"downstream" poems
A free bird leaps on the back
Of the wind and floats downstream
Till the current ends and dips his wing
In the orange suns rays
And dares to claim the sky.
But a BIRD that stalks down his narrow cage
Can seldom see through his bars of rage
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
Of things unknown but longed for still
And his tune is heard on the distant hill for
The caged bird sings of freedom.
The free bird thinks of another breeze
And the trade winds soft through
The sighing trees
And the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright
Lawn and he names the sky his own.
But a caged BIRD stands on the grave of dreams
His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings with
A fearful trill of things unknown
But longed for still and his
Tune is heard on the distant hill
For the caged bird sings of freedom.
207k
Sometimes beneath close eyelids
I quest to bring you back
As if you were driftwood floating
Downstream on your back.
I dip my hands beneath the veil
And dry away the death
And from my parting, weeping lips
I give you back your breath-
Just like the rising sunset burning
In the summer sky
Paints and saints the mountaintops
And casts their colors bright.
*Unrhymed Notes:
Sometimes I dream I can bring you back
Just as simply as dipping my hands into the water
To retrieve a floating piece of driftwood;
Dry the death from your skin
And breath life back into you
The way the sunrise reanimates
The Dark Mountains
Each and every day.
I see your Ocean eyes open
Embrace you like I'm trying to
Fold you into my skin
Where I can keep you always
And feel your summer peach warm flesh
Tangible against my permafrost fingers.
If the dead could talk
Nothing profound would leave your lips
They'd only quirk into a Cheshire smile
And you'd tell me to let go
Relinquish
Move along and stop standing still
Life is for the Living
Death is for the dead
And dreams are for the foolish.*
"You *******
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 3:08 PM UTC
"Limousine Eyelash
Oh, baby with your pretty face
Drop a tear in my wineglass
Look at those big eyes
See what you mean to me
Sweet cakes and milkshakes
I am a delusion angel
I am a fantasy parade
I want you to know what I think
Don’t want you to guess anymore
You have no idea where I came from
We have no idea where we’re going
Lodged in life
Like two branches in a river
Flowing downstream
Caught in the current
I’ll carry you, you’ll carry me
That’s how it could be
Don’t you know me?
Don’t you know me by now?"
- From 'Before Sunrise'
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 10:33 AM UTC
A black crow's darting eyes
spans the wheat field
and an orange pumpkin patch.
She sees
tall grasses of brown
seedlings,
bristling in the wind,
soon to be bushels of grain
and a pumpkin pie that she never savored.
She sits, atop her tree perch,
at times warm and storybook,
hidden by tree branches,
and at times out of harm's way
and infamy.
Her friends, the sun, and clouds in concert,
dancing along.
Her other friends bring alms and smiles.
Life is so good at times.
Down the road sits a mill
next to a waterfall
and a cabin,
with reindeer horns
hanging above the doorway.
She is in her element, happy,
carrying for her nestlings.
Back and forth her parental eyes dart
the hilly fields, a smoked filled chimney, and her babies,
all crawling with sustenance and awe.
Storybook.
A mother feeding a worm to her baby.
Storybook.
Off to her side is not a blind eye
watching her,
scary stick figures of
straw tucked under red shirts and hats,
with a tied tinfoil strips dotting
her eyes and tease.
Scarecrows, cease.
At times life is good nature, hand in hand,
knock on wood.
If only life could be circumspect.
Than darkness filling the light
and a stutter of life.
For a sad page is turned,
pause
... tears.
Then, feathers fall.
Hers.
The sound of a thud.
Silence and tears of her friend's swelling.
A baby's cry, missing her mother.
More orphaned tears.
Who would be this despicable?
On that rogue day.
A kick of a donkey,
an ***
one bad rock on her path,
breaks the air,
as three little elementary kids were walking along
to school.
One, me, with a rock in his hand,
taking aim at her perch
and the death of the black crow's pages.
I confess.
... Bless me, Father, for I have sinned
it has been fifty years since
my last confession ...
a Tom Sawyer-like childhood gone worse.
I repent.
Some fifty years later I think of those first cairns,
including stealing the reindeer horns and milling
my brother and sister's storybook.
Waterfalls
stream tears, and a sorry boat
rowed downstream
sadly
thereafter.
Logan Robertson
7/25/2018
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 6:02 PM UTC
For Helene.
Ashes on the water, now.
Love's bones like dust downstream.
At least it got to see itself in our eyes,
Feel itself between hand holding hand
And whispered caresses.
From pillow talk to fists raised at
Concerts, glasses of Portuguese wine
On her balcony to the sound of magpies
We named our neighbours.
We were beautiful.
Began beautifully.
Ended gracefully.
I open hands that held hers and see
Nothing but skin worn by labour,
And air.
Ashes on the water, now.
Embers without a chance against rivers
Cold with melted mountain snow and
Unyielding differences.
Some loves drown with lungs too full
To cry; others float like a funeral-pyre-
Longboat into the night, ablaze.
King and queen, hand upon hand.
Crowns tied from fresh flowers,
We were beautiful.
Began beautifully.
Slid apart the way a glacier parts from
The hills; slowly, but with the force
Of its thousands of tons.
Ashes on the water,
Where the ghost of our union rests
Underneath the surface of our memories.
I will remember you.
Until the stars burn out, raining the
Dust of themselves like snow upon
These waters that always are moving.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 5:08 PM UTC
I recall inheriting my first bike.
Solid steel.
Pink as a Maritime sunset, only more bright.
I remember replacing my sister's bike after two long years of back-n-forths -- two years of childish insults and character building -- as I choose to see it.
The thing was invincible -- rain or snow.
Save the rust, which had its way.
I missed that old bike for a time...
It was sentimental, as they say.
My next two broke down fast -- they were hardly comparable.
When I was able to buy my own, the excitement was unbearable.
What a beauty 14", titanium dirt jumper,
Canadian made Norco -- Red, it gleams.
Even to this day, twelve years downstream.
It's too bad it hasn't grown with me
Because I'm having trouble giving it away...
We've spent a short lifetime together
And I know I will rue the day
I forsake my childhood
And take
Three hundred dollars
In its place.
Aug 10, 2016
Aug 10, 2016 at 4:47 PM UTC
i
you say i am honestly not the same person
i say one day i woke up honest
and i do not know how to undo experience
my own eyes and ears and nose and mouth
cannot be undone at the moment
how do you do it?
push that pressure to the back of your mind
like that
how do you all manage to laugh with a straight face
at things that you know aren't really funny
i can't fathom it. where you go
when you are stomping and ripping
and ****** and jeering
and laughing and running
it's exhausting to watch you
ii
i apologize if it doesn't make sense
that i can't play along
but playing along
doesn't make sense
i could never win a grammy
with this tight lipped smile
laughing at the expense of others
makes me feel more like a paparazzi
placating insecurities for currency
leeching off the vulnerability
you may not think i'm smart but
i am smart enough to know this is not 'normal'
and there is nothing wrong with staring at you in the rearview
and saying "i wish that was really sarcasm"
i'll tell you the truth
and you don't have to like it
and you don't have to like me
and i don't have to like you
because if there's one thing i know about myself
it's that i don't dislike anybody
until they show off their callousness
hoping it's the right party trick
to gain respect
iii
we watch comedy tv, and you are worried
by the way my spine cracks
when i let out a uncontrollable laugh
dragging on, beginning to spill, and as i try to quell it
my whole body shakes with the pressure
of it bubbling inside of me
you feel all of this beside of me
a small volcano with a bent back
quaking absorbed by pillows and flowers and cushions
not quite right for you
wondering why i couldn't laugh like this earlier
when we were not alone
everyone is looking for something more porous
more willing to let in effortlessly
and absorb tirelessly
that can simply laugh like a stream bubbles
and let go of the undercurrent
yet we are sharp and uneven and course like logs
and the weight of our actions carries much further
being shunted downstream by tides of gravity
every intention runs it's course
every intention speaks volumes
if you feel that in your core
every day you will uncontrollably think of how
every intention defines the quality of the laughter
stuck in someone else's head
and you will save it for things that are funny
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 4:26 AM UTC
In the depths of azure of my mystical dream
The warm summer winds that pull me downstream
On a river of gold that runs through my mind
Past billowing curtains of tropical vines
To a verdant green garden that captures my eye
Neath the circling dance of the birds in the sky
My poetry goddess, she waits for me there
So graceful in form with a beauty so rare
She’s calling me back with a warm serenade
From heavenly meadows of blossoming jade
In the depths of azure of my mystical dream
And the warm summer winds that pull me downstream.
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 1:29 AM UTC
Two fish
One downstream
One upstream
As strange as it may seem
They've formed the perfect team.
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 4:56 PM UTC
We stood on the wood bridge
over old Shoal Creek when
you reached up and shook
a handful of snowflakes
out of the white winter stars.
Just a handful,
just a few cold crystals
that tumbled down into the lazy
loping water of old Shoal Creek.
As we watched them come down,
I grabbed your magic hand
and held it until those falling
flakes were swallowed up
and swept downstream,
thinking you were as rare
as an Alabama snowfall
and I needed to hold your hand
to keep you from disappearing
just as quick.
Jan 24, 2012
Jan 24, 2012 at 8:25 PM UTC
You turn me on, you make me misty-eyed,
My nascent science of love, years back,
When I followed you downstream, to bloom it began,
The sight of flowers blossom, in earnest we did invest,
Your frail hands, soft and tender,
Your electric touch, skin-deep not,
You taught me to watch the stars, in reflection I wondered,
The Antares and Aldebaran, caught my sigh,
Provoked, you opened the gates to your heart,
You filled me in, you turned me on,
Oh the Aroma, and the beauty to behold,
Two star-crossed lovers,
As breath-taking as the Maasai Mara, we opened to a new world
Full of life,
Full of energy,
Reasons why you turn me on!
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 5:08 AM UTC
Each day I watch the ocean swell
Sometimes with hope, sometimes despair;
The ocean's faces ever change
Like the fashions of their hair:
Monday:
Like a waterfall of brown
Through golden culverts flowing--
Sweeps me far away downstream,
Without her ever knowing.
Tuesday:
Rippled clouds at sunrise,
Supple, damp and red,
Combed out, twisted in a braid,
Or just left loose instead.
Wednesday:
Of her black hair a single strand
Sweeter than Midnight's darkest land;
When it lightens up again,
Its sunrise on a beach of sand.
Thursday:
Like golden floss on top of corn,
Silky, curly, fine,
Rising from a thick, black band
Above blue eyes that shine.
Friday:
Whipped up like a hot souffle,
Luxurious, soft, held loose
With ribbons, combs and perfume,
Tempting like a mousse.
Saturday:
Her pony tail we follow,
Like the Christmas star;
Maybe we're not wise men,
But then, maybe we are.
Sunday:
Her hair flew up out the vent
Like a flame,
When we hit an unmarked bump
(Not big).
The top slid shut,
And her hair almost caught,
So I reached up
And pulled it in quick.
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 11:28 AM UTC
Laced with ribbons of moonlight
Bangladesh a touched dream at first light.
Land of my father, my mother
sweeter than nectar.
Purer than the driven snow
brighter than raw gold.
Gazing stars’ bumped up bottom
down the untouched moon.
Men and the six seasons
living in one loving fold
our one fertile sweet home!
O Allah rank our martyrs our heroes
up high in paradise in bloom
brought Bangladesh freedom abloom!
Punters cumulus clouds fly
eyes on the sky blue
on a spur hanging low tune into wild coo.
Picture independent Bangladesh
step in on the morning rug
rolls out outside the sun
walk through, the moon is inside!
Bask in, take your time
when the twilight adds a shadow
the beauty spot on your broad daylight
escape to more serendipitous discovery.
Eye on the stars or tuberoses on the ground
our free land is inspiring, beautiful even in the dark.
Laughs free from a tulip glass
across the land, air and the water
upon the reed flute stirred river
flowing downstream to the hilt
from a deep-delved foundation out of reach
her raised high flag flies
over the pivotal banyan trees.
Every flap of our ‘the sun in the green’ shaped flag,
the light of heaven on the evergreen earth!
Ah, sways in the chalice of every flower
on the land cheers beyond the warm South
whispers to our hearts and makes us feel proud.
Mar 1, 2022
Mar 1, 2022 at 10:14 PM UTC
Floating
Laughing
Smoking
Singing
Flying
Drying
And hopping in again
Something sharp touches your skin
It burns
A thousand needles
Of a jellyfish sting
It has a hold of your ankle
And is pulling you downstream
You look down
It's menacing
It's laughing now
And floating
Singing
It's quite demeaning
You fight and fight
But its grip is tight
It pulls you underneath the surface
As the trees around you
Become a world without you
What is that sparkle?
It's golden, silver, bronze
You see domes and towers
Fruitstands and flowers
You quiver
The jellyfish loosens his grip
As you wipe the blood off your lip
Who would have thought
The key to Atlantis
Was in a jellyfish's grasp
Either that or this jellyfish's secretions
Were super hallucinogenic
Either way
This is cool
*wait, how do they even have a swimming pool underwater
and functioning toilets
fish don't even have thumbs
i really don't understand
****
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 3:45 PM UTC
Within you, I've found the perfect friend
Someone who I know will be there till the end
And they're not just thoughts I hope will fulfill
But thoughts that will stand forever still
Still as the wind on a hot summer's day
Still as your friendship I'll never betray
Still as the characters in a photograph
Still as your breathless, silent laugh
Within you, I've found the perfect friend
A mind that I can comprehend
A person I see is so much like me
A mutual relationship so carefree
Carefree as a child who questions the world
Carefree as a scream that goes unheard
Carefree as an adult blessed with a dream
Carefree as water flowing downstream
Within you, I've found the perfect friend
With whom I can be real, and never pretend
You've always been someone unique from the rest
You hold a piece of me no other can possess
Within you is reason to live every moment in time
Within you the life I want is always mine
Within you, I have the perfect friend
With you, I see myself till the very end
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 3:01 PM UTC
‘Tis time to bid Winter adieu.
Make way for purple hollyhocks,
while crocus are just peeking through
last summer’s row of garden rocks.
Bulbs warm, thankful for frozen days.
‘Tis time to bid Winter adieu.
Rime frost replaced with morning haze,
writing it’s own Spring song haiku.
Buds, blooms and fledglings hatching through
with colors for our hearts to swell.
‘Tis time to bid Winter adieu
at the sway of the first bluebell
No more snow's argent glitter gleam,
the Season’s bold promise rings true.
With the last broken ice downstream,
‘tis time to bid Winter adieu.
*Empat Empat
Early form of rhyming verse from Malaysia.
8 or 10 syllables per line.
A. b. a. b.
c. A. c. a.
a. d. A. d.
e. a. e. A.*
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 10:21 PM UTC
Come and travel with me
Together we will journey to lands never imagined
We will see sights that could never be
Side by side our creativity shall be awakened
Take my hand in yours
I will show you everything you could dream
We will crawl through the rabbit hole on all fours
And we shall follow the river downstream
And if ever we reach the end of the ledge
Hold my hand tight as I cling to yours
Then you and I shall soar over the edge
Safely carried across to foreign shores
Then when our adventure has reached its end and we lay
I will look into your glittering eyes, and you into mine, both hoping to stay
And as we rest in our bliss
I shall summon the courage and lean in for a kiss
Jan 25, 2010
Jan 25, 2010 at 6:02 AM UTC
I’ve never felt so tranquil
while so numb.
It’s like leaving while
staying still, a calm
pulse in nothing,
music without a sound,
*** without a body.
It’s an erasure of strides
in snow and slush,
a dissolving act,
the cackle of a
wholesome child.
Pure and imperfect.
Today,
I am drifting downstream,
riding the cherry blossoms.
And I’m not stopping this time,
I’m not checking out,
waking up or falling asleep.
The stars will kiss me and I
will drink their light.
I am no longer afraid.
-
by Aleksander Mielnikow | Alek the Poet
Dec 31, 2019
Dec 31, 2019 at 3:14 PM UTC
Within you, I've found the perfect friend
Someone who I know will be there till the end
And they're not just thoughts I hope will fulfill
But thoughts that will stand forever still
Still as the wind on a hot summer's day
Still as your friendship I'll never betray
Still as the characters in a photograph
Still as your breathless, silent laugh
Within you, I've found the perfect friend
A mind that I can comprehend
A person I see is so much like me
A mutual relationship so carefree
Carefree as a child who questions the world
Carefree as a scream that goes unheard
Carefree as an adult blessed with a dream
Carefree as water flowing downstream
Within you, I've found the perfect friend
With whom I can be real, and never pretend
You've always been someone unique from the rest
You hold a piece of me no other can possess
Within you is reason to live every moment in time
Within you the life I want is always mine
Within you, I have the perfect friend
With you, I see myself till the very end
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 7:02 AM UTC
You're not a Golden Boy,
And you never were meant to be.
You are a force of desperation,
Seeking salvation.
You live to be free.
That is the reason why
You may forever be bound
To the saviors of the Underground.
You were a bit of a child.
The world was having its way with you.
You tried to make a declaration,
A revelation,
Some celebration.
You tried some chemical shock.
As a dried leaf floats downstream,
It is steryl as an early angel.
You're just a Rolling Roy,
The drifting dust on a beam of sunlight.
You suffer from separation,
By invitation,
And so many things to see.
It is no wonder why
Your golden boy will not be found,
Except by those of the Underground.
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 3:19 AM UTC
Ophelia I wish you'd come home
I wish you'd stop those wonders through the woods
Ophelia please step back from the river bank
You can't swim
Oh Ophelia they said it was so tragic
They thought you were so beautifully morose
Your hair flowing from under you
Like the pond **** dragged downstream
Oh Ophelia they thought you looked so lovely
Skin as pale and cold as the petals on those lily pads
Glittering like treasure on a bed of rocks in the freezing blue
Pale, still and passive
Oh Ophelia they said it was so poetic
That like the lady of the lake you would be preserved,
Mythical in their minds, decomposing in form
As the river dragged you further from home
Oh Ophelia they called me down at midday
The funeral was planned they said
A mythical theme they said
The colour scheme blue and green
Oh Ophelia they enjoyed the ceremony
There were girls dressed as mermaids singing siren songs
As they drank tea and pink lemonade
A party for Poseidon
Oh Ophelia I wish you'd come home
They turned your voice from truth to sugar
They turned your mind from pure to perfume
They're turning my life from reality to nightmare
Oh Ophelia I wish you'd said goodbye
I miss our talks in the moonlight under the gaze of a million stars
You saw the world so raw, so true
And they forced your mind away
Oh Ophelia I'm so sorry
I let them whisk you away from reality
I let you dance with the fairies
Even though you didn't belong in their dream
Oh Ophelia how I miss you
And wish that you could come home
I kept your books in a box in my closet
When if I'd wanted to help you I'd have buried that corset instead
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 9:07 AM UTC
The air is slow and still
faint puttering of the last barge
shunting coal downstream
city on the edge of sleep, settles
city on the edge of night, darkens
stretched steel and stone relax
cooling to a grey relief
reeds and sedges ripple
under bridges
and on the edges of the river
city in the gaze of moonlight, sighs
city in the haze of moonlight, slips
in the steady wash of tidal waters
and the brackish water of the estuary
come the bodies from the shore.
© M.L. Emmett
Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 5:51 AM UTC
-
sometimes i get tired of working,
i'd like to be more free.
not spilling paint,
dotting i's or crossing t's.
so i take a walk, make some tea,
stretch my knees and try to breathe.
-
the warmth of this unsteady breeze,
puts me at ease, it could put me to sleep.
i feel at home among these sad, sleeping trees.
i wonder what gets them down,
or maybe they're just having bad dreams.
dear weeping willows,
of what do you dream?
a cold night of lonely moonbeams,
or of dead tiger lilies floating downstream?
i hope you're happier than you seem.
dear dreaming willows,
why do you weep?
May 6, 2017
May 6, 2017 at 7:49 AM UTC
The free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wings
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.
But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings
with fearful trill
of the things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill for the caged bird
sings of freedom
The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn
and he names the sky his own.
But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing
The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.
Source: I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou, Famous Nature Poems http://www.familyfriendpoems.com/famous/poem/i-know-why-the-caged-bird-sings-by-maya-angelou#ixzz2haXH0qgI
#FamilyFriendPoems
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 4:21 AM UTC
I found your blanket. I’m not gonna tell you where it is though. If I told you, you’d go get it, and then you’d have your warmth, and then you wouldn’t need me.
Right?
The only thing I look for is clarity. But I wonder if I ever found it, if I’d stop looking…
I can see clearly now, so I guess I’ll stop.
I’m telling’ ya, I’m bein’ honest with you 90 percent of the time, even now. It just doesn’t look that way, yeah everything seems so convoluted, and “deep” and metaphorical, like I’m trying to make a maze out of a garden of already massive bushes that I’m beating around.
But that’s just cause, right now. Especially right now, everything in my head is spinning, on tumble dry, my head’s like a big wet laundry mess and you don’t even know whose clothes are whose anymore because the colours got mixed with the whites and the darks and my intentions got mixed up with my actions and yours, and
Well, **** it dude, they’re just clothes. They don’t make us who we are.
We just go out of our way to judge people sometimes, like a race.
Whoever can judge everyone before anyone else can wins…a ****** VIP seat to watch the rapture or something.
So my thoughts’ll flow to you cuz you’re downstream of them.
But my intentions are high and dry, up on the top of the dam, I left ‘em up there before I jumped, didn’t even think to ask if they wanted a part in it.
That was kinda a **** move.
I’m sorry intentions. I’ve never really done you justice.
Ok, how many times can you count that you’ve just been completely wrong about someone you judged? How many times did you want to believe so badly, that someone was a better person than they turned out to be?
Right so,
If you turned gay, and I turned gay, would we judge each other?
Would it be like a race?
Whoever ***** the other person’s **** the fastest gets…a face full of cummy ****
That’s what all these intention judgment pushing disconnected people racing through life to get the first and last laugh really amount to.
A Face Full of Cummy ****
Merry Jizzmas.
Dec 26, 2011
Dec 26, 2011 at 11:37 PM UTC