"burbling" poems
It’s a place of healing,
the forest floor.
A place alive with secrets and knowing.
My learned sense of reality catches on the brambles and thorns as I pass,
and the tentative uncertainty of my untrained step
loosens with the soil on my feet
in the puddles on the path.
It’s a place of healing,
the forest floor.
A place intent on living.
Where each movement beneath the
towering company of life informs the next.
A little slower this time.
A little softer.
More quiet.
And with each surrendering breath,
another can be heard.
One more colossal and unified in its polyrhythmic sway.
The trees and vines and creatures with their watchful eyes,
and the earth underfoot,
swell and recede in a merry yawn.
On my twilight walk to fetch water
the dark patiently dilutes all colour,
but allows detail a stolen moment to define my way.
The texture of bark on the lean oak trees around the spring,
the burbling contortion of their reflection at its yielding mouth,
the lichen-rough rocks,
smoothed at the water's edge,
all persist and scintillate into grey.
The soft pricked dendrites of moss cushion my knee
as I slip and fall,
one foot in the spring!
And my scream and giggle pierce the listening night,
and there is no other human being in sight.
So I sit. Wet and still. In the moss.
For tonight, when the darkness stretches its veil impenetrably-tight
over the forest I shall be inside,
to find my place within it's creeping, writhing breath.
Its a place of healing,
the forest floor.
Where living things may grow.
Aug 15, 2011
Aug 15, 2011 at 4:39 AM UTC
his essence
cascades across
the grain of my frame;
as his eyes dilate,
imbibing in the beauty
of motion teasing the lull
of moonbeams as it
dabbles
against the infinity
of our minds
beholding
our reflected image
in mirrored composure,
as our delicacy of want
pushes
towards an edge
of lustiness
entwined within
warbled notes
of rock wrens
singing love songs
as they dip
their wings
on early
summer
morn's
my eyes close
as softness of
lips touch upon
mine own; sending
thoughts to lucid
stillness of serendipity
bathing our contoured
frames in dulcetness
aligned within pouted
hunger tasting one
another in unity
kaleidoscopic prisms
alight in our eyes
as the lull of the moon
pulls the ebb and flow
of the ocean's current
as our bodies move
in rhythm with its
motion of each
cresting wave
crashing against
the shores of
our soul's fluidity
burbling in ecstasy
Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 11:57 PM UTC
The cool plush ****
of succulent grass
whispering against
bare ankles.
The verdant smell
of rain pelting
the crusty earth,
loamy fresh.
The piercing tingle
of noon sunshine
on the bald orb
of the shoulder.
The comforting touch
the warm embrace
that soothes
the aching heart.
The energizing aroma
of coffee burbling
brews hope
and inspiration.
My filter, clear and bright
illuminates the night
in waves of bliss
Anchored by the senses
I remember
what brings me
happiness
Aug 15, 2022
Aug 15, 2022 at 3:25 AM UTC
Like a cell drawing in pure water, rejecting unnecessary, undesirable molecules.
Like a virus spreading multiplying, taking over with vigor and tenacity.
Like the bubbles on the burbling lips of a toddler, growing and popping and dripping.
Like a ronin samurai without a lord, coming and going like the wind.
Like a thought that just won’t quit, a feeling that burrows into the bones.
Like the intensity of a fire, when a steady wind presses the seat of the fuel source.
So is my passion for life.
Apr 20, 2023
Apr 20, 2023 at 8:48 PM UTC
I don't know why I write poetry
all I know is that writing poetry makes me rich
enjoying -- not possessing
the ever-expanding universe
without fear of inflation
in the sky --
white clouds
singing larks
whispering wind
the tender moon and twinkling stars
on the ground--
mountains hills plains gullies
lush green red brown yellow
oceans streams lakes ponds
splashing gurgling burbling
the blooming flowers
the vacillating leaves
children's innocent laughter
cats dogs chickens ducks birds
jumping chasing croaking singing
all are parts of my life's fortune
of course, there too are
ferocious dark clouds
harrying eagles
howling storms
withering flowers
roaring guns
and piercing screams
the shadows that lend dimension
to poetry and life
In fact, I don't write poetry
poetry writes me
Jun 17, 2017
Jun 17, 2017 at 3:51 PM UTC
A black and white film
About an old man and his dog.
There is no dialogue.
Just ambient sounds -
First, of the alarm clock’s
monotonous song.
Followed by an abrupt
cutting silence as his hand slams
down on the snooze button
Then, the sound of a coffeemaker
spitting and burbling.
The coffee, pouring into a chipped mug.
Sugar, then milk,
the clink of the spoon against the ceramic
as he stirs
the long first sip
As the man looks curiously
at something on the fridge,
just out of frame.
A bag of dogfood opening.
hard kibble ringing against the metal dish.
The dog grumbling - impatiently waiting.
Tupperware opening
The hum of a microwave, and the beep.
Last night’s stew poured into a bowl
the rest, over the kibble.
The closed caption reads:
[Enthusiastic, sloppy eating noises]
The sound of water running
as the bowls are scrubbed clean.
The door closing as the two leave
for their morning walk.
The old man and the dog
are now sitting on a park bench.
The grass, still wet from the morning dew.
There is a beautiful sunrise
over the nearby lake.
The camera pulls away,
as music overtakes the diegetic sounds
of nearby parkgoers, birds and runners,
and teens playing hooky.
The camera cuts back to for a beat
to the kitchen
in the empty house.
The camera zooms in on a weathered
and well loved piece of paper
held up by a rainbow magnet
on the refrigerator door.
Fade to a black screen,
with white letters:
Fin.
Sep 12, 2022
Sep 12, 2022 at 9:43 PM UTC
This is the place where faeries sleep, down,
by the river burbling over mossy boulders, beside
the pink Rhododendron caressed by the sun.
Where I wait, feeling my wanting,
my longing as I meet the Beloved.
The light is everywhere, shimmering
on the wings of a bumblebee as it swings by
lazily unaware of my desire rising from the root
effervescent like the bubbles chasing
each other on the surface of the water.
So alive,
so exciting,
so exquisite,
so magical,
so perfect,
so NOW.
This meeting
this touching
this connecting
this tasting
this falling...
This falling
truly, madly, deeply in
love with this moment,
this tender, fragile, faltering
moment that is me.
This exquisite Eden that I have
uncovered at my core,
this awakening of the unforbidden
so luscious, so delicious in it’s invitation
to taste it’s sweet aliveness that
my heart has abandoned all shame,
and is lost in the lust,
blown open in wonder
at the awesome,
the indescribable
thrill of this dance,
this movement
toward death.
Each moment so precious,
each moment a jewel,
each moment in which
I am alive, AWAKE and wanting.
This is the place where faeries sleep.
Down, by the river.
Jun 10, 2010
Jun 10, 2010 at 8:17 AM UTC
Sometimes I forget that you
cannot absorb as much
as you like to say you can.
I forget that you are human, and not more,
not the impassive statue that you
would like to be.
I have seen you
in your weak points and I
have helped you through
some bad days and I
somehow forgot
your true form.
Forgive me, I
am so full of words tonight that
I overflowed and nearly
drowned you, even as you stood
ready to try and help me safely swim
the dangerous currents
of my own disintegrating being.
Forgive me, I
would mop up these streams and
plug up these holes and even
divert rivers in the tradition of Heracles
to clean out the accumulated grunge
of everything I have dumped on you.
I would let my mind
stop burbling and my words run dry
if only you will
forgive me.
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 6:52 PM UTC
Follow that burning you feel in your bones. That tingle of pure fire running through your veins
Ignite your soul.
there is so much I would love
to see
These trees
wrap their arms around my blossoming soul; my true home found in the purest laughter of the wind
and the dancing call of the creek
I am you and you are me
we are everything
To be anything. Moment. Living present to recieve our presence. You are only ever here. Now. Embrace the breath found in these rolling forests
our glittering banks
Embrace your breath.
We are freedom. Living simply, living peacfully. We are love. Embrace this moment always.
The sun brushes kisses upon my upraised face
bringing warmth to my soul
opening in delicious appreciation of the wonderful heat that he is.
Everyday. bestowing kisses and asking nothing in return.
What can be more beautiful
then that?
Take this body. Release tension. Breath deep. Breathe to remind. You are anything. Everything. Take your body and live in your truth. Imagine if you did, how free you would be!
My soul is expanding, wide open hugging the earth in all her glory. So diverse, so intricate, so simple. She is everywhere. Fingers of wind running through my hair, salty kisses of the ocean, brushing my toes. The burbling laugh of mountain streams hopping rocks in their journey of release.
There is no search. There is only now, and the enjoyment of the chickadee calling goodmorning to the toes of sun running between the cedar trunks. There is only now. Breath.
I am you and you are me.
we are everything
Apr 13, 2017
Apr 13, 2017 at 1:47 AM UTC
The lies choke me,
constricting my throat with their icy tentacles.
Vines riddled with thorns,
twist and scrape inside my airway.
Blood running down my trachea
pools in my lungs,
Each burbling breath
a disturbing reminder of the webs I've woven.
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 6:50 PM UTC
The birth of our day.
All fresh and touched with
The Master's hand
in dewy majesty.
The shell of sky
wet with foamy clouds.
The earth awaits wheeling birds
to rest again - benign in the
trees of their birth.
Burbling and raucous
in their boisterous
roosts.
Cacti creep along the
last vestiges of the
velvet night.
A coyote laughs.
He makes his lone way
up the still, starlit, streets.
And all is embraced by the
embarking orb emanating for eons
from the eastern estuaries.
I write upon mornings
because they are the marks of time
upon beginnings.
The new year begins at midnight.
But the new day?
ahh... the new day begins
with the
SUN.
SoulSurvivor
(C) 12/29/2015
all rights protected
Dec 29, 2015
Dec 29, 2015 at 10:32 AM UTC
They fall upon us over the spillways of time,
Burbling at us through some Radio Free Nostalgia
Courtesy of some college station sitting at the far left of the dial
Or streaky CDs at the rear of some forlorn shelf,
And we know them to be to be, if not outright falsehoods,
Among the more variable of truths
(As all truths are, if we’re being honest about the matter)
For when someone sets out to create the Great American Whatever,
It becomes quickly apparent that such paths
Are not straight and clear, but wind and double back upon themselves,
Replete with thorns and weeds with bladed edges;
Egos must be stroked, revenue streams and margins considered,
Leaving one’s primary legacy as a testament to compromise.
But to be a casualty is not necessarily to be a fatality,
And through the narrowness of a three-minute window,
Purveyed to us by quartets of chanteuses
Who were no strangers to compromise their ownselves
(So many staged photo shoots,
So many hokey Christmas songs and cosmetic-sale jingles)
We can glimpse momentary epiphanies,
Crescent-moon slices of the verities,
Which, if not the whole truth and nothing but,
Provide us with something to hold, something to hum
As we go about the tortuous business
Of making some sense of the whole **** thing.
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 9:41 AM UTC
They say, you can't see God
But in the dawn and at dusk,
In the daylight and starry night
And when the sky wears the spectrum,
I see Nature, I see God.
They say, you can't hear God
But, everytime I hear the burbling stream,
the soothing sound of the waves
and the chirping of birds,
I hear Nature, I hear God.
They say, you can't talk to God
But whenever I scream out my love
to the desolate dunes and
talk my heart out to lonely trees,
chilling under their shades.
I talk to Nature, I talk to God.
They say, you can't smell God
But in the sweet scented flowers
and in the wet mud after the recent rains,
I smell Nature, I smell God.
Everytime when the wind
blows through my hair,
Everytime when I feel
the fresh air on my face,
I feel Alive, I feel You,
I feel Love, I feel God.
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 9:34 PM UTC
in utter radiance two bodies meld,
in decadent tenderness; emanating
from one another in mindless bliss,
like silken sheets fluttering in a
midsummer day breeze; flapping out
a heart's symphony as each mellifluous
tune is carried along effortlessly of fallen
petals in an upward warm wind...alluring
when lips touch their essence is as
delicate and soft as a newborn's first
breath and visions of meadows as
burbling brooks eke out nature's
wonderous animations of life; hidden
amongst conifers naked seedling in
cones of yews procreative life...caressed
eyes gaze upon one another in trancelike
looks of longing; in ponderance of love's
accepting embrace, to feel it's enraptured
warmth; skyrocketing moans in resonating
tremors of gossamery affection...cloud nine
emerging gasps are born to undulate in
waves; awakening love's cupidity to be
forever within one another's limelight,
delighting each other's ambiance of
life's many truisms; our spirits bountiful
and serene as we live and love in our own
paradise on earth...in spirituality
becoming excited in our veracity to
understanding the complexities of
love and living in moments of bliss;
standing still vacuumed, absorbing
one another's vitality to be as one,
soulmates until heart and mind
collide in hungering want; holding
onto thoughts only we can see
within one another's eyes...heavenly love
Jun 12, 2012
Jun 12, 2012 at 3:54 AM UTC
I'm a rediculous miscreant
Wandering open walks
People ask what color my hair is
How should I know?
The things that concern them are trivial
I'm higher than that
In all senses of the word
Floating above the bobbing crowns
Of the general public
I'm a popped bubble gum
Sugar-sweet, a mouthful and childish
Burbling along
A nerve of bundles
The drowsy doe-eyes
Sprung
Eyelashes high-kick when I bounce by
Jul 8, 2012
Jul 8, 2012 at 11:24 PM UTC
I only live in your heart,
the masculine particle of your air and
whimsical, my treat within
I will love you forever if only
you keep your breath winded.
A doll, button eyes and two cloth feet
which walks her on a chant –
for that is me, dwelling in your body
I exist as a plaything
or a burbling dream.
My strings attach to your arteries
and I am on a highway to your soul.
I wobble, topple, follow
your staple, an underground troll
of noiseless, poppy veins
because you welcomed me in the lull.
Oct 30, 2012
Oct 30, 2012 at 4:55 PM UTC
*A fountain of tolerance
Burbling with gusto
And unending vigor.*
Sep 20, 2017
Sep 20, 2017 at 6:57 AM UTC
I walk the busy streets isolated from the hustle,
Crisp wind lifts tendrils of my waves to the textured sky,
The roar is silent in my ears -
I've walled myself from the world,
Walking to my own beat.
Forever flat, I could never stop
and never tire
As my thoughts roam beyond these crowded streets.
I remember smells that exist no longer:
Cities smell only of concrete and pollution.
Childhood smells of wet air,
The tangy sweet-sour of decaying plants;
Sounds of burbling water and crunchy leaves,
Softly shifting branches in the breeze;
Tastes of smoke and evergreens;
And feels of cold stiff cloth against my skin.
I walk nostalgic paths longing for things I've left
and will never find in the noisy traffic
of the long city streets.
2009
Jul 29, 2010
Jul 29, 2010 at 6:31 PM UTC
Deep in the forest,
The dark green forest,
Where the trees sway
In the lively breath of wind,
Their marshmallow heads
Dancing,
Where it is afloat and aflutter
With birdsong,
And the chirps of the playful creek,
The steady burbling of unbridled joy,
Where beauty grows on trees,
In pinks and purples and pollen
In fur and feathers,
In the earth,
There is a pond,
A polished mirror laid gently
On the dewy grass.
An echo of the strokes
Of a child’s painting,
In the sky.
May 2, 2018
May 2, 2018 at 7:48 PM UTC
and your electricity
will propel through me
jolt me ALIVE
make my skin tingle
this and your fingers
twirling until midnight
chilly trail along my back
bones I own
played as a silver harp
kiss me (pink)
and I’ll sip your smell
like white wine
slip it under
my sleeve
breathe easy
if you have stained me
with a [quick] shock of lipstick
watermelon juice
as a burn on my neck
kiss me (red)
and my veins will i g n i t e
a sunrise
between-our-toes
cauldrons for mouths
burbling bits of us
fat happy glistening bubbles
wrench me
from the river you know how
rinse me in lilacs
kiss me (black)
and I’ll crackle
spl int er as glass
be swept along in neither here
or there
lose my taste to the wind
fill milk-bottles to the brim
with inane bOO-hOOs
those bluespinksreds in-betweens
**** me gently
(with a smile)
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 12:15 PM UTC
A toddler with a stick
poking holes in wet sand;
Making short lines and squiggles
which waves wipe quickly away.
When his toes have been tickled
and sand rises up around his tiny feet,
the boy falls
backwards onto his bottom.
There! Did you feel it? The universe stops–
Then begins again -
with delighted squeals burbling forth
as the water moves around him
licking his skin –
and a thousand small kittens
tumble away.
Sep 29, 2017
Sep 29, 2017 at 3:08 PM UTC
Gushing in comes she
Offering herself to the shore
Racing up the last mile
Smiling wide to meet her lover.
Listen – the song she sings,
Melodies of her burbling flow
Shedding inhibitions of tranquility
How blissfully tonight she glows.
And eager for the rendezvous
Is her lover with high tide
See tonight his tender heart
That mighty waves fail to hide.
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 1:19 AM UTC
*Kindness is niceness perched
On the pedestal of goodness.
An ever burbling fountain of
Warmth, feeling and empathy
A white thorn less rose of purity
And good intention, rarer than
Hen’s teeth and it does scythe
Through the ice of insensitivity
With a precision that’s unmatched.*
Jun 7, 2017
Jun 7, 2017 at 8:47 AM UTC
At the end of seven minutes
What will remain?
Hopefully not
an empty page
I'll test these glorious minutes
as if the end if my soul
is nigh
and try
To live to the fullest
I leave with a dry eye
an burbling well
of unused thoughts
a special little piece
of me
That I never thought
I could wrap with any sort
of decorum
Leaving it under the seat
of a well trafficked forum
Just a little surprise
to light someone's eyes
Just a tiny thought
plucked from so many
*Desire the world
claim your own little part
insider your heart
and never let any
deny your pleasure
For what we all treasure
is something that lives
inside us that is our very own
Our own little piece of the world
Where we can be some one*
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 12:54 AM UTC