"dweller" poems
I belong to the world.
I belong to the beauty,
To the struggle,
To the joy,
To the wrenching grief,
To the heron,
To the sparrow,
The dweller and
The homeless.
The earth and
The wasteland.
The builder and
Destroyer.
The loved and
Unwanted.
I belong to all of it and
It is mine. For now.
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 3:45 PM UTC
Before all of this, even after all of this, I will forever be a patriot.
Before the poet in me matured and I started talking like a parrot,
The dogs of war barked and I climbed exile's fence on my own
And there I have dwelled, with nothing tangible to bring me down.
I have been on this fence so long and I will remain there forever!
Especially since the premature child is still in the incubator.
From this vantage point, I have learned never to trust any politician
I've always looked at them with mistrust, disdain, and suspicion,
Before all of this and before I ran and climbed the exile fence,
I was once mercilessly flogged, dragged and made to dance
By drugged up and coerced child soldiers with a rubber cable
They tied and spread me like a dog on the market table
I watched as innocent people were killed with a rusty knife
There, I vowed to become a fence dweller for the rest of my life!
I've been a patriot all my life but I have done it from here..safer.
From here I have seen blood spilled, hearts broken, hopes dashed,
progresses stalled, mullions embezzled, promises broken, lies told
people changed, games played, party surfed, interests prioritized.
And from this vantage point, I have learned never ever to trust any politician
I have always been right...though I have looked on with disdain, suspicion,
and operated with caution but through it all, I have remained a true patriot and a fence dweller.
.✍️©️✍️IvanBrooksPoetry.✍️©️✍️
Jan 24, 2018
Jan 24, 2018 at 8:03 PM UTC
..
Save from the hidden nests of birds,
it was the only one there...isolated,
like an isle...crested on the leveled
top of a gorge...its way down or up
was through a hand-carved series of
steps on its slope...at its front was a
curved gorge......one would think,
it was trying to cross over
the cottage was small, weather-beaten,
desolate......its wooden walls seemed to
have shrunk...its faded colors proclaimed
its age...its having survived past storms....
from its window, the stream was seen,
and heard, flowing on and on between
these two precipitous valleys.
light came from the sun...and moon,
music was provided by the murmurs of
the forceful wind, the continuous flow of
water on the stream, the stirring of the leaves,
the crackling of branches and twigs, the birds'
singing in the spring...the pounding of heavy
rains on its roof...and countless other hymns
of nature......the dweller had heard them all...
beneath a lonely moon glow,
when nights were cold,
there hovered low 'pon its aged roof,
rounds of layered fog...like a series of
steps....like a stairway to the sky...
fog slyly crept, and wilfully shrouded
the cottage.....it vanished from view,
the two gorges and the stream, hushed,
in the dark loneliness of that secluded
spot......their vulnerabilities, trapped
inside....misshapen silhouettes...
in light and in dark,
the whistles of nearing and departing
boats....were wailing, haunting calls,
piercing the peaceful calm of the valleys, or,
maybe, the stilled complacence of the cottage,
or...of the one living in that lonely cottage,
...lost, or gone astray, now weary and worn,
willing to be found...longing to be reunited
.......with the light and warmth of love...
the cottage, the gorges, and the stream
would be loneliest,
without the cottage dweller...
Sally
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
August 27th, 2018
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 6:51 PM UTC
He was large as frogs go
Fist-sized happy rotund dweller
of backyard pond
Garter snake large, too large
with his ominous yellow stripes
and jaws to take
a larger than average mouthful
Choked by abdomen's girth
Legs drooling from his glut
Before the victim's even hit his gut's
digestive juices
Kid with hockey stick makes him puck
for his sin
Frog makes desperate
slim swim for rocks
Where he lies in recovery
from shock and
teeth marks on his belly
Underdog gets defense from phone call-- Eve
150 miles away
intercedes
Frog gets mercy of a transport
to another backwoods pond--
to find his life
forgetting trauma
Suns himself and swims
Eats the bugs
and ***** the froglettes
of another day
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 8:39 PM UTC
The moon,
A hollow
Saint Jacques
Shell
Whose kernel
Lovers
And language figures
Had wasted through the flow
Of time,
Came
To this eerie pond
A dry vagabond -
Now a dweller
Of the surface deep.
(C) LazharBouazzi
Jun 24, 2017
Jun 24, 2017 at 12:04 PM UTC
That dark Dweller in Braj
Is my only refuge.
O my companion,
Worldly comfort is an illusion,
As soon you get it, it goes.
I have chosen the Indestructible for my refuge,
Him whom the snake of death
Will not devour.
My Beloved dwells in my heart,
I have actually seen that Abode of Joy.
Mira's Lord is Hari, the Indestructible.
My Lord, I have taken refuge with Thee,
Thy slave.
4.5k
Lion, dweller of the desert
with gleaming fur and crushing paws
wandered, searching, thirsty, wanting
when only yards away was fresh-rain ponds
just barely out of sight
and the lion was almost satisfied
For now, it was patient
But then, from its dark, dry hole
a snake, red, long, its body curled in waves
it came and teased the lion
selfish, ignorant, it swam through sand
right in front of that thirsty lion
Not counting its consequences
The lion's fur rose as it watched the snake go
It's heart, mighty, proud, longed to ****** the serpent
or chase, at least chase
But its clever mind scorned-
The lion needed water, its thirst growing great
The fresh-rain ponds were just over the sand hill
The heart fought the mind
The mind finally gave
Knowing the worst with great disregard
It leaped through the gold dust and pounced on the snake
But there-
its heart was great
but its mind was resentful with spite
thirsting to wound that heart's lazy pride
so it let that scarlet snake slipped
right through, free from the paws
to retreat in its hole
until morning
This lion's heart, it beat and swore
This lion's mind, it smirked and snubbed
And it sat in the sun of the desert, much greater than it
Just wrinkling to nothing
Bitter with loss for drink and food
No compromise to be reached,
The lion withered for nothing
To have its ashes mixed with the sand
and blown
away
Apr 20, 2013
Apr 20, 2013 at 11:52 AM UTC
Heart not
Of my heart
But still in my veins
Womb dweller, outside
my body
Me, a native invader in a constant
Place.
And [t]his will always be
A glass house
not a welcome home.
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 8:01 PM UTC
As these forlorn cadences await- unfold
To compose a disbanded vow
Yielding unto harrows of gates untold
Charms death to disdainful plow
Death is plowed to a forgiving halt
While silver moonlight and whiskey dances remain
Glittering gold in this crimson vault-
Feeble souls conjure grace as graceless minds abstain
Counterfeit conceits ravish this open cellar
As the night’s last dance ceases to a disgraceful plea
The dweller’s disdain is akin to my killer
And heaven yields blood to salt the earth for thee
Come away now with your anguishing defeats
Seek not a jagged spike as the heaven’s conspire and wake
Glory and gold may turn us black as deceit
But deception admonishes the dancers in their quake
Spellbound nuances of this reality await at every turn
Mourning and fighting the finality of this grave
Orchestrated knives are rosined like honey, beckoning our blood to burn
At last, a burning reckoning comes to ravage the brave
But refrain, oh killer- host of this crimson vault
Enlist a memoir for our sins
Recalling the pieties of our gracious faults,
Enough to make this blood go thin.
Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 9:08 PM UTC
THERE was a man whom Sorrow named his Friend,
And he, of his high comrade Sorrow dreaming,
Went walking with slow steps along the gleaming
And humming Sands, where windy surges wend:
And he called loudly to the stars to bend
From their pale thrones and comfort him, but they
Among themselves laugh on and sing alway:
And then the man whom Sorrow named his friend
Cried out, Dim sea, hear my most piteous story.!
The sea Swept on and cried her old cry still,
Rolling along in dreams from hill to hill.
He fled the persecution of her glory
And, in a far-off, gentle valley stopping,
Cried all his story to the dewdrops glistening.
But naught they heard, for they are always listening,
The dewdrops, for the sound of their own dropping.
And then the man whom Sorrow named his friend
Sought once again the shore, and found a shell,
And thought, I will my heavy story tell
Till my own words, re-echoing, shall send
Their sadness through a hollow, pearly heart;
And my own talc again for me shall sing,
And my own whispering words be comforting,
And lo! my ancient burden may depart.
Then he sang softly nigh the pearly rim;
But the sad dweller by the sea-ways lone
Changed all he sang to inarticulate moan
Among her wildering whirls, forgetting him.
2.4k
*I'm a dweller on the threshold
And I'm waiting at the door
And I'm standing in the darkness
I don't want to wait no more
I have seen without perceiving
I have been another man
Let me pierce the realm of glamour
So I know just what I am
I'm a dweller on the threshold
And I'm waiting at the door
And I'm standing in the darkness
I don't want to wait no more
Feel the angel of the present
In the mighty crystal fire
Lift me up consume my darkness
Let me travel even higher
I'm a dweller on the threshold
As I cross the burning ground
Let me go down to the water
Watch the great illusion drown
I'm a dweller on the threshold
And I'm waiting at the door
And I'm standing in the darkness
I don't want to wait no more
I'm gonna turn and face the music
The music of the spheres
Lift me up consume my darkness
When the midnight disappears
I will walk out of the darkness
And I'll walk into the light
And I'll sing the song of ages
And the dawn will end the night
I'm a dweller on the threshold
And I'm waiting at the door
And I'm standing in the darkness
I don't want to wait no more
I'm a dweller on the threshold
And I cross some burning ground
And I'll go down to the water
Let the great illusion drown
I'm a dweller on the threshold
And I'm waiting at the door
And I'm standing in the darkness
I don't want to wait no more
I'm a dweller on the threshold
Dweller on the threshold
I'm a dweller on the threshold
I'm a dweller on the threshold*
*********************************************************************************
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 1:16 PM UTC
1
Hush’d be the camps to-day;
And, soldiers, let us drape our war-worn weapons;
And each with musing soul retire, to celebrate,
Our dear commander’s death.
No more for him life’s stormy conflicts;
Nor victory, nor defeat—no more time’s dark events,
Charging like ceaseless clouds across the sky.
2
But sing, poet, in our name;
Sing of the love we bore him—because you, dweller in camps, know it truly.
As they invault the coffin there;
Sing—as they close the doors of earth upon him—one verse,
For the heavy hearts of soldiers.
2.3k
Greetings and salutations m'lady
Thou hast been absent and missed
Most notably thoust smile and
thine choired voice espousing deep longing and
opining of distant and never-presentness
despite opportunity and invitation.
Lulled into sleep by your gently warming coo,
flightless i remain.
Turn, I will again,
'gainst the mournful draw of your beckoning, and slip into
dream, once more.
Cool is the pillow upon which i rest my weary head,
restless is the mind inside.
Tumbled and tossed, like an ocean-dweller upon
crashing waves,
waiting to be heaved breathless
upon your shore.
The fire has been ignited,
flames dance brilliantly around me,
a barefoot saviour, pulling me through
the wet sand,
offering sweet coconut water
and reminding me to breathe.
Twinkle, twinkle million stars embedded in
desolate black woven fabric,
eyes make contact.
Blue-green ocean-farer with autumn-acorn islander.
Universe unravels, and sits aback
allowing truth and impromptu correlations
to take hold.
For this is the work of God!
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 5:38 AM UTC
From the beach my group departs for a deep sea fishing excursion
Huddled in a fiberglass vessel known as the Barracuda
Captain Alberto is a burly man with dark skin and a silver tooth
Operating the motor is his young apprentice and amigo
The captain has his children’s names painted on the hull
One of them, Estrella, rings out in my mind
The boat rocks me nearly nauseous in the bobbing motions
My excitement builds as I photograph a variety of species
Fish would breach the surface, birds would swoop and dive
I even saw a whale
Distinguishable by tail
We slowed down for a better look at century-old tortugas
Circled round a mating pair, voyeurs to procreation
An engine boom and acceleration meant there was a bite
Alberto took the rod yet handed it to my party
The Mahi-Mahi swam and pulled with all its mortal strength
Its yellowish body shining and shimmering while it leapt
Our captain unsheathed an instrument for pulling the fish aboard
A candy cane shaped hook with a fine blade ending the curve
Impaled the marine dweller, pinned his body to the deck
It flopped about violently seeming to spill blood by the gallon
I found the creature’s face to be both hideous and handsome
A long bony bridge protruded from its forehead
Here, Alberto beat the beast to death with a wooden bat
It died with dignity
Fed a family
I thank the sea
For this gift
Jan 8, 2011
Jan 8, 2011 at 6:37 AM UTC
last night i dreamed a brown bear wandered in my room and grabbed something off the side table and just wandered out again
i assumed the kids had just got another pet
but then you said
I had not shaved in weeks, get very Grizzly like, and your door was unlocked, so?
so, maybe it was that old story
Goldilocks in reverse
but i don't think you were really after my porridge
Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 1:44 AM UTC
we went to philly and it rained. i spent most of the time running through puddles and taking blurry pictures, of trees, of the sky, of beautiful big buildings that seemed so strange to my coldgreyconcrete eye. it was weird. i liked it.
i think flowers are ******** you see we went to philly and i saw flowers, which was strange to me-cities dont have flowers, you see. we have night markets and the smell of that weird boiled egg tea and peoplepeoplepeople and definitely not flowers (except in the new year because of course there are flowers in the flower market and also sometimes up alleyways there'll be a scarybutnice old lady selling them, maybe with her grandson there too). but regardless of what cities should have and what cities should not have, there were flowers. and they were bright and many and i stared at them long and hard and accusing and inquisitive. they didnt stare back. and so, i repeat, flowers are ********
so yeah we went to philly but i feel kindofbad because we didnt really go to philly we more went to one-no two, three? (if the parking garage counts)-streets because we were there for this one restaurant but i saw this one place with a bunch of flags and some buildings and took a photo with a random landmark so it counts right? (i think thats all cities can be for some people, walk down nathan road visit a night market shop at pacific place maybe go up to the peak and youve seen all of hong kong right? its rather easy to quantify a city if you put it that way i suppose) but no, as a fellow city dweller i know more than most that a city exists in the cracks between pavements and small market stalls and the lightness in your chest when you become a regular at starbucks and people go out of their way to help you even if theyre busy, that a city exists when you can walk on the bustling pavements like theyre your own hardwood floors and look at an office tower and go-oh samantha works here and thats what a city really is.
and that's pretty much it. we went to philly.
Jul 12, 2017
Jul 12, 2017 at 5:53 AM UTC
lay low.
stay mellow for a second.
stellar stolen record
cave dweller with
stage presence
I am angel dust
in the devil's lungs.
***** blood
forked tongue
love you forever.
or
til things get level again .
whatcha want,
a ****** medal?
well, **** yeah.
when it's all settled
we won't ever
worry again.
we'll call this melancholy
something funny
we can laugh at.
exactly that.
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 12:17 AM UTC
Looking out over the forest.
No mention of God here,
but the trees speak
so well of themselves
that I can touch
and taste them.
In a darkened room
with my solitude.
No talk of spirits,
but I can almost hear
my breath
passing thru the walls.
I am a creature of seeking,
but no matter how far I go,
and no matter how well I
understand the hills around my home,
when I lay down to sleep
I am forever the dweller
of a land unknown.
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 9:54 PM UTC
Two weeks ago, on a day that I'm making up for this story,
I was in the city.
I don't prefer the city, because you can't see the stars.
They are being snubbed out by streetlights
and to me it makes everything seem uglier, without the stars.
Anyway, I was sitting on a ***** riverbank.
It wasn't actually dirt though, because people in cities
have forgotten
what dirt smells like
and tastes like
and feels like between their toes.
It was the city kind of *****
spent condoms and cartridge rounds
syringe needles and bags of brown
scraps of metal and wrappers of plastic
gooey globs of gum and broken glass bottles.
I won't lie, I had a glass bottle to call my own,
about half full of the Good Stuff
and I was feeling mighty fine about killing it alone.
When I looked skyward and off to the right,
I noticed a city bridge, what with its' running lights
and dangling cables and roaring traffic,
it was standing in stark contrast to the
quiet county bridges of my home.
At this point, and it may have been the *****
but I could've sworn I could see someone
on the bridge
clinging to a tether
swaying in the swift city breeze.
I had only just convinced myself
otherwise, that it would actually turn out to be
a bag of fast-food garbage hastily tossed out
by a careless city-dweller,
that the man let go
and
he
fell.
he flailed his arms and failed
to gain traction
and kicked his legs but
they abandoned him in midair
and
he
fell.
I was close enough, and listened
and I heard him go
splat
against
cold water.
I was jealous of his bravery.
I envied his resolve.
I admired him.
I lusted after his finality.
Oct 25, 2011
Oct 25, 2011 at 10:06 PM UTC
The darkness it burnt upon my
Angel wings, they wilted, with
Each moment of this forsaken
Place, my soft skin did haemorrhage
Tainted with each breath every
Movement that I crawled upon
This acidic land corroded my light .
My white turned yellow, changed
From pure to black, I was in agony
As that which was white should
Never be turned to that. I was
Winged, not able to give motion
To the air, I was a ground dweller
As if wings were a weight a persecution
To the time of air, now dragging like
A weight a conscience upon my back.
I must have walked upon this scared
Land, I must have moved these once
Pure now tainted as dragged like sin
Behind my back.
I was before I fell, I contemplated
That which I had been and that
Which this land whispered to me
Become. The light was dulled, smothered
Like a wet blanket over a fire, Suffocated
What burnt bright, now I was being
Extinguished my dulled light.
I remembered I fell and my skin smelt
Sulphuric with a hint of light, I knew
I had bleed hatred behind me, I knew
That I had been left, abandoned to this
Isolation. My wings had regained there
Imagery, they were like crows feathers
Pure, dark, black as night.
I despised those above, their light, ignited
Hatred, deep within where something that
Beat but know was just black, I launched
Upon the breeze to take me vengeance
Upon that purity that glided, flowed.
I am that which will take those of higher
morals and bring them to the place of
Solitude, of loneliness, they will remember
The pain of those they had been left in the
Darkness, For light can only last so
Long before it becomes what was before.
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 2:10 PM UTC
The scent of blisters
lingers in the milky air,
complimenting the tang
of evaporated perspiration.
Festering under my feather stuffed
comforter
I reflect heavily
and endure no more physical activity
than the sun cooked skin on hour old
gravy.
Everytime I itch my pink flesh
I end up with an oily layer under my nails
that resembles cheese.
I am a cave dweller this afternoon.
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 1:57 PM UTC
Spider, Spider, Spider
Spinner, Weaver, Guider
What is woven with extreme
Fragility
Frailest of all houses
Illusory and deceptive
Reality
You spin a miracle
A glowing spherical
Concealing the great plan of
Manifestation
Reminding us of God
Composing fabrics of the world
As creation
A cosmic inventor
Sun, Moon, Stars, Equator
Dancing in the maze you loom
Spiritual leader
Sound communicator
You can hear all nature playing
Light pulsating
Stargazing foreteller
Fate of future dweller
Divination is your key
Soul light conductor
Between two worlds of Human life
And Divine life
Your thread is like a chain
Umbilical cord train
Golden ladder to climb high
Brilliant footsteps slide
Joining Heaven and Earth
Reminding us of Cosmic Birth
We are all one
Deliverance and change
Prepare us to arrange
As our authenticity
In gift of power
We must learn how to use
Infinite possibilities
Engaging us
Mesmerizing magic
Bridges become tragic
If the earthquakes of our lives
Lose all respect for
The lessons of learning
Kismet is the fire burning
We must beware
Our fragile human state
May not find time to wait
As you dangle from your thread
Consideration
For the gifts that we have
Keep us from mirroring your swing
God bless our lives
The infinite is now
Your presence showing how
To be aware that each step
May be occurring
In a dangerous way
Looking into your net I see
Eternity
My fingers are your legs
To you I make a pledge
My eternal plan engaging
Soul self vibrating
Embrace the Universe
Know life is not a curse
Weaving the version of myself
At best will be
Spider, Spider, Spider
Spider, Spider, Spider
Spinner, Weaver, Guider
What is woven with extreme
Fragility
Weave a prayer upon your web
For us to see
© tHE tERRY tREE
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 11:43 PM UTC
tis a perfect summer evening. a blood shot moon inches across the night sky in the city of sin. the sage and the enchantress sit at an outdoor cafe under a lantern lit tent exchanging life stories, as a vintage bottle of ‘82 margaux loses its virginity.
she could’ve been off the cover of Vogue. clad in haute couture, her slit eyes sparkle like the diamond butterfly ring, she elegantly sports. her complexion near flawless. he on the other hand, a hippie, a yogi and ancient as Rome. living proof that the hour glass can indeed be brutal on a city dweller.
her doe eyes dart from the past to the future while his steady gaze stays in the present. quite like the burning candle on their table. the mercury dips into the night as saintly time simply goes rogue.
written in the stars
this unusual kinship ~~
beauty and the beast
© 2021
Jul 29, 2021
Jul 29, 2021 at 8:02 AM UTC