"floodplains" poems
Water born lovers-
Ripples became tsunamis,
Floodplains bring new life.
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 4:50 PM UTC
If one word was to define who you were -
Not what you were like or how you come across -
But what and who you are,
I would strive for sincerity.
Capturing the nuance of being counter-cultural
(stark against the world we live in);
Honest to the point of perfect precision in what I say and mean;
Genuine in openness and lacking deceit;
Firm and unmoving against the tide;
Secure in the validity of that on which I stand;
Disciplined for integrity and truth;
Heartfelt and reliable (despite frequent shortcomings);
Prepared not only to go the distance but to run it,
To invest and care through thick and thin,
Not to forgo earnest in the buffering and buffeting;
Wholeheartedly honourable, the man others would wish to be;
Virtuous and steadfast in quality and character,
A rock to hold onto, a solid foundation,
A dedication to being authentic and true.
No false wax to the visage you see,
An artistic and inhuman ideal.
-
Sincerity has been under attack, besieged as an unachievable goal
In a world focused on the self - to be selfless seems foolishness.
Attention in this life lasts the sum amount of difficulties;
We flee from the floodplains when the river comes
Rather than endure and be refined by rich streams.
Sincerity does not crumble under commitment,
Nor erode in the face of effort:
Prepared to invest, forgoing instant gratification,
Persevering under pressure whilst all else fades.
It does not shrink from the fight but turns its cheek,
It forgives the slight and suffers for the lost,
It carries the cross for the rejected and the weak,
It sacrifices all it has at great personal cost,
It stands up to scrutiny when it stands for truth,
It lives and dies in unfathomable love.
Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 3:16 PM UTC
Even the stars, they say, and worlds -- but first,
It's April rain, it's light on greening gardens --
One sparrow, yes, in book and branch -- then worse,
All memory of love, the heart that hardens,
Resisting still the news. Seasons, reversed,
All water, always, quick or slow, the snow
On fields, then farmers' woods and crops immersed
By river's-work, and floodplains' overflow.
All leaves, all trees, all earth by wind dispersed;
And men, men too, each falling long-rehearsed.
Sep 3, 2011
Sep 3, 2011 at 10:47 PM UTC
You’ll find me, the African Buffalo, in swamps,
Floodplains, grasslands and forests of the mountains,
I eat the tall grasses and move on when they’re depleted,
Unpredictable as the water from a tumbling fountain,
I spar with other males to prove myself in charge,
My horns are down and the herd looks on in fascination,
As I show that I’m the strongest one around,
But rally the rest to protect my calf from devastation,
We graze and mob, mob and graze,
Mate and birth during rainy days,
I’m strong and proud, proud and strong,
In African sunshine life carries on.
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 6:25 AM UTC
_Springing
from sequestered
splendour,
carved
out by
ancient tributaries;
Receiving,
streaming,
flowing
with
the current
of experience;
Through
the floodplains
of my sorrows,
to the
foreshore of
my dream time;
A river
of breath,
a watershed
of meaning,
consciousness
in spate._
Dec 24, 2020
Dec 24, 2020 at 8:54 PM UTC
There's a pond in the middle of my mind
Where I come to cast my thoughts
And lately I've felt like casting myself off
But I know mental suicide is just a cheap excuse for giving up
Dissolving in dissonance
As fragments of reminisce
stab me like needle pins
Afloat this pond of memories
Slowly drowning in its isolated depression of the
past, as the floodplains of the present drag me into the future
But it's all in my head,
So I'm casting off these corroding neurons, that make up these withered patterns of brain waves
To find myself floating again in this body of standing water
I artificially constructed out of pain.
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 3:27 AM UTC
Behold, squalid abode of death and despair
I have found a home in Hell
Cross beset by a river blood swell
Near howling demons droning death’s knell
Satan chokes hate from the rotting air
My chamber teases lingering smells of brown hair.
In the morning roasted souls depart their graves
Lamenting unending days of pain
Down on the floodplains a levee breaks
Bursting vicious oozing bile in all ways
Acid fades the decaying brain through heartaches.
Inside the head
Sorrow festers and regret burns
Cerebral folds sag into burial urns
Thick panic erodes sanity into dread
Conjuring tormented visions of an empty bed.
Fresh skulls roll beyond sight
Bleeding black pus lines the night
Torn limbs litter the road
Stench of ***** and incense mold
Fuel agonizing trips of feelings untold.
Vile fiends dance with glee
Obnoxious jeers mock the psyche
Disrupted thoughts hang to you from me
Meek fulfillment insults the dreams of the weak.
In years future I may come up clean
Scarred from seething chains unseen
Until redemption I must enjoy my stay
Frozen ***** behind an open gate.
Jul 19, 2016
Jul 19, 2016 at 6:22 PM UTC