"flatland" poems
Travel under the eastern sky
keep your eyes on the road, do not ask why
that barren landscape, the color of rye
makes the hardened townspeople cry.
Legend states that the dusty flatland
was a servant to the sun so grand
the sun demanded amusement from the land
and the land created the dance of the sand.
The sand would fly throughout the desert space
for the sun to bestow her grace.
The act would make a storm and erase
any proof of fate and leave no trace.
The townspeople never spoke of the event,
but you must know what happened to an extent
when small ones run away at the advent
of these storms, the sands erase all torment.
You must vow to not wander from the road
when the sands hear the sun's lovely ode
and feel the need for a storm to explode
to dance and bury us all, as the sun foretold.
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 10:02 PM UTC
I walk through a ghost town
where I’m never alone,
kicking empty cider cans across the road,
whispering secrets to the stale, morning air
where my life, at a standstill,
hangs over the beat of a single heart
and a single large Eye,
watching,
always watching,
judging my footsteps as I cross
the path, to a flatland, between the forest
and the streams of music playing in my ears -
there's a spring in my step this cold winter.
Even though I don’t see the sun until it’s too late,
I dance, like the dead, poison in my veins,
because I’m free from my grave.
I’m free from monochrome soil -
draped in a bright pink dress,
I kiss the days away with a warm hand in mine,
and a stolen, back-washed bottle in the other.
I skip on the pavement, rocking back and forth
to high notes and drum rolls,
where I find myself moving between friends and pages,
collared sweatshirts and daydreams.
I whisper my moments of happiness to the North Wind
and hope it travels South,
down to you, down home,
where you’ll hear of my vices
and understand everything.
Sep 2, 2021
Sep 2, 2021 at 11:14 AM UTC
Time, I found you, sky was clear blue…
Lake-fish plays, sunny summer days,
Flowers of Spring, brown guitar string
Ease our hearts, playing own parts…
Lonely wooden bench, narrow little trench
Save us for sure from being so impure,
All the way down, white long gown
Makes you my bride, tomato sun dried…
Micro-oven hot, tequila double shot
Nothing else matters, whoever scatters,
Only you & me, floating on the sea
Watching our sky, ready to full-fly…
So many days, we’ll remain always
Both of us care with faithful share
Wish to be there, lowest depth layer
Seems flatland, the life we planned…
You are my girl, precious hidden pearl
Love you always; bird in the cage
If you ever feel, stay there until,
Ever free you are, to fly forever …
But be ever sure, what you endure
Goes truly wrong or misread song!
Betrayer is better than wrong mind setter,
Love’s always new, can avail only few!…
Wish you my dear, nothing to fear
You’ll find me, in middle of the sea,
In troubled rainy day, I must say
I’m here with you, a friend so true…
Look up the sky, white clouds dry
Amid the Blue, only me & you
Will remain forever, ever & ever
I’ll love you, Honey days are still sunny…
~ Anwar Parvez Shishir ~
Dhaka Bangladesh
15/JUNE/2014/Sunday
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 1:46 PM UTC
Probability lurks behind the veil of your
Vintage velvety hair locks.
Why don't you let them grow
Fond of the silk windwhirled fingertips
I'm falling apart like the society's white lies
When I first saw the picture of your oldtime lesser plie
Bohemian rascal poetic spirit
Do you still believe in soulfull foolishnesses?
Where do you play your music??
Let's chill under the Flatland area's arbol
Abbreviations of your blown up ****** desires
Are being revolutionized and mutinized by these
Enchanting darklings
Dear dear darling
deep romantic eyes &
Suddenly I'm lost inbetween days
Do you want it!!!?
Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 1:03 PM UTC
A cold, dark desert begins
When a faint peach light saunters over the horizon
& climbs the sky,
Leaving darkness to shadows and graves.
The chaffed branches of bushels,
Barely lingering along the threshold of life,
Find solace in crawling growth
As the glow reaches dusty twigs,
Making them as networks of smoker bronchi.
Faded green cacti hold posture sharp,
As totems of harsh-landed culture,
Serving as solemn landmarks
In a flatland of mixed dust and rock,
They stand tall
All for a breath of young desert air.
While quiet hue spreads,
Passing each towering rock & mountain,
Even quivering lizards,
Waiting to be sunbaked,
Change to pink-yellow glow
& scarcely move
As the sun soars above
sizzling rigid scales,
Until the glowing horizon becomes a burning, lit land
Under a radiating Arizona sun.
Jun 21, 2013
Jun 21, 2013 at 12:13 AM UTC
I practice Being Peace
out here by The Artist Colony on Hood Canal
collecting treasures and Bright Dead Things
the moon snail nesting in the Flatland of my palm
a Gift from the Sea carried ashore
on The Torrents of Spring
it may take A Thousand Mornings
to attain a Mind of Clear Light
to transcend earthly Crime and Punishment
to consume knowledge hidden in the Weathered Pages
of this Book of Luminous Things
but I carry on - Skinny Legs and All
Burning Daylight street preaching
The Teachings of Don Juan
"looking, looking breathlessly"
for internal coherence in this
Brave New World
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 1:49 PM UTC
The moon can make your eyes burn
from its brightness.
God's Canopy of Grace.
A lot of a good thing often makes you ache
for more.
We examine simplicity,
Utter awe, incurred by a moment:
Driving into the nothingnight
The wind touching everything
Two hands growing old and familiar
Staying warm together
Trying not to destroy the stillness.
Along with fragments of the sky,
We
Fall,
Golden.
How is it, that the world has not stopped shimmering
since we saw the moon drench the flatland?
Your hand still in my hand
Your eyes blink, often
slowly.
As they close, I yearn for them
to open up to me once more,
and glimmer with the warmth
you've stored away inside your soul
just for me.
*Don't look away,
even if it burns.*
You speak love into the shadows
Lights, again above our heads.
I'm always dazzled by light when you're around.
We pray for things like peace,
and discover that God's been giving it, all along.
J. Alfred Prufrock had it wrong:
*The universe begs to be disturbed
By love like this.*
Letting the wind and moon
and the stillness press upon us.
We are infinite.
And a little dizzy.
Hope expands in our chests
So many birds scatter the sky.
We are Walton, Nebraska:
A normal surprise,
God's whispered secret about beauty
covered in the moonlight,
heard only by the wind
that pushed us together.
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 5:39 AM UTC
I pour myself out
becoming a water to drench this land
and the fields beyond.
My words dig--
tilling the soil, the moments,
uprooting what threatens the growth,
bestowing the change
to the fields beyond.
Autumn will tinge the world
I once viewed as green and new.
But as the green grows
in a familiarity tainted by ennui,
we hold our breath against the cold
promise of harvest
and wish to grow, as well.
October is for waiting.
As a foreigner transplanted in this flatland,
I ponder any small, crucial detail
I've forgotten
and wait for our joy
to grow
gold.
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 10:40 PM UTC
he thought the border
was a line, between two spaces,
two tongues
or
a no man’s land
where imagined demons
slithered through the night
or,
when dreaming,
a door, to another world,
yet still a flatland
but he dreamed little
and
when I told him
the border
was the slit eye of a fish
immersed in waves without words
a place where sound
could be tasted
and a scent seen
as clearly as scarlet sky
and light inhaled
as a suckled symphony
when I told him this
he asked what two worlds
this border defined
as if my words
had been heard by his ears
rather than tasted
as the sweetest lies
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 3:42 PM UTC
come down in the flatland
show me your shoulder
wait now where the black hand touches us
we'll both grow older
and the sky above us
and the ground beneath us
and the air around us
and the ocean to the right
measure your arm length
i can't live without it
i treasure those thirty inches
i want to talk about it.
and the sky above us
and the ground beneath us
and the air around us
and the ocean to the right
love you in the cold air
your long hair makes me shiver
above you i see the sun
light up every sliver
and the sky above us
and the ground beneath us
and the air around us
and the ocean to the right
and the sky above us
and the ground beneath us
and the air around us
and the ocean to the right
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 11:38 PM UTC
never dreamed that you'd be here
in the harsh light
of rolling wind
unfettered by toiling fingers
free of the recoil of shames blank face
some write some
some read
some dare to dream of a paradise
only to find a land of disintegrating smiles
seeing both sides of that hot coin
makes my eyes dust
read what iv written in her eyes
with my unsure hand
with my fractured heart
with the knowing
that after this
i am alone on this sea
with naught but starvation and stormfront
she quickens
its abyss or absolution
turn my eyes away from the open sky
i cannot face whats written there
she walks up to me
but frowns at something she perceives and drifts away
Jul 1, 2013
Jul 1, 2013 at 9:33 PM UTC
the old woman stopped crying
though she knew the tears would return
like the prairie winds, without warning,
from some place she could not see
soon they would come for him,
place him on the gurney
cover him in white shroud
wheel him through the door:
a horizontal journey,
like the vertical one he had made myriad times before,
on two strong legs, to and fro the pastures and pens
where he did sweat honest work
she leaned over to kiss him a last time
in evening's fading light
she had honored his final request and turned him
so he could face the open window--his old eyes then toward the red barn, the gray fences, the ground his livestock grazed
past all this, to the flatland that seemed to go on forever
Dec 17, 2017
Dec 17, 2017 at 11:59 PM UTC
1. MISSISSIPPI II
Keesler Air Force Base
Sergeant will **** you
Crocodile got to eat
2. SAN FRANCISCO QUAKER
Not a bad place un-
til looters step on
the bookshelf that fell on you
3. L.A.
The real ***** Holly-
wood is just the pump
shooting sin into it's vein
4. WYOMING
Don't sit on the yell-
ow stone. That's where the bears
went after picnicking.
5. VERMONT
Red necked wooden
Boys always looking for
a fight from a Yankee
6. NEW HAMPSHIRE
Charlie and Kathy
are from here. They're nice to
know if you can find them
7. MASSACHUSETTS
The prettiest girls live
in Boston. They have mouths.
Some worse than truck drivers.
8. RHODE ISLAND
Such a little place
to cozy up to the
over crowded rowdies.
9. NEW YORK SHUFFLE ?
Buffalo girl moved too
Saratoga Falls. Hasn't
Had a dance since last fall.
10. HONEYMOONER FELL-ER
Took my girl to Niagra
Falls took my ******
Maybe next time
11. DELAWARE
Overcrowded racetrack
Casino lots of
swampy grass derelicts.
12. MARYLAND
Ain't no place to
Stop off 95
For this' lilly white man
13. VIRGINIA
Had them Japanese
people eating fish.
Didn't know it was lunchtime.
14. WASHINGTON STATE
All that rain and snow
Can never compete
With it's powerful blowholes
15. OHIO
OH HIGH OH
OHIOH
OHIO
16. ILLINOISE
Birthplace of Lincoln
and Chicagoland
Nothing much else but farmland
17. ASSISTANCE?
I wanted to help
the homeless so I fed
them government nonsense
18. INDIANA
Same old flatland lit
up at night Lincoln's
Hiway taking in the sights
19. WINDS OF CHANGE
Big bad wolf tried
to knock down my house of hay
today.. I knew he blew.
20. COYOTE TRIED
Leader scolded me at five
Better off dead
Amen coyote cried
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 2:57 PM UTC
To see the Big Dipper
In the prairie provinces
How clear this diamonds you be
A bright
With not light
In sight
What I night in
The bucket list
Feb 20, 2021
Feb 20, 2021 at 9:05 PM UTC
black stones litter a desert plain.
the detritus of nameless eons, strewn
by a forgotten god across the sun-scarred flatland.
rest
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 11:43 AM UTC
Find the river
where you find the trees,
past the flatland
past the sleepy town
beyond the gold wall
a trail of silver leaves will
lead you
down the bank
Find the faint smell of mud
and the stirring of naked branches
prickly dead grass and trees
littering the slope—
Some cracked and white and crooked
most brown and brittle
and all of it wild
and weaving and spinning
a web of shadows
A crow may caw and fly into the blue
A red squirrel may scavenge in the dirt and skirt up the tree and pause in the crook
and watch you watching it
A tall cottonwood may creak as you
trespass under it’s hooked branches
and you’ll find it
its tarnished silver rippling
curving and swelling
like a snake
biding its time
Apr 29, 2017
Apr 29, 2017 at 9:39 AM UTC
Could it be, that its all just a dream?
The pain I feel inside twisting like a knife...
Blood dripping from my heart like a leaky faucet.
I'm tearing apart.
Why won't the pain stop?
Everything becomes real, solid like steel.
Heavy like a boulder, hanging off a cliff, begging for suicide.
It must end, this feeling of consumption, engulfed in a fiery fire raging across the flatland's.
The serenity of calm waters that blanket the sea is what I long for. But only one can provide.
only you can calm my disturbed heart.only you alone hold the antidote to my disease.
Only you...
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 11:39 AM UTC
he came down out of the mountains
came down out of the deity halls
of the mighty rocky mountains
riding a pale horse
with a gun in his hand
young to the eye
but his truth is miles of darkness
that few souls would dare
he came into the ***** town
and stepped into the waterin hole
with a wary eye
the crowd there was too involved in the
young ***** on the stage
in her various stages of undress
in the various stages of her futile demise
they are all dying down here in the flatland's
some kind souls try and stem the tide
but most just seek to sate thirsts before
they go to the valley of death below
he waited for the songs all to fade away
he waited for the hungry crowd to seek another meal
and then he came to her
then he walked into her narrow visions
he knew she would come
knew she had nothing left here
but the empty valley of death below
he tossed the barman
thirty pieces of silver
and romanced the petals
of her minds soft flower
soft so kind and convincing
to her unwilling ear
she finally could no longer resist
she scummed to the fever
and he picked her up
carried her to his steed
rode slowly out of town
not a soul saw him
not a soul cared
on up into the mighty rockies
he rode with her still form in his arms
into the bitter cold
and long night
an outlaw
of the highest order
one who has thieved from the kingdom below
down in the valley of death below
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 6:15 AM UTC
Some men will travel to the top of the mountain,
in an effort to talk to the sky,
and maybe touch the clouds...
a wish they've carried since children.
But I, I've looked from the flatland,
and only dreamed of the trail
that leads to the clearest views of the sun
and maybe a final look to my soul.
No shadows there to block my sight
or hide the smallest parts in darkness.
I stand by the river,
and watch it grow,
from the falling and tumbling water
rushing down the sides of the mountain...
and wonder where the beginning is,
but never taking the trail to where it has to be.
Is it fear, or just a lack of effort,
or a matter of the heart,
that keeps me where I am,
and the knowing all so close?
But in the end, here I sit, looking up once again,
my answers wrapped in clouds
the sun throwing shadows on the ground,
a small chill in the air as they block it's warmth.
I hug my knees by the river,
wishing once again....
I lived at the top of the mountain.
The shadows grow and darkness comes early,
and the mountain brings the night,
blocking the light of the sun,
tears fall,
a slow walk to home.
The mountain still remains and waits,
for those who walk it's trails...
knowing it isn't me.
JC 2009
Feb 8, 2017
Feb 8, 2017 at 5:22 PM UTC
A gallop at an Upstate New York Rocking Horse Resort
A Junior High School Senior trip
But’s here’s the tip
It was the Dead of Winter on a February Day
Welcome to the resort and step this way
There were a lot of things the resort offered
One of them of course was riding a horse
So I got to ride Tiger Lil
The horse was wide and built to fill
But to ride, one had to be determined and have a strong will
Well it was the trail a waits
The trail was icy and warranted a caution of fate
My thought, “I am riding this horse and this is the date”
Like I said before, the trail a waits
Up the trail being an overpassed high
In the distance, the ride was a temporary resort good-bye
Horses took us higher and higher until we reached the top
Suddenly, one of the horses through the rider off
I got terrified, and jumped off
Immediately the resort hands got my horse back
Later being reunited with Tiger Lil and me
I said let me think and see
Tiger Lil I knew I would be riding
However, the horse had me abiding
But I took control of the horse reins
It was the valley I didn’t want to see
We are heading back to the resort
I could see it in the distance
We were finally back to the flatland ground
I got off the horse, and my heel on my shoe broke
Tiger Lil laughed in it being a joke
I moved like a Marshall Dillon as I was that sore
I would name it, but it hurts, and I don’t think you would want to explore
When I got back to the bus, I told the Driver to lower the bus
The Driver asked me how low, I stated all the way
Arrived back home
My own territory to roam
I made it through the whole ordeal
This was a true story being for real.
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 10:29 AM UTC
what is it about birds. about flatland. about tornado season. note to poetry. we're just animals. i wanted to have your babies. you made my life so small.
Mar 23, 2023
Mar 23, 2023 at 8:40 AM UTC
Midnight light, will you goad my eyes
into the unbelievable sereneness of sleep,
And hush into silence the sleepless trucks
that lines the expanding horizon;
The bicycle man rests his head on his saddle
dreaming of bombing descents and leg stretches,
and the hot streaming aroma of consciousness
on gradient hilltops overlooking blazing mountains
passing the silence of the lakes;
Carefully cruising along the highways of the mind,
going into the light, and ecstasy, and madness;
Revolving, recurring, returning
into deep slumber then onto the frantic going,
along the wearisome expanse of flatland purgatories
then onto the doorsteps of mighty heaven,
rising up into the chill clouds of eternity and nothingness.
I am awake! and Fortuna's capricious wheel is now turning,
now I shall rest my future-looking for my going is now
unfolding!
Jul 3, 2019
Jul 3, 2019 at 7:44 AM UTC
new manners are being formed
as the era of the dawn is getting warmer
groping with ***** hands
for candy bars that can’t be bought
our names have become sullied
as our souls were polished in the serpentine waters
welcoming women into the thick of it
the folds of this organization
are still unmentionable
i prefer to remain in the vital spark of the species
our hearts are clocks
keeping time to rhythms long gone
and forgotten by most
except the loyal soldiers
who carry spears in their teeth
your hurt is clear
yet i must keep wary of your fear
thank you dear for everything is clearer now
and that's the way we like it
our hearts and minds can’t hide it
the chronicles of complexity are such
that we expect the unacceptable
somatic insurgencies
the chronic divergence from field to flatland
cubicles are likely as carcinogenic
as cantankerous old ladies are successful
at liberating the hearts and minds
of their children's babies
Apr 6, 2018
Apr 6, 2018 at 11:05 PM UTC
Mean Machine
The locomotive was an old mean machine
only used for carrying gods at local stations along
boring flatland. Once it had been a young and
the President of Portugal rode on it, not only him
but many other high up all the way to Lisbon.
And now? It wanted to go hiding somewhere dark,
but where does one conceal an iron horse?
The train passed near the parking lot in Faro
I was out with my dog, and there I could let her
run free. There was a hole in the fence were
the tracks. Naturally, she jumped through.
She saw the train that seemed to speed up with murderous intent when she jumped clear it
was too late. I had her buried and the following
days were long and full of sadness.
Dec 8, 2017
Dec 8, 2017 at 4:33 AM UTC