"everglades" poems
Jesus runs in Everglades, Mohammed climbs the roof
The Angels stamp in anger as the Devil stands aloof,
A wandering Pope in la-la land while Jewish hands do writhe
Those apoplectic Muslims glare while Catholics pay the tithe.
Religion, girls, has hit the skids…the game is up on God
With rosaries rotating hard, theologians do nod,
While Mormons rant moronically with frankincense and myrrh
The irreligious bark and howl in Rastafarian fur.
Sectarian’s recant Sanctum’s Shrine the rite of soul is lost
As neophytes are dancing… the High Priest counts the cost,
Theocracy unbalances as Voodoo’s stamp the floor
And the Prophets throw their hands up, fast retreating for the door.
It’s transcendental disbelief that’s nailed it to the Cross
With the Priesthood chasing little boys all credence here is lost.
With sanctity’s monastic plunge the pagans roar and shout
As Shamans scream their incantations…God declares a route!
There is silence in the Temple now, stillness in the pews
As dust lies thick on altars, a nervous clergy holds reviews,
What, once, was good and vibrant here, is now as dead as dust
As the Blood Red Wine evaporates and Holy Bread…to crust.
Marshalg
Feeding the pigeons by the dusty, open door of the very, empty Chapel.
30 November 2013
Nov 29, 2013
Nov 29, 2013 at 2:55 PM UTC
a black bat
hangs upside down
digesting a fly
his face almost human
a flying Frankenstein
he excretes
puddles of guano
like miniature buttered popcorn
a dark and wavy goulash
gods gift
to beetles and worms
dizzied overheated men look on
to an uproarious variety hour
of song and a high heeled kicks
inspiring
a tempest of throbbing
whisky drenched
folded ***** and cash
trouser trout fish,
undulant
sexed up
tape worms for love
pulse the night
egging on bunny **** pom poms
devout finger puppets of Eros
for
shimmering ****** lipstick twilled vibratos
sequined tassel spinning areolas
and lavish come **** me dance girls
bring down the house in flames
making hearts apostate
clamoring
and melt men like steaming everglades
the bat
hangs from the chandelier
licks his black lips
and looks on to panorama of hieroglyphics
hearing music
a thunderous nonsense
witnessing visions
of
flies, tasty white winged moths
and the thrill of screams
while biting the head off of another bat
in a claret stained red velvet cabaret
Aug 31, 2017
Aug 31, 2017 at 5:09 PM UTC
My body burns to rove far from man-made
buildings, prisons for the modern soul.
I need to traverse the frontiers white man stole
from those who made it their home.
I've been down to the Everglades of Florida.
Fan boats flew through the estuary lines with roots
of mangroves. I've been to the Hoh Rain Forest of
Washington where fog descended on the shoreline
and married the sulfur smell rising from hot springs.
I must experience America's coast to coast beauty.
Every spare seconds I spend luxuriating in the
sun, thinking of all the places untouched.
My list of desires grows as the glaciers
of Glacier recede in Montana, beckoning
me to the Rocky Mountain Peaks.
Old Faithful gushes, surrounded by wolves and grizzlies.
Someday I'll cross Yellowstone's expansive mountain ranges.
from Idaho to Montana to Wyoming. On the arches of
Utah I'll face my fear of heights and find solace at
the tops of time-layered sandstone towers.
Descending the Grand Canyon I'll study beautiful
colors exposed by years of erosion. In winter
Death Valley will be braved. The lowest and direst point
will exhilarate me with scaled creatures as sand
dunes whisper my name with every hot breath.
The Badlands of South Dakota will hope I come
backpacking through prairies to watch precious bison roam.
California Redwood trees and I will stand side by side
as friends. Yosemite will call me to her cliffs and I will chase
waterfalls and sequoia groves until I've seen it all.
I ache to explore the terrain that bears
my name, the country I call home.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 1:09 PM UTC
America, Why I Love Her
Written by John Mitchum
Poet/Actor
You ask me why I love her? Well, give me time, and I'll explain...
Have you seen a Kansas sunset or an Arizona rain?
Have you drifted on a bayou down Louisiana way?
Have you watched the cold fog drifting over San Francisco Bay?
Have you heard a Bobwhite calling in the Carolina pines?
Or heard the bellow of a diesel in the Appalachia mines?
Does the call of Niagara thrill you when you hear her waters roar?
Do you look with awe and wonder at a Massachusetts shore...
Where men who braved a hard new world, first stepped on Plymouth Rock?
And do you think of them when you stroll along a New York City dock ?
Have you seen a snowflake drifting in the Rockies...way up high?
Have you seen the sun come blazing down from a bright Nevada sky?
Do you hail to the Columbia as she rushes to the sea...
Or bow your head at Gettysburg...in our struggle to be free?
Have you seen the mighty Tetons? ...Have you watched an eagle soar?
Have you seen the Mississippi roll along Missouri's shore?
Have you felt a chill at Michigan, when on a winters day,
Her waters rage along the shore in a thunderous display?
Does the word "Aloha"... make you warm?
Do you stare in disbelief When you see the surf come roaring in at Waimea reef?
From Alaska's gold to the Everglades...from the Rio Grande to Maine...
My heart cries out... my pulse runs fast at the might of her domain.
You ask me why I love her?... I've a million reasons why.
My beautiful America... beneath Gods' wide, wide sky.
[topp]
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 6:11 AM UTC
A frizzy blue black shadow, there you hold,
curtaining off the door to the pleasure garden,
in my frenzied day dreams, it seems like everglades
where your chiseled alabaster legs smugly join in.
It would take many shapes in my hazy dreams
when my ***** imagination, for you is in an overdrive,
at times it's a soft winged butterfly flitting around your *****
intermittently sitting on your thighs, inching slowly upwards,
how it takes my breath away! in each of it's tickling move.
Excited I ogle, and just then it assumes the look of a face,
with such inviting succulent lips, I fully lose my patience
at first the kiss is soft, a fervency takes over,then, I slip in to a trance
erotically charged and ecstatic, I hear you moan,when I explode!
കാമ നിഴല്നാടകം
------------------------------------
കുനുകുനെ കരിനീലയാമൊരു
നിഴല് അവിടെ നിനക്കുണ്ട്
സുഖകവാടത്തിനു മൂടുപടമൊന്നിട്ടപോലെ
എന് ഭ്രമ ഭരിതമാം പകല്സ്വപ്നങ്ങളി
ലതു നീര് നിലമായിമാറുന്നു.
നിന് വെണ്ണക്കല് കടഞ്ഞ
കാലുകള് ചേരുന്നൊരിടം.
എന് ഭാവന യുടെ കാമ സ്വപ്നങ്ങള്
നിന്നെത്തേടിപ്പായവേ
എന് അവ്യക്തസ്വപ്നങ്ങളില്
അതു, രൂപാന്തരങ്ങള്തേടുന്നു.
ചിലനേരംനിന്അരക്കെട്ട്ചുറ്റി
യൊരുചിത്രശലഭംപറക്കുന്നു
ഇടയിടയില് നിന് തുട പറ്റിയിരുന്നു
മേലോട്ട്മെല്ലെനീങ്ങുന്നു.
അത് മെല്ലെ ഇക്കിളിയിട്ട്മേല്പ്പോട്ടു
നീങ്ങാന് തുടങ്ങവേ
എന് ശ്വാസം നിന്നുപോവുന്നു!
ഉന്മാദിയായിഞാനവിടെ നോക്കുന്നു,
അവിടെയൊരുമുഖമല്ലേകാണ്മൂ
മദ ഭരിതമാ ചുണ്ടുകള് കാണുമ്പൊള്
ഞാന് എന്നെത്തന്നെ മറന്നു
മൃദു ചുംബനം, ലഹരി പകരുന്ന മുത്തം
പിന്നെ,എല്ലാം മറന്നമയക്കം!
രതിലഹരിയില് നിന് വിതുമ്പല് കേള്ക്കെ
ഞാനുമൊരുകാമ വിസ്ഫോടനമറിയുന്നു
(In Malayalam Translation)
Feb 10, 2016
Feb 10, 2016 at 6:20 AM UTC
I'd like to talk about curves
Twist and turns
Dented surfaces
Or talk about God
Childish wishes
Open caskets
Broken promises
Surfing on Universal energies
Deciphering the Poems in the music
I'd like to visit Paris
Everglades sawn grass Prairie
With my palms caressing softly
I need a mental picture of paradise
A motivational quote before bed at night
These nightmares stressing for a fight
I'd like to talk with my dad again
I need a map of manhood
I think I might be doing it wrong
......Or just tell him that I'm a proud son
I want to dance
Waltzing around things I value
With black leather dress shoes
Courting yellows from blues
Using old memories as punching bag
Thinking about that kid who wasn't punching back
Curved spine with a heavy backpack
I want to be here now
No captions, just sounds
.....and curves
Oct 16, 2017
Oct 16, 2017 at 6:27 AM UTC
Rule number 1: There are no rules.
Are no schools
To this life thing
No wrong thing, no right thing
Only decisions and choices
Which amplify our inner voices
Paint pictures like pablo
Are you a sinner or a saint?
Are you bold or are you faint
Like the lines I use to write these rhymes
Etched with such force they will never fade
Aesthetically brilliant like the everglades
Rule number 2: Why are you still reading?
Did you not see
There are no rules
Are no schools to this life thing
Do you not understand?
You can do what you want.
Do good or do bad,
Make another happy, make another sad
You can hug, harm, help, ****
It's always your choice
Some hesitate, many think twice
Some are reckless, some fear consequences,
Repercussions which can will haunt and terrorise you for the rest of your life
A life shrouded in regret
That you did not get
Rule number 3: What is your problem?
Did you not see
There are no rules
Are no schools to this life thing
Your life is yours to lead
Yet I give you great advice
Which you don't heed
And live a life, gasping for air
Desperate for grip
Gripping at the ledge of the window of the good life
Angling for a glimpse of the other side
Forever wandering, always wanting more
Yet you could be satisfied
Happy, joyous or content
Or a be lost without cause
And the choice is simple
The choice is yours
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 7:42 PM UTC
She feels so lost
So confused
Don’t know what to do
Hands that could create
Feel so weak
Forgotten
Abandoned
Left to wither in defeat
As rainbow rivulets
Cascade
Finding refuge in
Welcoming shade
In her mind
Endless everglades
Resonate and sing
To the song of serenity
And here she stands
Mesmerized by greenery
Watching everything
Fall into place
One step closer
To euphoric grace
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 10:05 PM UTC
Summer doldrums,
Morning heat risers
On the sky,
High nubile towers
In the distance,
Freshwater fountains
To slowly refresh,
Washing over
Water and land,
Beating down
The soaking rains,
Their tall images
Standing there,
Thunder sounds
Barely echo there,
All puffed-up
And neatly draped,
Hung like white
Formal tablecloths
Across the everglades.
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 1:56 PM UTC
My my my
how time has flown
fully grown
cities living organisms
concrete equivalent to soil
buildings burst through the layers
windows errupt
beautiful
slower
wind in grass blades
everglades
marshes of alligators
chomping at nobody
publicity stunts
running for president
he shall be
doing
so grand a guy
sweet, heat
low and usually
a bit
timid
nevertheless
combustable.
Jul 2, 2012
Jul 2, 2012 at 1:06 AM UTC
I've been lying
I'm not really him....
I never go anywhere
But then again...(-;
Traveling takes courage
And this road is a crazy maze
No one ever just simply
Stops and just forever stays
But if you ever need
Or if in longing want
My love is alive
As an everglades swamp
Snakes, alligators
Catfish stew
I will love you
If that's cool!
Sorry I lied
The Traveler is real
But in the Everglades
Our truths get sealed
Feb 4, 2019
Feb 4, 2019 at 11:54 PM UTC
We pass neath the arms of shadow,
and autumns gaze turned away.
With the air filled thick a promise of winter
Layed true by the albino commissaries
that float listless abroad.
Ranks in gray/blue/white.
Slow through pass they are revealed!
Marched immeasurable in form-
By pearly hand of Christmas Kings.
Whilst low round the cavern pass
Forked lightning roared all round us!
Forked lightning soared all round us!
Under heat of wastrel march.
And we all flashed out blackened blades!
flanked by ancient everglades!
Defeat! Defeat all cold and shade!
Slit and slash their marching grade!
Impossible was their victory made!
Soon we sprouted victory wreaths,
Of strange and seeming wonderwood.
For silence hath taken
winters pearly rings.
And death hath taken
their princely king.
Mar 28, 2012
Mar 28, 2012 at 3:40 AM UTC
Lead me, as I hover lightly on your wings, to secrets-
I always wanted to make mine, get liberated;
to hear a sweet singing bird, in poet's wordless midnight,
fly over Everglades, where the flora and fauna of soul thrive
and to embrace the sweet lust of lover's heart, where soul finds its peace.
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 5:48 AM UTC
Oriental paper cranes
and waterfalls of lemonade.
A sunshine-scented, smoky haze
covers candy-coated everglades
while whispers waltz with time and space
and raindrops roll down ceiling drains.
Sacramental epitaphs
and water streams on sassafras.
A dismal, dark decrepit path
mourning missing morning's sunlight laugh;
singing songs so sweet at last
and flying free oe'r breaking glass.
Artificial floating clocks
and water droplets burning hot.
A million, melting mountain tops
shadow somber sunken river rocks
as amber ash advances spots
and transverse travel never stops.
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 12:00 PM UTC
whenever my mother finds a new hobby,
she becomes Obsessed with it.
Infatuated.
it’s an Overwhelming, Consuming,
Obsession.
but after a while,
After she has mastered her craft,
or achieved excellence in whatever she started,
the passion was gone as quickly as it came.
when I was Five,
I would watch my mother dance,
from the sofa.
tango, salsa, fox trot, waltz.
she would spin around our living room floor,
swept up in her own world,
Oblivious.
when she decided her feet were too tired,
she worked with her hands.
exotic foods no seven year old would eat
she made in bulk. indian food for the next week.
I was very skinny when I was Seven.
when I was Eight,
cooking was soon replaced with wildlife.
our house was filled with animal magazines,
tigers, birds, frogs, fish,
found their way into my mother’s heart.
my mother spent her weekends in the everglades.
then somehow,
documentaries on salmon soon became horror films,
and for a year, I couldn’t sleep at night.
the films turned into books,
and for days, she buried her nose in their spines,
held their backs gently like she was holding a child.
in the Seventh grade,
my mother couldn’t stop running.
running at speeds no Thirteen year old could keep in pace with,
I began to wonder if she enjoyed running, or running away.
panting and out of breath,
I realized I couldn’t catch up.
running wasn’t fast enough for her,
so bikes became involved.
her cycling was about as fast as her cycles of interest.
with her new body, my mother soon rediscovered clothes
in Eighth grade, I watched my mother have her midlife crisis,
piles of clothes, new with tags, spilled out of shopping bags.
her closet busting with clothes I could have,
should have,
worn.
the year after that,
my mother must have rode that macy’s escalator to heaven,
because she found Jesus.
she never really practiced what she preached.
then, christianity turned into world history in general,
which turned into soap operas,
which turned into the computer,
which turned into baking cakes.
now, the icing has been replaced with fertilizer
right now, my mother enjoys gardening.
she spends hours watering her flowers
literally watching the grass grow.
right now, I am Eighteen,
and I can’t help but to wonder,
was I the First?
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 9:44 PM UTC
If I had something inspiring on my mind don't you think that I would've written it by now
I love being a writer but sometimes it gets me down
The pressure escalates like the water in the everglades to top myself, like pulling miracles out of my head is a miraculous act
I can't turn water into wine And I can't turn stacks of hay into clever punchlines
I guess what I'm trying to say, like Dr. Mccoy is that I'm a writer not a magician
I can only take what myself and others have gone through, and turn it into something relatable, that maybe just maybe someone will take something positive out of what was written
Aug 25, 2016
Aug 25, 2016 at 12:25 PM UTC
*The truth is that although I speak
I often don't know what to say
Let alone if I ever have an impact
Like a crater on the faceless moon
Most nights my eyes are just too far away
To see the streaming rays of light
Which tumble down unto the earth
To illuminate the everglades where I am found
And though the truth is just ahead
I cannot for the life of me pull it out
Or turn the corner within myself
Because these words are not enough
To represent my heart and mind
And how I feel alive and abound
Roaming round these hollow hills
Excited to hear your latest thought
Least that is the truth as I see it now
As the faceless moon kindly smiles down
Onto the wooded world in mind
How I breathe a sigh when I am found*
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 11:02 PM UTC
Crocodilian jaws,
reptilian claws,
an Everglades heart
and swamp-gas ****
A bayou brain
that's not quite sane.
Mud for blood.
A rhyme of slime.
Moss in my eye.
Goodbye!
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 10:50 AM UTC
he slipped quite quietly out of his own mind,
roaming free, letting go,
consumed with a curiosity of what he might find,
sliding through shadows into the darkest cascades,
skipping past sancturies,
some hidden, some buried,
like treasures from the everglades,
gregariousness a thing of the past,
as the lightness grew dim,
into himself he became a murmur of a forgotten mask,
scattered and shattering like a flightless fawned bird,
he screamed, he stomped, he wailed,
but swamped in his black anguish,
all he felt echoed thin into the nothingness
and remained unheard
Feb 7, 2012
Feb 7, 2012 at 10:56 PM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
I look to find the decadence and beauty in every
Situation while allowing myself to let go,
Knowing that nothing will work out,
What I seek is salvation and freedom from this
World of deceitful human beings,
It will not be able in my life to commence or be
Proud,
It's 2 o clock and not tired or afraid to share what's
On my mind this evening.
I'm proud of myself
/
Save your body, flesh, and mind for new days
That might come,
don't hold your head down,
Pieces start flowing from the Everglades,
Pieces of you have made me smile,
Have you ever
Made,
A sacrifice
To make things right with all the family members
you Had,
so their thoughts could be with you,
Swimming in the lakes of confusion,
Come to terms with all the nervousness,
And put me in your memories,
Please don't be shy because of me.
Dec 21, 2016
Dec 21, 2016 at 11:41 AM UTC
I dream of the wind on a Fall day,
in the everglades.
I've never been but I pretend I've laid
on the peaceful green grasses that grow
before the sun went down so slow.
My dream diminishes that peaceful thought
and the moon fulfills the sadness of
the night that I spend alone,
because she's gone
for good you know.
Jun 26, 2010
Jun 26, 2010 at 10:04 AM UTC
Tiny steps to solid strides
We wonder why we wander
Everglades that consume the fire
Never waking from my slumber
Twins that vanish from my mind
Youth that ticked at a rate most unkind
Once upon a May I say so
Nothing is
Ever in two neat rows
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 1:22 AM UTC
**A dream
By Dee
Debbie Brooks
Restless sleep last night
I tossed left and right
Across the everglades and leas
I saw you running towards me.
Out of breath, you came & clasped my hand
My heart pounding, I could barely understand,
The distress, pain, aches reflected in your eye
Not a word spoken, yet all said by your sigh.
I saw a teardrop rolling down your cheek
Adios my darling, hitherto we shall never meet
‘The dawn arrives’, is what you said silently
Why can’t you linger awhile? I beseeched fervently.
Confused paralyzed, I let you go
And you were lost, gone – ergo
As I sat on the broken bench to catch my breath
I wondered was I, in holding on out of depth?
Alas…I pray
Would you come back into my dream again tonight?
Not to leave, but to stay on even after daylight?
Not to cause agony & pain
But to stay, forever remain.
____________
My love, I saw you in your dream
I traveled oh so far, waiting for an invitation
To be part of you once again
Your mind entwined with mine
Drove my heart to yours
And dreamed me so many times
Your dreams become my restless sleep
Tossing and turning with touches of your lips
That keeps me flooding with touches and love
That’s when I was running to you
You saw my teardrop, with touch of desperation
My heart pounding not understanding
The need I had for you,
Whispering we should ever meet,
Please do not let me go,
Your dreams are my dreams
Even in the daylight
I can taste your love like rain on my tongue
You teased my dream with droplets of you
With so many wild pleasures that lay in store
As our happiness dazzled before our eyes
Our dreams made one, that last time …**
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 2:55 AM UTC
crimson rains when i see
here i was thinking free
sentences outcried
shackles clamp the lies
solidarity defines me
know i know
arm in arm
no show to go
regressing to masquerades
oh my everglades
rubble upon palisades
only sorrow here creates
watered things to take to sate
metal clangs, i close the gates
and a saddened whimper looks to hate
though anguish is all i can never fake
ripples alter feelings and sight
yet shelter offers no respite
the coldest frost the sharpest bite
with only my soul, around to light
gouge marks sink in
sorrow begins
clouds in my head
as nothing seeps in
all for willing within
Dec 10, 2011
Dec 10, 2011 at 10:37 PM UTC
The wrapes of Grath adorn the path that slammer klingks had tread
when turning spades in everglades to flosticate the dead.
Along the way the snorbels bay at freebled sprutelned
that boogeymen had once again uphove above the shed.
The buildings tall that housed the krawl are pictured carved in stone
and all that’s left is now bereft of wrapes that might atone
for scabs that feed our wrinkled breed, distraught and lying prone.
Yes, flonk replaces merpeled traces deep inside, alone.
There’s no retreat from incomplete, so durbies never dared,
but streaped instead beneath their bed with franjent fangs unbeared;
they knew the past could never last although the trumpets blared,
for doogies, stripped, were ill equipped, no longer bald or haired.
Like cavaliers with gougejent spears, well triggered for a tiff,
slank vankulures with silver spurs embussed for grimp and griff
(no question why, for “we can’t die”, the oft regleated riff);
with little fuss the blunder bus krunged glimpfly off the cliff
and fetid breet of grim defeat gave Grath its final whiff;
the catapult had one result, all life lay lazelled stiff.
The plastic waves that washed the graves, now homeland for the rutch,
though faring worse when quenching thirst with warples in the hutch
were nonetheless, as frunks confess, so pleasant to the touch
exturbing sinks that watered wynx and onetime life as such.
Like burning blotters slurping waters, skindles sipped their fill
from koozing cracks between the tracks inhumed beneath the hill,
then spawned the spores of Grathic wars that profit from the ****
their victory tales, like crimson crails, reside in dung and dill.
Those scrilly clouds that cowed the crowds neath radiation snapes
left little less than watercress beneath their coffin’s drapes;
yes, those unborn cannot adorn the pallor of the prapes
so scrundlemun tinge bibberun, we ones who reap the wrapes.
Yes, now-abandoned hetzelspan were once in time embroiled
with merikained that firps extained until the weather roiled.
What more, perchance, can happenstance inflict upon the koiled
when pendlesnips are in eclipse and wrapes of Grath are soiled?
Jul 1, 2021
Jul 1, 2021 at 5:07 PM UTC