"ebbs" poems
Peace flows into me
As the tide to the pool by the shore;
It is mine forevermore,
It ebbs not back like the sea.
I am the pool of blue
That worships the vivid sky;
My hopes were heaven-high,
They are all fulfilled in you.
I am the pool of gold
When sunset burns and dies, —
You are my deepening skies,
Give me your stars to hold.
39.7k
This sadness ebbs to my bones,
it shakes my soul like an earthquake shaking the earth’s crust.
The monsters will always be with me but is following them really what’s good for me?
They bashed, broke and bruised me.
If I continue this way then soon they will be the end of me.
This is not the life I devise to be good for my mind.
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 1:22 PM UTC
I.
Hear the sledges with the bells—
Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they ****** ****** ******
In their icy air of night!
While the stars, that oversprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells—
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.
II.
Hear the mellow wedding bells,
Golden bells!
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight!
From the molten golden-notes,
And all in tune,
What a liquid ditty floats
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats
On the moon!
Oh, from out the sounding cells,
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
How it swells!
How it dwells
On the future! how it tells
Of the rapture that impels
To the swinging and the ringing
Of the bells, bells, bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells—
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!
III.
Hear the loud alarum bells—
Brazen bells!
What a tale of terror now their turbulency tells!
In the startled ear of night
How they scream out their affright!
Too much horrified to speak,
They can only shriek, shriek,
Out of tune,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire
Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire,
And a resolute endeavor
Now—now to sit or never,
By the side of the pale-faced moon.
Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
What a tale their terror tells
Of Despair!
How they clang, and clash, and roar!
What a horror they outpour
On the ***** of the palpitating air!
Yet the ear it fully knows,
By the twanging,
And the clanging,
How the danger ebbs and flows;
Yet the ear distinctly tells,
In the jangling,
And the wrangling,
How the danger sinks and swells,
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells—
Of the bells—
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells—
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!
IV.
Hear the tolling of the bells—
Iron bells!
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!
In the silence of the night,
How we shiver with affright
At the melancholy menace of their tone!
For every sound that floats
From the rust within their throats
Is a groan.
And the people—ah, the people—
They that dwell up in the steeple.
All alone,
And who toiling, toiling, toiling,
In that muffled monotone,
Feel a glory in so rolling
On the human heart a stone—
They are neither man nor woman—
They are neither brute nor human—
They are Ghouls:
And their king it is who tolls;
And he rolls, rolls, rolls,
Rolls
A paean from the bells!
And his merry ***** swells
With the paean of the bells!
And he dances, and he yells;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the paean of the bells—
Of the bells:
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the throbbing of the bells—
Of the bells, bells, bells—
To the sobbing of the bells;
Keeping time, time, time,
As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme,
To the rolling of the bells—
Of the bells, bells, bells—
To the tolling of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells—
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.
10.5k
Feel the Force
Just Feel that Force.
No sign of divorce.
It’ll keep you on course.
It’s everywhere,
Not just a Star Wars fiction.
It may be God out there,
The cure for our affliction.
Whether The Force like us can think
Who knows?
Maybe we’re on the brink
Of its ebbs and flows.
All around there’s a Spiritual World,
Or so some say:
It’s yet unfurled
But we are on our way.
So Feel the Force
I say again.
Time runs its course,
Do ya ken?
As Yoda would say,
Your mind you open
And powerful you will become.
Paul Butters
Feb 29, 2016
Feb 29, 2016 at 5:50 AM UTC
sitting here but not
my insides
in a twist
my organs blooming,
their flower landscapes
rising in my solar plexus
like poetry expanding
its cellular shapes
into
light frequencies
I need way more.
I need the pulling off
and stripping down
of souls
I need to meet in
a depth of falling
I need to be pushed off
the silent gates of madness
into endless sea
no looking back
senses piqued
from slightest brush
of oral butter pouring
on hot cream
my mouth, a searing
crimson wound
oscillates in
contraction radar pulses
ripe for intense
tongue exploration
aching to be filled up with
your distinct flavor
My essence molecular is
overflowing with fluid
giving me life
in throbbing, raw
electric vibes
whipped organic, in
rolling tides
Somewhere, out there
our volcanic impulses
meet in steamy ebbs
and send energyflow
to a new and ancient universe,
magnetic
and I am
a raging heaven's child
wrapped in
a tight little
tourniquet
blood pumping
through these veins
my longing for
dark stretches
of intimate caresses
to soothe
the spikes
of snaking pain
Give me
those airwaves that
let me breathe freedom
into the fields of our skin
Let me run like wild herds
of the animal within
and as I find myself
hanging off
my
own
edges
my many-braided loops
in zigzag split,
a-fray
my skin rips open,
parting fibers
that expose my
very
DNA
helix swivel
undulation
hips grinding into
soul
reaching in to
pull out
fresh rebirth
from between my folds
O help me to allay
this tender affliction
undo me, already
so I lose control
one little shove
and I am over the cliff
deep into ocean
**** over spliff
I am beyond ready
so grind it to the hilt
Give me your
tender-ripped heart,
spill your honeycomb milk
I am here, ravenous
in the pan
uncooked yet ripe
saliva and breath
steaming my own innards
flushing out strife
I am piquant hot pepper
ready to be broiled
my blood is already
boiling
my tender meat oiled
mull me over
in your oral cavity
like sacred wine
until I drip
through your bones
and down your spine
Just meld with me
and flow
into that light tunnel
of dark time and space
so I can stake out
my rhythms
and claim
my
new
sacred
place
Aug 15, 2017
Aug 15, 2017 at 12:20 AM UTC
Twisted reeds sway gently in the wind as black seabirds slice the sky overhead.
Waves rolling one by one crash with increasing ferocity on to the rocky beach,
And I watch the red sun set fire to the spray while the tide encircles me.
Tugging at my feet, pulling me forward, it beckons for my consent. I give in,
And all is quiet even in such chaos. All is nightmarish and beautiful all the more.
The blood red horizon seers my retinas; freshly unleashed tears take to the sea.
These waves, such enormous swells, crash in on me; an unseen war is waging.
They press me down and back, and then drag me further into the endless blue.
Over and over again, repetition loses count, my outcries die prematurely.
Only seawater and air manage to sputter from my lips, cracked and worn.
Not a whisper can be heard out here in such a true state of despair, but not all
Castaways are without faith. The past I once cherished has been lost to the depths,
Yet a knowing tingle in my gut keeps me searching for a message hidden merely
'Neath the surface. Drifting deeper into my pain, I notice a curious thing:
The force of the waves lessening as I gracelessly surrender to Sorrow and the sea.
My feet torn by jagged rocks no longer felt, my eyelids blistered by the red
Eternal sunset, a few waves push me under before the siege of the sea falters and
I learn to ride the surf, taking each afront as it comes, whether predicted or
Suddenly upon me. My pain ebbs away slowly with the passing of each episode,
And with each wave I acknowledge my loss, relinquishing my burden.
Like so many desparinging hearts before me shipwrecked in the sea of tears,
I forcefully remind myself that one day the lush, inviting green shores of the
Other side of the sea will appear in my line of vision. Yet, for now, I let myself
Drift through the grief of grieving you, often unsure of whether I'm meant to float
Or should let myself sink toward the blackest crags of my mind. Here alone.
Apr 19, 2011
Apr 19, 2011 at 11:30 PM UTC
I'm all too used to the touch of your absence. Your mother's wrath in that time can be a death sentence so tragic. But when you come back, Demeter returns to her senses expressing light magic. Life springs through the darkness, and flowers race to see who can reach the farthest. Lovers emerge to nurture their gardens, and soak in sun to thaw out the hearts that hardened. Birds sing songs highlighting your arrival. Trees breathe easy seeing what their last set of leaves died for..
Yet when you retreat, mother again takes away her warmth. The high-flyers no longer soar, and some paths feel too bitter to explore. Bone-chill zones, a frozen reality stream. I can't blame anyone for what's a part of me, as we fall into winter's annual dream.
Queen of the Underworld, I appreciate your harmony. Thank you for teaching me to see the depths of my own duality. Still, I can't help but wonder how existence would be had you not eaten those pomegranate seeds. In the darkness of winter I want to curse Hades for his greedy need to leach on life through trickery. Though to curse him I'd be cursing myself and ive had it with the blasphemy. Besides I too know what it's like to rely on the dead as your only company. I ride ebbs and flows of loss and hope, but I know your presence promotes healing. So again I'll remain as the seasons change, taking layers and peeling. I've found in light and dark we can succeed in setting our bound spirits free. Communicator of both worlds, I want to Thank and honor you, Persephone~
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 10:21 PM UTC
I speak of love
when I compare you to
sweet summers day
or a rose of its garden
I speak of passage in the sea of time
when I say
forever or always
whichever tide ebbs first.
I speak of knowledge
when I say
the body of a young lady is heavenly
but a womans' decidedly divine
I speak of faith
when I say
nothing good
ever became
without an
inject of pain
I speak of fear
when I used to say
you'd be gone some day
but now I know,
love transcends the grave
© Qwey.ku
Nov 20, 2016
Nov 20, 2016 at 11:55 PM UTC
Obsidian wind chimes
welcome the crashing waves
as another day exits, slowly
sinking beneath the bay.
Cool waters drenched in
an almost amethyst hue
offer mental reverberations
as I ponder what I am next to do.
Though the sea is but a tide
that ebbs & flows-
repletes & recedes-
her words of wisdom forgo
past the banks of her beaches
& spread a breeze to every corner
of night.
She beckons me within myself;
her deep abyss but a mirror.
Her waters shine in a glimmering splendor
as she makes the path ever clearer.
To leave this shore that raised me
is not a sign of disrespect, but a show
of honor. My broken levees have her
to thank & for that, I call her mother.
Sep 9, 2021
Sep 9, 2021 at 5:33 PM UTC
Written by: David & Sherri Phelps
She was like the roses in the garden,
a timeless work of art in crimson shade.
But like each bud that opens up to wither,
her perfume ebbs away, her scarlet color fades.
He was like wildflowers in the springtime.
He never cared too much about where he grew,
his time was brief, but filled with vibrant passion.
Then he rode a breeze away,
as wild flowers often do.
And I remember,
I remember,
I remember, cause I still have days
their fragrance drifts to me on Jordan's tide.
So I won't forget,
I won't forget their never gone their just
blooming on the other side.
She was like a daisy in the meadow,
a welcome smile that's shared between two friends.
Kisses hugs and laughter were her petals,
and she have them all away,
until her seasons end.
And I remember,
I remember,
I remember, cause I still have days
their fragrance drifts to me on Jordan's tide.
So I won't forget,
I won't forget their never gone their just
blooming on the other side.
One day I will see, in that garden fair,
those who wait for me over there.
I remember,
I remember,
I remember, cause I still have days
their fragrance drifts to me on Jordan's tide.
So I won't forget,
I won't forget their never gone their just
blooming on the other side.
Blooming on the other side.
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 1:49 AM UTC
The problem,
One that I keep coming back to,
In America,
Is one of Identity.
It's a thing that ebbs and flows,
With the coming and going,
Of whatever agenda is pushed.
Now, if I'm pulled over, or looked over by name, or dare I associate with color.
Then they'll **** me and my blackness.
Now, should I take it personally, or empathize within the box they put me.
Then they'll curse me for denying the whiteness.
In this tug of war, I write my own story.
Two races,
One mind,
But the spirit of millions.
I am my ancestors, black and white.
This is my perspective.
I'm taking it back.
Feb 26, 2018
Feb 26, 2018 at 2:51 PM UTC
There was a sadness I revered
But never possessed,
Because there was youth
And hope to spare,
But as youth ebbs,
And hope recedes,
I know that sadness for real,
And how sad true sadness feels.
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 5:30 PM UTC
The sea is all flow with no ebb
As the moon hangs full in the sky
He pulls her to him on a breeze
Salty, heavenly, mesmerizing
She comes as he softly beckons
The magnet draws her in close
She inches toward his cool gaze
With the warm water he yearns to drink
For he is parched
And she is giving
Flowing in gentle waves
He calls and she slinks to him in shadows
Locked in the gaze of desire
A gaze broken only by the pleasure
of the deluge of their union
And in that union there is tranquility
His peace releases her
She ebbs, quietly lapping the shore
She turns to see him smile upon her
As she sparkles in the warmth of his glow
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 6:01 PM UTC
Take me to Vienna where the music walks.
Where the buildings invite you to sit,
And accompany them for a cup of melange.
Where the many palace gardens have jovial pique-niques,
With their bikes resting by the trees.
Take me to Vienna where life ebbs out
Where the past lives on,
And composers wave out the windows.
Take me to Klimt's golden city,
The city where even the grey Donau is welcoming.
Take me to Vienna and don't take me back.
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 3:05 AM UTC
with well worked hands
he pulls on the sea
like the hem of a pale skirt dancing 'round his lovers hips
it's what she loves about him most
the way that the tide ebbs and flows
with the rise and fall of his sun-stained chest
seashells
and gull feathers
and bits of fishing net
woven into his hair
like the threads of canvas sails
aqueous thunder-head eyes
look like they've seen the fall of every empire
and soon
they'll witness the fall of ours
he smells of salt-cured wood and the sun
and it's the kind of smell you'll never forget
nor properly describe
he moves like magic
like waves
lapping at the shoreline in the calm of dusk
with an anxious tongue
and an appetite that's never satisfied
he licks the wounds of any heart
he's strong enough to bare the weight of any burden
of any trash barge or sea ferry
ear pressed to his chest
like a conch-shaped vessle
the labor of his heart valves plays like sailor songs
in an empty cabaret
nerve-wrackingly beautiful
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 2:34 PM UTC
She strikes me across my face
blood seeps into my eyes and mouth
i have come to a conclusion
I raise the knife to my chest
and smile
I am happy
death is not a bright light
nothing at the end of a tunnel
it is peace
waking up is violent
my shoulders heave as i
***** blood mixed with water
i stare into her black eyes
fear ebbs through me
i am doomed
it has been seven years
i have not aged
death is a cycle of terror
life is not precious
life is wasted on us
life is nothing
until the world ends
humanity cowers
thinking unto infinity
another few billion years
anothers few generations
too little, too pitiful
going back in time
as i held that blade anew
i know
this will carry on
until negative infinity
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 10:56 PM UTC
your body, the drain plug,
that climactic days of a day
murky sweet strawberry milk water
ebbs and sways
around, surrounds, and surmounts you
Your body the dumping ground
for pretty poppy seeds
seep, steep
seeded somewhere deep
as
synthetic stinging metaphor rain
pours on your mistreated singing skin
spotted, dotted, synaptic rule
akin to lemon poppy seed muffin tops
your head- a top
spins round
and mimics
never-ending bath drain whirlpool
ambulances and ambivalences soundtrack
this nocturne
night of a morning
mourning already
my poor lost sister
a little less than intact
lost in her head
I'm loosing her
and she's nodding
and she's nodding
and she's nodding
and she's nodding
and she nods
and grumbles,
fumbles for words that aren't there
four words that aren't there
forward isn't there
because what do you say
about matters
when your high
and breathing last breaths overlapping
in humble showers
in heart crumbling nakedness
your faithlessness trapping
murky sweet strawberry milk waters.
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 3:07 PM UTC
291
How the old Mountains drip with Sunset
How the Hemlocks burn—
How the Dun Brake is draped in Cinder
By the Wizard Sun—
How the old Steeples hand the Scarlet
Till the Ball is full—
Have I the lip of the Flamingo
That I dare to tell?
Then, how the Fire ebbs like Billows—
Touching all the Grass
With a departing—Sapphire—feature—
As a Duchess passed—
How a small Dusk crawls on the Village
Till the Houses blot
And the odd Flambeau, no men carry
Glimmer on the Street—
How it is Night—in Nest and Kennel—
And where was the Wood—
Just a Dome of Abyss is Bowing
Into Solitude—
These are the Visions flitted *****
Titian—never told—
Domenichino dropped his pencil—
Paralyzed, with Gold—
4.4k
and today
on this day of
your birth
I am ******
down into
the rhythms
of all that
we have been
until this moment
the biting rawness
of new ebbs
the saddened veins
that vibrate
like used, worn
guitar strings
the curve of
your fingers
that once played
upon my skin
your weighted down aura
that I can no longer penetrate
and buoy up
and here I stand
all glowing light spirals
my head whirring
in mystic opulence
my gaze pulled to
the reverence of stars
my purity of river
in a swoosh
around my waist
that gurgling clarity
of liquid
pooling me in sacred
cleansing
that I must now take into
another rush
of estuary
and as I raise my arms
to the heavens
I almost fade
into the floodlights
of time
and my tears
push through
my skin
like the clear
jewels
of
salvation
Jan 13, 2017
Jan 13, 2017 at 2:54 AM UTC
Nostradamus and sleeping prophet's One lost image of the singular Eye
Re(ad(d): No worry
To, Love Our Sun :).
Signs like Gemini is to air
Sagittarius is to fire a pair
in this crossing with Pisces
to water is Virgo for earth
too We are the mutable ones!!
Sunny is however we coin the calling spiraling too
EYE of the One generation transmutable souls of soil ARE
to earth; 'hues EYED like a butterfly, here to sample many flowers
connected within a Great Spirit invoked as in wilds if peopled or things'!!!
We do feel it within or without the actual considerations of the ultimate doings;
'letting go and taking the risk of trusting and depending on another'!!! One by one!!! :)
EYE of humus hued in spirit and love fused to the stone's twirling and of the ruse's tolling
So many of paths we traverse here as on earth the singular EYE knows out on the HORIZON
The great Eye is too glued on Sunny Sun's ever evolving viewing's as hued spirits cross EYE'S
Our blinded one eye's longing to Lyra's lyre, great musician Orpheus winging, whose W
music tamed wild beasts, caused rivers to stop flowing and enchanted even gates S
to the Lord of the Dead Hades, the softly lit fire singing inside linking heaven A
to earth viewed from outsider's hues waxing and waning of sleep wakened I N
so ode to the moon in the darkness of night gives but who takes her softer F USED
delight when One day halves by sun setting all ebbs in flowing as tides B I
to Great oceans moved like hearts breathe air to presence's emoting STAR'S
from magic to tragic we long of ecliptic traces cryptically erasing W
the blindness of memory and sight' majestic beast's floundering I
a forever crisscrossed from the One Eye here now to Knight's N
dear lost forbidden inner retreats from the East to God's lost 'S
children cast out to the land from blood pooling in spoils O
as easily uncovered as readily as new western lands had ~/ E \~ N
claim maddened ravaged savagely eagerly discovered ~(:YES :)~ G
fear still rocks this boat with hope still sailing onward (:FORGIVEN:). 'S
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 7:52 PM UTC
A soft word on parted lips
Gentle, warm and moist
Chocolate brown eyes that understand
Light kisses against my skin
that hint at something more.
I feel her laughter that bubbles forth
and we're both smiling,
it deepens and an unspoken tension
flits between us, luring and tempting.
begging to do more.
My lips part willingly for her
And I taste her on my tongue.
She is sweet and glowing against me.
The heat rises and ebbs,
touches become wanton and frantic
I plead with her to give me my desire.
wish granted
sleep stole over her after the deed,
but I am wrapped in her and awake.
My fingers slip through her hair,
at some attempt to tame it.
Giving up, I chuckle
and kiss her.
Just her.
Her forehead, her hair, her nose, her eyes, her cheeks.
And lastly her lips.
My love and my life
how I love you.
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 3:43 PM UTC
My mind ebbs and flows
Torn between the sun and moon
I long for eclipse
May 9, 2022
May 9, 2022 at 10:19 AM UTC
My phone drops from my hands,
All my body's strength ebbs away.
I have to lie down so I don't fall down
Because my legs can't support my body weight.
And then I'm staring
At the whitewashed walls and ceiling
Of my furniture-filled bedroom
And suddenly the panic sets in.
Everything is too tight, too close, too much.
I need to get out of here.
I need to breathe
But I can't because all I can think about
Is you.
Your words.
Your life.
Your choices.
And as I lay there sweating cold bullets of fear,
I wonder why I'm panicking.
It was just another email.
A general update to no one in particular.
One of the ones you always send out
To everyone because you still think we care.
You didn't say a single word about anyone else.
Four whole pages of you.
And I guess that's why I'm struggling to breathe.
It's like I never existed to you.
It's like you never cared about me.
And suddenly the need to see you
To talk to you
To hold you
To laugh, to cry, to just simply be
With you
Overwhelms me.
Not the you who wrote that email.
Not the you who you think you are now.
The you who doesn't even acknowledge her own offspring.
No, I'm desperate to touch the you
Who I know is locked away in a part
So deeply hidden in your soul
That you've forgotten about her.
The you who still knows a mother's love
For her daughter.
I want to see the unclouded eyes,
Hear the unselfish voice,
Touch the compassionate soul
Of the amazing woman who birthed me.
But I'm so afraid that you've finally done it.
That you've finally killed off
The last vestiges of her soul
With the darkness of your own.
I panic with the truth that faces me:
I'll really never be able to see her again.
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 12:34 PM UTC
music
ebbs and flows;
within my small frame
comes great power
inside my fragile body
emotion is overbearing
into my soul
the listener peers
ever so delicately
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 7:49 PM UTC