her skin like the alluvial soil
glistened in the sun.
Compassionate, kind
Fiery and wild,
She would look at me as if to stare into my soul. She knew I had more inside.
I remember her fondly.
Her skin the color of the earth.
She knew me more than I ever could,
A beauty, unexplained, almost tangible.
And now, she is gone and I am no longer the same.
She left me abruptly.
Pining for her every breath.
Jun 7, 2020
Jun 7, 2020 at 1:53 PM UTC
Motoring.
Listlessly.
Evening crawl.
Halogen blue-blur.
Spit-shines clear.
The asphalt highway.
That goes no where.
Solemn moon.
Pale and dull.
Leans against the rock people.
Walking the desert.
In disguise.
Quiet winds.
Deaf and aphasic.
Feed the alluvial ribbons.
That perch the stoic.
Introverted.
Black Apache elevations.
Cliffs of blened sandstone.
Surrender without a fight.
To the oily, alien sky.
Slumbering in the night.
Silent partner.
Nameless horse.
Sandscape still.
Geological corpse.
Lifeless.
Barren.
Thirsty too.
My Valentine's Day.
Without you.
Jun 10, 2018
Jun 10, 2018 at 5:14 AM UTC
The scars carved in the ribs of time,
Dripping like drops of blood into the veins of history,
Every breath poisoned by the sting of betrayal,
A distant lamp of the purest hope
Burns with an eternal radiance, piercing the darkness.
All resolutions hindered along the simple line of existence,
Deep sorrow embraces in the silence of words,
Within a moment resides a forgotten flame,
Burning like fire, a supreme turmoil in the sky of purity,
With every breath, every sigh, the final call of purity resounds.
Through the emptiness of the new moon’s depths of all consciousness float,
The erosion of time masks the pledge of inner integrity,
Truth is silently buried beneath layers of alluvial soil,
The moment turns into a state of deep emptiness,
The call for purity rises from the depths of the abyss.
Homes weeping in history—lands of war,
Humanity’s shell torn apart, the temple of the soul shattered,
Restlessness awakens in the shallow depths—wounds of time,
Beyond the boundaries of the world, the embryo of eternal truth
Answers the merciless call of purity, where the remedy of perpetual peace resides.
Mar 9, 2025
Mar 9, 2025 at 4:30 PM UTC