Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jesse stillwater Nov 2018
The river forks at big stone eddy
rending currents meandering course,  
its silence speaks not with forked tongue
as kismet's swirling eddies abide
     as if time immemorial;
     a river naturally cleaved
in two separate distinct directions
befallen destiny  without a choice

Spinning round and round in big stone eddy,
time just drifting by in the throes
of doubt — high water rising
beyond the bounds of earth
taking drowning souls up to the sky

Choking on a mouthful of unanswered questions,
suffocating on the parting words left unsaid;
distilling life into poetry hew from being —
trickling out like the spilled out sky —
taken down to the empty riverbed
leave lay' til it's all washed away,
in the music of the pourin' down rain

Freedom embodies metaphysical incarnations
riding the prevailing currents it can't control
Gravity-gathered  down to the shoreline,
manifest reclamation after the deluge,
from somewhere far above the high-water mark

Swallowed by all the darkness woe betides,
thinking you carry such a weight to hold...
It seems all got a handful of sand to toss
up into the wind to seed the clouds
The totality of eclipsing silence grows
that rent the stillness of a dream
of peace on an eroding shoreline

In an Eddy of Expectations & Disappointment
dark waters will ebb and flow,
imponderable as drowning hope,
leaving it all out there to dry after the rain

       believing in your heart —
        the best is yet to come

  Jesse Stillwater ... November 2018
Thank you for reading
Sam Hawkins Oct 2013
On the low-flung periphery of the salt marsh bay,
near the twisted beach, an eddy--

Sun low with the tide going up
where softly and under I lay.

For a pillow I was given
a yellow shell.

My ears were listening.

In its restlessness and reaching,
my tongue and its languages
felt lashed and closed.

I shall not leave
my waterworld.

But I must go,

Hermit crab
raised itself up.

One silvery minnow played
across my open eyes.

Then, a cloud-blue sky
answered me
with a white seabird,
overhead circling.

So strange and beautiful,
this land of my dream I see--
in my amphibian way.
L B Mar 2017
The right winter
for dope and ice
for walks along the river route

The right winter
for arctic pin-***** wind
holes in boots
turquoise dress coat
far too thin
for walks along the river

But The Merrimack couldn’t find her way
when fabric moguls migrated south
Fascinated by nylon nasties
they traded their silks and cottons
for those petro-polyesterdays

While she—
could no more manufacture life
than mint their money
So, they blamed her
Pronounced her—“Dead”
Decried her “*****”

She wanders sadly under bridges
stopping to eddy in an overhang of birches
In dank canals, I found her sleeping
angered only at the falls

Poor outcast!
with current edge she splinters light
from cities sadder still
retching her oily stench 
        past Plum Island
into the sea— into me

What’re a few warm tears
falling from someplace on a bridge
to the icy waters of the Merrimack?
Rivers get lost in the ocean don’t they?

Let them find each other there

I never knew anything about Jack Kerouac, and only today, learned that he breathed his last on my 20th birthday in 1969, just as I came to his sad hometown of Lowell, Massachusetts to endure a baptism of my own.
Jesse stillwater Apr 2018
The woman in the window
  Looks out beyond the glass
Beyond the reach of her whispers
  Befogged upon windowpanes glance

Farther  than  the  bounds
  Her own breathe imbues
Out of reach her long fingered touch
  Tracing her murmurs on looking glass dew
Grasping for the shadowed artifacts
  Only time does nonchalantly drift past

Perched alone upon a cloud of silence
  Her thoughts eddy in soundless swirl
Spinning like dizzying shadows
  Swallowed by a thirst for light

The other side of window beckons
  Only she knows she’s looking out through a sigh;
Seeing no one familiar looking back ―  
  For what hidden jewels within abide

She dreams of dancing leafless by daylight
  Twirling beneath the whispering willows sway
Just a step away from being free
  Just a step away from feeling alive

With first step beyond imprisoning hesitation
  Crossing over the threshold of a dream
Through a liberating portal outside the glass
  Just on the other side of the windowsill ...

                  Jesse e Stillwater
13th  April  2018
I found a hole in my bucket list
Like an hourglass
My dream are slipping,
Dripping on my bare floor.

I should be really ******
Because I'll miss
Entering through unknown doors.

I haven't time to fix the hole,
The grains are moving,
And Mammy's calling her babes home.

My favourite just hit the ground,
Like a blood stain,
Or a sewer vein,
It  makes not a sound.

Two floats in the air,
Three's on the lip,
Four swirls towards the hole,
The remaining dreams
Spin in an eddy,
The final drop is perched and ready.

Eliza's fix would surely falter,
My bucket list can't hold water.
CK Baker Nov 2017
The feds are making headway
(generously passing out their treats!)
while the whistle blower
and his boon companion
hit the 22nd floor

fiscal plans
are tidily falling into place
and the suits are all busy
chasing their dimes
dancing around the spire
full of wine and cheer
(seems the demand side imbalance
has got everyone doing the same old shimmy!)

they’re all studying their bollinger bands
MACD's, and treasuries
just like the good old days
santali would say
while capitol hill is busy
with its own pleasantries;
repatriate that currency
hold those rates
bring the boys back home!

the affirmations are robust
and filled with glee!

conspiracy thinkers
are busy in their own back rooms
initiating the trade
and building their counter claims
as pork bellies
and soybeans
continue to soar
(looks like eddy and the margin men
are at it again!)

what happened to that bear masquerade anyways?
they really were a band of brothers
colourful clowns
with big painted smiles
ready to lead in any parade
but they met with the resistance
a horned wall
satan’s horsemen riding high
with bags hung heavy
under dark squinting eyes

are we near an end?
the undertakers will say
it's only a blink of an eye
to the thin red line
where risk takers and front men
all jump ship
debt addiction is crippling
and hell breaks loose
when entitlements are out
and towels are thrown in

there’s a center piece here
those pugnacious statesmen
with invigorating tales
have had their place
time to clip them at the limbs
and pull the punch from the bowl
(sobriety has its merits you know)
let’s head to the commission
and throw darts to the board ~
seems the moral blueprints have faded
KiraLili Sep 2016
Near the back door rubber boots wait
Beside them an old ice cream pail full of the last days scrap
I swear the rooster out back hears me climbing down a bunk bed
The moment my feet hit the floor he lets out his call
Tangled in between dogs and cats and coveralIs I make it to my boots
There I grab my hockey stick , my weapon of choice in case bears are about
At the far edge of the coop I pour out the bucket
Double quick I circle back armed to fight off one lone rooster to get eggs
Each day the same battle him and I
The bucket that carried scraps is full of warm white ovals now
As I do there waters I hand rinse my loot from a green garden hose
Slow walk back down the hill to the old trailer
Checking the garden for worms as I grab one pea pod
I will ten speed to river after a scramble breakfast to trout fish
Washing up with another hose on the back porch in the morning sun
While fish in the eddy down the bank were rising , calling me out
Soon I would tempt them , but chores come first
Late fall 1977
Kurt Carman Feb 2017
Its in these waters, when I was merely a Parr
Or as you might refer to me as a fry,
This wise but young Brook Trout cruised the slow water with my kinfolk fry.

Moving to and fro hiding among the biome vegetation
The sunlight supported my living space and warmed my growth rings.
I dart in and out of the oxygenated seams which help me flourish.

Some days, I had to use stealth to outwit the pine marten and warblers,
I shadowed the cattail and watched them fill their bellies with those around me.
But I felt fate had a purpose for me to be something special.

And When the time was right, I'd ****** myself above the water into the night air.
The large circle of orange light filled my eyes and the night sky was filled with luminary.
I imagined what it must be like to live outside this riffle domain.

This morning, through my refractory vision I spot some floating objects,
And through an inherited sensory recall I can see these are hatching green Drakes.
I immediately shoot to the surface and fill my stomach, then swim back to the undercut for cover.

As the years pass by and maturity abounds,  I find my self settling in behind a large boulder
Right at the tail out of the back eddy, providing me with an ample food supply.
And it's here I prefer to live my life in the slow current, content and peaceful.

And one day as I swam into the current seam, I spotted what appeared to be,
A different looking terrestrial hopper with yellow belly,  so I make my move.
He's not moving much so I decide to raise my head above the water line and sip.

As I grab the hopper I start to slide back behind the boulder,
When I feel a pinch, as if someone try's to pull me towards the surface
I fight with all my might but this force proves to be stronger than I.

It's now I realize a human reels me towards the shore line, and I'm fearful.
This one called a human, grabs my tail and places his hand on my under belly.
Pulling me from my home, he dislodges the hook from my mouth. I gasp for oxygen.

He looks me over from nose to tail, smiles and says how beautiful I am.
He looks me in the eye And says " This was a wonderful fight my friend, enjoy the rest of your life,
He places me back in water, gently reviving me and finally lets me swim away.

I dare to turn and look back at him for a moment and as he continues to watch me,
I hear him say " I fish, knowing everyday on this stream is a gift."
Support catch and Release
Yaser Jul 2018
Oh, to tread upon the banks
of the river Miskatonic
and to gaze into its eerie
eldritch depths!
To reach out
and to touch
that strange brush
that grows upon it
To see and feel
the trails of shadow
that they've wept
Watch it eddy
Watch it flow
as it spreads
throughout the land
with its ghastly
placid waters
crystal clear
You'll find not a soul
let alone a man upon it
as it sets affright those hearts
that tread too near
A work in progress. Might restructure it.
Tom Spencer Nov 2018
morning rain
spatters the porch

the alley cats
have eaten their fill

and linger
as they rub cheeks

one another

a swirling eddy
of contentment

they drift
closer to my side

but warily
still half wild

in a few minutes
they will slip away

like rain
on a summer day

Tom Spencer © 2018
Michael Feb 24
In the gloom of each day when it's dying
Standing to is the normal routine.
A time which I use for reflecting
On what we have done or we've seen.

It's the time, when my view blends with darkness;
And as daytime gives way to the night,
I review the way that we're working.
Are we doing this wrong or right?

Did Jim keep his distance from Stan at the creek?
Why Rod was stung by those bees.
And Frank, who found that crossing point
Despite its concealment by trees.

And the cache that we found on the high ground.
The call of a barking deer.
Searching that corpse before burying.
And asking why am I here?

Private Jim Kelly, national serviceman;
Private Eddy Stankowski, national serviceman;
Private Rod Menhennet, national serviceman;
Lance corporal Frank Chambers, national serviceman; and
John Prophet Mar 5
thru time
and space.
no limits.
Moving effortlessly.
At a thought.
at a
the engine
the fuel
that moves.
Corporeal life.
Spirit corralled,
stuffed into
Tossed on
a pebble.
Wrapped in
the physical.
Wanting out
to the
Time slows
like an
in a stream.
Spinning in
place till
back to
the infinite.
Flailing arms in minestrone soup,
grasping ropes in gloopy slop.

Slippery snakes in slippy hands;
bobbing bereft in beefy broth.

Croutons swirl - a death knell eddy
clumping in a bread bricked tomb.
The stream of soot, of stars colliding;
of worlds deciding to end,
of Gods breath wrestling Gravity from his chest runs over rocks formed from the cool of new
molecules unable to move
it bends into an Eddy, and cheeks and hair and her discreet voice
seeks for a moment, and then she is Just Dream, leaving.
the devil spurning God's corpse into molten lava and from it the oxygen conspiring life to stained glass firing light into feeling
the penchant of Galaxy for weight and vowels the colossal planets ebbing with howls the sinister rivets of plasma magma the same blood red as me but of molecules fusing breath and Dream
her gorgeous face an eddy in a Stream first slapped atop bedrock and then eaten by sea
Love is the seconds her cheekbones are not a Dream.
My life is tendrils reaching nerve endings into Belief
the devil spurning God's corpse into molten lava and from it the
oxygen conspiring life to stained glass firing light into feeling
the penchant of Galaxy for weight and vowels the
colossal planets ebbing with howls the
sinister rivets of plasma magma the
same blood red as me but
of molecules fusing breath and Dream
her gorgeous face an eddy in a Stream first
slapped atop bedrock and then eaten by sea
Love is the seconds her cheekbones are not Memory.

My life these tendrils reaching nerve endings into Belief
You ran away with someone else who ran away with you when you
were someone else. Now you enjoy a barren life with your tattooed
mate in abortion-happy Canada with devil-lovers who praise Satan.

— The End —