"driest" poems
I.
The moon sings the languid flower,
to bloom at midnight hour
Harmonious feast transpires -
luminescent choir
Petals mirror la hue de Luna,
but pale below her glow
Though the desert sweet aroma,
is fragrance plus photo
Neither causing nightly failure,
in idyllic charm
In fact, those powers are greater,
together than apart
II.
The moon a long gone distant rock,
yet pulls on ocean tops
Cereus lures with sweetest tricks,
and stings with countless licks
Battered holy asteroid face,
woos flawless solar gaze
And even though it causes mire,
lunar eclipses fire
The cactus thrives in driest sands,
and chokes in fertile lands
Alluring lonesome wanderers,
promising mere water
The lucid beauty bewilders,
as much as it can haunt
In fact, those powers are greater,
together than apart
III.
You, once my cereus and moon,
were drowned in my love well
Perhaps, I was this to you too,
though your hole I’d not delve
However, what was first velvet,
morphed into devil’s horns
Winter shed those thorns in my chest,
now spring gifts hope and more
The icy grips of each winter,
provides spring fuel to spark
In fact, those powers are greater,
together than apart
IV.
Although we've gone on our own ways,
I wouldn’t change the past
For each step was necessary,
to find true love at last
We were once greater together.
I’m now greater apart.
Jun 20, 2018
Jun 20, 2018 at 10:33 AM UTC
Monsoon thoughts are never ending,
constant inside, harder to hide.
when time doesn't pass.
all the clocks are left with empty hands.
and these are the driest drops of rain.
finding the creases inside of my brain.
where they mold themselves into pictures of you.
and time changes from brimstone to blue.
Oct 23, 2012
Oct 23, 2012 at 4:43 PM UTC
Your eyes are the world's driest desert begging for the safe waters of destiny.
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 10:45 AM UTC
10W
plants
in
the
driest
soil
always
have
the
d
e
e
p
e
s
t
**r
o
o
t
s**
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 6:30 PM UTC
Hills on top of fathomless hills
Where I have built my home
I walked here through the driest desserts
Swam here through the deepest seas
Hiked here through blizzards on mountains
A little piece taken each moment
Until I reached these hills
At top the rise of the earth
I look out at the universe
I can look out and say
I have been here
I have left my mark
Where it is the most important
I can look at the people building
Their homes and dreams and goals
And know they to will stand about
Their own hill, they will know that they
Made a difference in the world
Just by breathing the air
By making one laugh
And with that I may stray to the Mothers
Arms
And be sound , knowing I did my part
Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 6:54 AM UTC
dead soldiers from the night before
stared up from their hiding spot still
in their brown uniforms
the snap of the sheath was lost in the
snap crackle and pop of the dying embers
the blade of the axe tested on a thumbnail
cut a satisfying line to proof the sharpness
you turned with precision and gravel crunched
beneath your feet, eyes searching for the
driest piece to feel the point of the heavy head
your whistling echoed from your lips as
trees dance to your tune in the not so gentle breeze
fleshy hands and oak handle embracing
log victim placed on the sacrificial stump
lined up your trial mark 'practice makes perfect'
the swift swinging arm motion followed by
sound from a sudden swing forced a new echo
through the trees landing with a solid thump
and silence
with more whistling eerily into the silence between
the splitting of each one after another, the red painted
axe head was gleaming with each chop while ready
to work again and again and...
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 11:47 PM UTC
my thoughts a swirling grave
orange tasting pavement
mint gum in my pocket
chewed
a small ill defined girl swung her head but
kept her drink level
it did not spill
there was a felon who was proud
and a blue that was fallen
the driest eyes
in a desert of music
people swaying and reaching out
but as outmatched as ivy
and skin
to the torrent of clouds
orange tasting light
burnt skin
burnt paper
orange tasting prayers
Sep 16, 2010
Sep 16, 2010 at 11:11 PM UTC
In the driest times of my life.
When the days were young
and the skies were clear,
You stood at the midst
of grassless plains and soulless trails,
of footprints made by one
who had none at all
but his void of a heart.
Sick, depressed;
waiting for his demise,
his very own destruction.
but,
You were like rain pouring
to quench a desert's thirst.
You were like wind blowing
upon still and quiet pastures.
You were like fire burning,
consuming until nothing -
was none at all.
You were something.
until
Your winds blew harder
and Your sails grew wider;
until the shine in Your eyes
could be seen no more.
I grew weary,
tired of being a vessel so empty.
I could not run away,
because at every end —
and at every stop —
I would always find myself
wanting for more of You.
I may not be your destination,
but I know that You are mine.
I will always find myself
coming back to You.
*The dreamer dreams
of nightmares too
of visions, so clear
so bright and blue
But we always know
that dreams end too
too late to say that*—
I Love You.
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 9:44 AM UTC
I'm pretty sure
Eyes glaring
At the surface of my soul
Isn't supposed to feel
Any less like a stabbing to the heart.
But it does.
You have cupped
My burdens
In both of your hands
And sprinkled them over
The driest corners of my mind,
Watered them,
And let them grow
Slowly
Into something lovely.
I'm pretty sure
That every hiccup of an
'I miss you'
Isn't supposed to
Cause my blood
To blush warm.
But it does.
You toy with words
In the best way
Making sure each syllable
Is coated in
Silky persuasion
And I try,
Believe me, I do,
To let them sink
Into this heart,
You've called beautiful
Far too many times.
I'm pretty sure
Your lips have quivered
And tired of
Grinning encouragements
And whispering warmth
And uttering
'I love you's
But they haven't.
For this, I am pleased.
And this fluttering thing
Residing in my chest
Can't find a way out
To tell you,
To thank you.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 5:09 AM UTC
When a mountain
I dare not climb
the ropes and tackles
are in abundance
In great shape
my body and mind
Not a weak link
in the expedition
But when a mountain
I dare to climb
the ropes and tackles
are often misplaced
Out of shape
my body and mind
Weakness as a
spell does bind
Hopes and dreams
of tireless youth can
be all but forgotten
in the spiritually aged
Strength the glittering
cloak of youth can
fade in weakening
jaded resolve
But in me common
traits dissolve
The bucking steed
will never be tamed
Pigeon-holed the
misfortune of other
souls has not been
allowed by my resolve
But this determination
is not without cost
The foothills of youth
are far removed
by erosion caused by
unstable belief systems
washed away into
the Sea of Ambiguity
A distant mountain
I often see
(distance the deceiver
of proportion)
Challenged at the foot
of the formidable sight
halfway climbing
only to slip and fall
Does this mountain
need to be climbed
Do youthful dreams
need to be fulfilled
When these dreams
are all you ever had
you wake up falling
or climbing higher
Driven by dreams
and gifts and talents
that rage like a river
in the driest desert
calling home what
must come home
holding on to what
must be fulfilled
Obstacles that have
become landmarks
seem to fade
into obscurity
like threats that
always remain empty
laughing at what
used to bring tears
I remain standing
through all these trials
not unscathed
and a bit weather beaten
halfway up another
formidable mountain
making up for lost time
from a major fall.
Jan 23, 2017
Jan 23, 2017 at 4:34 PM UTC
There lies a desert void of life
There lies a desert void of water and void of food
There lies a desert void of all good things
In this desert lies death
In this desert lies air more dry than dead bones
And in this desert lies pain more than can be imagined
For I wander throughout said desert
Seemingly with my lonesome
With no one to turn
And with nowhere to go
So I sit on a rock and wait
Then a promise of water comes to me from Above
But when the driest of days come over the horizon
And the hottest of times comes to my face
I almost give up, leaving the promise
And then I feel like I have moved on from that promise
But I cannot leave what came from Above
Oh me of little faith!
So I wander seemingly alone in this desert
For days upon days, weeks upon weeks
For months upon months, even years upon years
Longing for even a drop of water to satisfy my thirsty soul
But here in the dry desert the water is unfound
For all of the water has evaporated into the dry desert air
But on the horizon I see what I’ve longed for
I see what looks to be a spring
Bringing water to the dry desert ground
To satisfy the thirst of this dead dry country
And as I approach this great gorge of water
I am killed with the realization that no water lies here
For I have been tricked
By the images in my head
And the physical needs of my body
I have been deceived
The green and lush never truly existed in this dead dry desert
Only this mysterious mirage in my misunderstood mind
So still I search across these dry dead lands
For the water that might bring life back to my tired soul
But time and time again
The mirages ****** my hope for satisfaction
But soon enough I know I will find the promise
And reach the flowing waters to satisfy my soul
One day, I find myself a well
A well that may be full of water
Water that may wet my thirsty tongue
But when I look into that deep well
I see a crack in its basic foundation
And no clean water lies in this broken cistern
So I drop my bucket into that deep broken well
Hoping for a mere drink of water
But in the bucket comes muddied, dirtied water
And when I pour that water into my thirsty mouth
My thirst is not satisfied, it is only magnified
And I am more thirsty than I have been ever before
So I take another drink
But this broken cistern holds water that cannot satisfy
Water that may merely increase my thirst
That will only bring forth the day of my death
For my mouth is as dry as this desert sand
And I will die here in this dry desert of death
I am like dead dry bones in the valley of death
With no flesh or breath to give me life
But then when I find the water that gives life
Flesh will come about my bones
And He will breathe breath into my lungs
Then for the first time, I will have true life
I wander on never finding the water I require
But then I stand and look heavenward
And I hear my weary voice cry out “My bones are dried up!
All hope is lost, and I am cut off!”
So I stand in the dry dying desert
Alone with nothing and no one to hope in
Then His glorious voice responds; “I will raise you from your graves
I will put My Spirit in you, for I am the Lord your God
I am with you to the end of the ages
For My Son, your God reigns with me
And our Name is Immanuel
For I am with you."
And I fall to my knees
For there lies a cistern unbroken
I look deep into this well and see a promise unforsaken
For the well is filled with sweet satisfying water
And I drink never to thirst again
For He is the Living Water, and I am satisfied in Him
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 1:41 PM UTC
I've been searching, and in my tone of lost hope, I call for you
Many have answered, claiming to be my heart's Spartacus
They battle for my love, only to show they aren't you
Like a famished agnostic peasant, I question your existence
With every experience, it becomes easier to disprove you
Are you really there
Will I ever find my matching pair
Is it true
That it's in the darkest hour, the light will shine through
Is this a test of my loyalty to your love
If it is, I must admit I will fail
I've soared higher than any bird in search for you
Only to share the mistake of Icarus, and fall back down
I've swam deeper than any fish in search for you
Only for Poseidon to help me drown
Traveled the driest desert in search for you
Only to be revealed that you are an emotional mirage
I've been blinded by faith
Deafened by tales of you
Devistated by love
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 7:27 PM UTC
Darling.
Darling
Our love will last
It's grows flowers in the driest of places
Love steals all happiness and then sheds its own radiant beauty
Our love we share is as special as the stars at night
Flickering, reminding all too look up
That hope is near
That distance should not be a fear
Our Love is always there,
When our love hits hard trying to diminish our demons, when looking down is our only option drawings of suns are carved into the light grey pavement
Our love is like the view of millions of city lights, as we sit upon a hill and watch
Love is the realisation that we are the lit city.
Love is that we are the hill
Love is the world
Our love we share is the reason it spins round
The green the gold the blue the brown.
We own everything and the sky is ours.
Darling we are music, our own instrument, as delightful as the harp.
Our love dries every tear
Even when we can't find shelter
There's one thing I want you to hear
Our love is alive
And forever will
I will thrive
Only on you darling
Our love is all well
But sometimes we all fall ill
I will care always
But darling one thing our love I will always tell
Our love is like nothing else
We carry our adventures our raw character and hold each others sweaty palms
Until the end of dawn.
No matter what our eerie past saw
No matter rain hail or shine your ocean eyes are my awakening
Darling Our love as one as the moon
Our love we carry
We are never without it
You go I go
Oh darling
Our love is like nothing else
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 6:00 AM UTC
There is a soothing pool,
Which with the driest dirt,
No man shall break its rule,
It stands to be assert,
As outlaws start to drool,
When these men hurry first,
They encounter their duel,
A man with crimson shirt,
To man he is no fool,
They try to make sure he is hurt,
By using deadly tools,
Some disguise to a friendly flirt,
To try to become cool,
But he does not attempt to lurk,
Cause they were very cruel…
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 2:01 PM UTC
Ice cold water
Hitting
The driest of throats
Keep it coming
Filled with dread
For when it will
Run out.
Sep 5, 2025
Sep 5, 2025 at 5:00 PM UTC
i am underwater plugging
multiple leaks in this vessel
we built together.
but i’m not wet, i’m dry-
the driest shipwreck you
ever saw, deep down…
the moon looks
unnatural
in a hot sky
and rising and sinking
seem to reach the same
conclusion.
Jul 21, 2019
Jul 21, 2019 at 4:08 PM UTC
Even in the darkest caves,
The lowest depths
The driest seas
Something seems to sparkle.
Broken glass glistens in the light
It cuts me, so delicately
And you watch me bleed
Yours eyes light like fire
The intensity of your gaze is evident.
Some might call it sick
But we're all diseased with a common plague.
We find glory in watching others pay the price
For our mistakes and falters.
And still, others may call that cynicism.
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 6:24 PM UTC
A glint of silver,
In thick fog and smoke.
A random spring,
In the driest desert when you need it most.
A fallen tree,
That stops you just before the edge.
A gentle smile,
In your darkest hour.
The hands on your shoulders,
That tell you to get a grip.
The harsh words,
You needed to hear.
The break in the clouds,
As the hurricane hits.
The gust of wind,
Revealing your face to a stranger,
Ripping off your mask,
So that they can see you for who you are.
A gentle nudge,
That leads you to your fate.
A slammed door,
To show you the other way.
The exploding star,
Who in their dying moments brought you light.
Friends are precious,
People who care are priceless.
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 2:13 PM UTC
There comes the disbelief
and the day
when a daughter comes to tell
the matter
And she knows you can't help
She knows there's no way
to convince
that afternoon to think about it....
No way to stop the fire in the leaves
of the driest April in twenty years
as it blackens the acres
and blurs the eyes
to all but its own emergency
Before it
the hay of last year's weeds
and all those buds that hope conceives
the flight of all that lives...
The plight before...
...The fire-line...
forces every hand
to the pure product of heat and light--
then to ash
and not to ask "This once was living?"
A senior class wrote their friend good-byes
...could not bring herself to...
...bring herself there....
She had to bring the mourning home
to make alive
to raise the sun--
"He slammed the medicine chest
And saw....
walked through the kitchen
opened the frig for the zillionth time...
Then walked a mile
in the woods behind his house."
Warm for April
short-sleeve warm
"...And I keep thinking
how the sun must've felt on his face and arms
He must've been swinging the jug
and--
WHAT WAS HE THINKING?
They found the empty amber
a hundred yards behind....
I keep seein' 'im put the handful to 'is mouth...
...Then the jug...
He must've had to swallow hard
They say you could tell
...where he stumbled...
...by the leaves...
...found 'im on 'is side with the jug
...just beyond 'is hand...
Oh Ma!
I CAN'T! I CAN'T!"
...So I--
"Maybe he was mouthing the words to a song.
...anyway the birds went on
and he was still warmed by the April sun
when they found him."
Apr 28, 2018
Apr 28, 2018 at 3:28 PM UTC
i don't think it's fair
to hide away
by the way
it was the driest parts of you
that made the spell of aging
fade
like freckles in the winter
bloomed only to evade
like wax heavy and damp
take another pill
to ease those cramps
or maybe just light your own candle next time
because i guess we're both a little damaged
or have seen too many moons
either way
there will always be unmarked tombs
and cigarettes to cloud the air
and graze fingers as a reminder
you're only seventeen
too young not to care
you grew with such ease
orange trees
sprawling roots remain to prove
gods talk as loud as monsters do
but heaven will always have gates
to keep out lovers naive to fate
and pyramids tell the geometrical truth
Wes
the blood on the floor
would be better hidden beneath a bruise
because theres no time like the present
is time a present
or a curse
is the water clearer or worse
on your side of the bridge
and how long will it take to cross?
i don't want wet feet for christmas
forever is a greedy business
when sincerity lacks
scars sliver like snakes
my lips beg this cycle to break
pull sleeves down
to avoid demons that drop
from sky to ground
to dust beneath the Tennessee sun
just in time for draught thats begun
breaking southern girls who are fragile
enough to turn from glass to stone
so stop complaining and open your eyes
its april again
even the birds stopped crying
your tears will turn to mud
scrape them from you
knifes aren't only good for killing
and when i opened my mouth to scream
you silenced my cries
my words never said as much as my eyes
opened wide as i utter in sorrow
if you died today
i'd die tomorrow.
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 10:25 PM UTC
a tree abandoned by the forest
and overshadowed by the sky
knows this kind of loneliness
where no doe would seek shelter
and no bee share its fruits
seeds fall gently into the stream
where the wind gives no answers
and the clouds race forward
offer no shoulder to the teary twig
there the roots are small, yet they find
a way through the hardest of soils
and the driest of seasons
hide in a place where the fire
doesn't turn cold
Aug 23, 2011
Aug 23, 2011 at 10:50 AM UTC
plot out distances between freckles
and count the amount of hairs;
in a beauteous analysis
a cold witnessing
of)a featured lifeless gaze
projected onto windows
refracted in time with the pounding
from lost soulless ghouls
in a dank puddled basement
as we stare through keyholes
the length of life waits to rescind
to wash up on the shoreline
anew, once refreshed
with Angina on
wading in cyclic waves
in deposits of reveries
stale orangeade sonatas
and dull area tirades
the purpose
economized
every axiom
americanized
and as your atoms become depersonalized
tension is materialized, in ornate ivory
shattered brass instruments rusted by
novels written to god
in a
fractured light
and range
cramped in a curtailed distance
a brickwall deadend universe
gnashing with frustration
****** yawns of futility
closed viaducts
and vacant lots
deafened eyes, grey
glimmering in retort
to their own expression
blind sight was squandered by the snapback, of all the
strings of the orchestra as they were simultaneously snipped
by sharp prying eyes, listening to the mixing of paint
to smell the music, its arms limp, vivid
wishing to pull you back (in hindsight)
with dreaded, deadened incantations
a dithyrambic liturgy to the drunken thoughtless night
of slurred litanies and unappeasable, irascible deities
lonely and immaculate, all-powerless and deft
in irksome quarrels and arguments
glossed over by the fine print of another
exalting the vainglorious self-inscribed paragons
and revelling every inadmissible mistake
gazing past to a solo star
dumbstruck and dead
from an evaluation
and dehydration
dying to know
forget it.
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 12:03 AM UTC
PANIC ATTACKS ARE FUN!
Ayad Gharbawi
A waterless feast for the thirsty
Torturers
Struggling to restrain their base Infamy
Hungry ravenous ******* eyes
Smiling grotesquely
At their Prey
Wingless birds
The nightmare is still swirling in its
Intensity
Variations of horror
And perpetual stalking fear
Shaking eyeballs
Blurring visions
Colours far too strong
Piercing
Sweating inside
Palpitating heart
Driest mouth
Piercing
Beyond any reason
Pointlessly running
From the excessively, maniacal seething Fear
Never ending
The deformed visions deepen
Yet disconnecting themselves
From my shaking Self
Withering my ‘I’
I see a threatening ugliness staring at me
I know
I am victimized
How can I get out of this?
Filthy stench of a greasy pit!
Where are the maps?
The guidelines?
Where are the physicians?
Promoting this vicious
Civilization
That I do swear
Is even sicker than I am
For you have left us all
Stranded
Surrounded
In a surreally insane No Man’s Land
Feb 6, 2010
Feb 6, 2010 at 8:02 AM UTC
Sisyphus compelled to roll his boulder,
the poet who attempts to reconcile
what he knows with what he feels,
sensing even in compulsion
his stony effort no match for gravity.
Knowledge transmuted into feeling,
feelings obverted to some new knowledge,
a seismic process that rolls in waves,
peaks of insight, troughs of mental block,
all to foist a new perception upon the world,
squeeze perspective from the driest fruits.
What devilish irony to be admired,
for verse most often misunderstood,
philosopher and virtuoso to a tone-deaf audience.
Camus concluded Sisyphus
was happy with his lot in life,
but a poet continues to paint strange landscapes,
never content with color schemes,
ever niggling for that undiscovered pastel.
Jul 13, 2012
Jul 13, 2012 at 5:38 PM UTC
we’re in different worlds, You and i,
but still i reached out and spoke
words that would
carry themselves
across the driest of deserts;
words that would
light
the darkest of midnight jungles,
for you,
i have reached out and spoke
into Your deafened ears,
all the while You sit at the picnic bench watching automobiles
speed by.
You mumble for a moment,
And pretend to be assuring.
we’re in different worlds, You and i,
with different ideas despite
these familiar glances in silence
deafened
by elementary school bells.
i suppose we were aware,
at least
full of apprehension.
but all the hollow words you sang
sprung forth
like ectoplasm,
most haunting,
leaving me with something i’d never shake.
we’re in different worlds, You and i,
i’ve yet to see him with heart in hand,
but as i watch You saunter there,
from my sunset,
i see him.
he in his veil and cape, and
i can’t help but wonder,
“would it have been worthwhile”
to strip the ground of the foundation we poured,
built upon transparent, adamant stone and
raised
on the blocks
of the Poets of Old.
“would it have been worth it, after all”
we’re in different worlds, You and i,
after the plans and promises of night,
the discussions of Cummings
over midnight wine,
and the times we smoked the pipe together.
“would it have been worth it, after all”
With all the senseless pain of the world
dancing within the corridors of the flooded mind,
running… no,
gushing
like the torrential
mud in a flooded mine.
and all the rumination of nuances that leave me wondering if i speak too truthfully.
we’re in different worlds, You and i,
with miles and miles of endless wonder
between us
that ***** the air from the room
dry,
and finally,
finally, all the truth,
or whatever it’s called,
all the hope,
and all the rest of life
is ****** from the environment as You leave
before standing.
we’re in different worlds, you and I,
and so I’ll say I always knew.
Nov 4, 2011
Nov 4, 2011 at 5:18 PM UTC