"gleans" poems
*Hint of green in amber rushing
Cold as ice in beauteous way,
Black beech towers overhead
Alpine zephyrs catch to sway.
Hint of green in boulder rapid
Morning sunshine gleans the tint
Wading forth to dangerous water
Pumping pulse in eyes that glint.
Hauling up and out with effort
Straining arms, staggered gait
Wading forth to sandy beach
With hidden prize that cannot wait.
Boulder in her amber shroud
Masking flash of emerald sheen
Pounamu in the Maori tongue
Glorious jade in turquoise green.
Treasure of high hidden mountains
Locked within exquisite glade
Birdcalls ring through wooded canyons
Reeling realisation made.
Photographs the proof of moment
Tremulous while masking pain
I caste far out this gem of Jacob
Splashing, gone, to torrent’s gain.
Tremulous I stand in wonder
Wondrous of this perfect place
I, who touched the smile of God
Now wear a happy, laughing face.*
M.
In the glorious wild river glades above Jackson Bay in the Mount Aspiring National Park, New Zealand.
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 2:06 AM UTC
Thatcher vacuum seals nicotine
Slurps cigarette like mosquito
Ravenous lungs gnaw and grind for the slow pander,
Thatcher’s just another name for the labeling
We plaster and pine for an out,
Stitch that finite lie beneath squeamish child skin,
Thatcher’s the black lung paradise,
******* infancy coddling cigarette stifle,
The caloric crack of his canines fletching out lust and sickly groove
As he’s scopes out fiend and vexed vandals,
Clutches the sick theistic **********
Cuddle those bruise licked hips
Give God the gross percent,
Cause heaven’s in those greenbacks
and God’s in the ******* kick,
Suckling bout the American tip
The Christian capitol,
Seething on shadow puppet ****** and American dream,
Gods got nothing to do with the slickened crinkle of gain and glamour,
Thatcher’s just the candy man give and cult,
Cough the crutch of contagion greed
And clutch the cuff of your porcelain sleeve,
Thatcher gleans your blackest suite tight,
Struts raven blade shoulders perched on American made spine,
Thatcher does as Thatcher please,
Thatcher thinks as Thatcher bleeds,
And Thatcher bleeds venereal blend,
Gout with the American veneer of broken girl and scabbed moral traumatic,
Trauma tastes as the hollow pixies give out the get out,
Bandaged baby girls,
The teenage horror show,
Just another blazoned hit of one two take the hand me down generic give away,
Desensitize the humanize,
Girls got to get the days glossy puff and sniff,
Thatcher’s content to satisfy,
Callous coroner a spectator suckling Marlboro lick,
Lodging thick smoke and toxin between spittle slick lips,
Albino plumes clotting and unfolding,
Thatcher clicks back the cartridge
Filter and cigarette,
Thatcher gulps back the need because brain’s got a favoring kink for the buzz,
Thatcher sings with the screaming in his straggling lungs,
Hums the western creed
Laughs fickle with God at his need,
Thatcher’s the true American dream
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 5:17 PM UTC
Bedeck the band and play a merry tune
The debutante desires her maiden dance
A farewell serenade beneath the moon
She's drifting like a Sunday afternoon
Each lazy sway a restful rhythmic trance
Bedeck the band and play a merry tune
Encircling suitors pack around and soon
She gleans the grating of each nervous glance:
"A farewell serenade beneath the moon?"
She casts them all aside her heart immune
To each until one voice, one piercing lance:
"Bedeck the band and play a merry tune!"
She falters and her bold facade is hewn
And nodding shyly greets his cold advance:
"A farewell serenade beneath the moon!"
Embracing him her heart begins to swoon
A maiden sunken at her first romance;
Bedeck the band and play a merry tune
A farewell serenade beneath the moon
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 6:52 AM UTC
You went to him because you’d never been
loved the way you deserved.
You’re neglected
time and time again. Childhood was stolen
somewhere between “It’s a girl!” and heaven.
I know you think you try.
You’re dejected.
In the shade of the damp one a.m. din
his tongue opens you like children do
Christmas gifts.
You went to him because you’d never had
so much attention from older guys.
So much attention, stained with the dyes
of lust. Is it that the ******* grains
staggered your mother’s ability to
care for you?
You hide beneath an eating disorder.
All the shame spills out
when you’ve got a finger deep in the esophagus’ veins.
You went to him because you’d never seen
a truly sweet smile.
Not that his gleans
away the pain inside you, but that
you’ve never really felt real sweetness.
Every time, when you seem to bat
your lashes,
I know you’re fighting back thick tears;
it’s not an exhibition of sexiness.
You went to him because you’d surely been
afraid of my honest feelings for you.
I’m sorry if the honest love I’d offered was scary,
but I’m not akin
to casual flings. That love was so true,
and ran so **** deep,
I’m sure I’d almost have drowned,
if your deceit hadn’t pushed that bright-blue
river so deep underground.
Sep 2, 2012
Sep 2, 2012 at 7:46 PM UTC
White violets in the window
Scarlett leaves tumble across
the mossy hidden stones
mound beneath a chilly winter's dawn
A cold wind bares the dogwood tree
where puffed out plumaged woodpecker
gleans on creations' plump red bounties,
beheld subsistence beget for feral wings
Bright crimson fattened rose hips season,
lingering in the frigid morning dew;
stirring warm memories of fruitlet tea's
steeped from gathered garden magic spells
A spoonful of love and raw honey mellowed
a life once so lovingly endeared
Hot Blueberry dutch-oven scratch biscuits
imbue the wafting fragrant air —
life's cherished moments tarry
in the head and heart;
sipped by ruby lips still tasting
the untamable passion
of a breathless goodnight kiss
White violets blossom in the window
the morning fire's crackle echoes
a pining memories' gentle whisper
awakened by the incoming wintertide
A dulcet breeze not soon forgotten
— melancholy traces linger
like a passing season's swan song
as your memory — leads me on...
harlon rivers ... December 5th, 2018
Dec 6, 2018
Dec 6, 2018 at 10:22 AM UTC
*So finally I have found you ,
just a like a dawn to it’s dew,
I don’t know where do you live or
what you do ,
but I have hopes that together in life we’ll glue .
You have came just when the movie has started ,
so you never would miss a scene or gleans ,
you’ll know me all someday and
if it seem worthy , maybe just stay .
I don’t ask for much
but just a soul’s touch ,
I promise I won’t try to clutch
rather I would I be glad I came across you in this lively search .
These letters that no one else will ever read
I hope you will with creed ,
be free and welcome to this unusual breed,
Together we are planting a seed .*
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 5:36 AM UTC
there’s a vacuum, a hole in my heart, a skip in it’s beat
the size of your shimmering glow
it's the width of your smile, the height of your laughter
it’s where my love gleans all that it wants to know
it’s an autumn untouched in a memory held fondly
watching the white shine of fresh fallen snow
it pulls like a tide and it howls like a gale
and it tugs at me to surrender to all it bestows
it prays with belief and sustains on it's faith
and it stands tallest on two bended knees
it's all ribbons and wrapper the thing I most wanted
and it fills my needs completely
you and I are the seed, the sprout, the tree, the fruit
the protection of deep binding roots
you and I
the journey along no destination’s route
my wanting unwaning, your flirtatious glances
the wonderful unknowing pursuit
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 9:08 PM UTC
Like "Connect the dots"
Rorschach Ink Blots / fluffy clouds,
Minds map, third eye gleans.
Jul 6, 2016
Jul 6, 2016 at 1:52 AM UTC
Spending time doing jive on backs of other peoples lives
As the sun clocks 17 minutes shining on a ****** in the brook
God has drawn the day for clouds to suffocate apologize and relax
Some dreams are worth a fresh & unwrapped dawn
Not even a day dream when the minutes become senseless past midnight could kiss the peak of the sun rising if you wait in line to see it
The most virile days of a conscious lifetime lived are when the roads still lead to nowhere and you drive and drive imagining too much to notice
If God’s eyes are loving before me, they have seen my heart build my body
If God’s presence gleans my hope all that stacks the earth atop soil and eternal people recognize and become bashful knowing knowledge is love and curiosity is breath that you can cry out if you are small with a giants love with a giants knowledge
One return erases the point and there are places no one has never been
Hope is accounted for in people who you rule out
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 6:51 AM UTC
general t'so what the fuck's this meat made of?
the fluorescent room gleans
off the sheen of fake food,
***** this weak pay stub,
this buffet too
and living off food court food.
hors derves served to
a bunch of augustus gloops
who'll soon sport tubes.
I hope the line short fuses.
I'll be giggling,
at these wiggling
greedy,
feeding
frenzies
still feeling empty
with stomachs of drains
they feign being friendly
not a morsel of moral thought,
their brain's busy picking
food from the troth
pointing with pickeled pig feet
ruder than all hell
marvelously stinky
laid back in booths
soothing their sweet tooths
mouths oozing drool
drippin onto bibs
turning solids into goo
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 3:36 AM UTC
Moonlighting this Dreamscape,
the Eye that gleans panned...
indelibly placed as to overcome,
meanings unmoved
till they mean.
For the sake of: here to here...
a head shakes in fluid agreeance.
As if to understand stars cannot
pepper what they've issued from.
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 1:12 AM UTC
*When the moon hits your eyes
Like a big pizza pie, that’s amore…*
Amore, love, blah blah blah
Shut the **** up
What do they know of amore?
Let me tell you about a-more-ay
it’s a-more-of-ay deep burning feeling
that starts in your spleen
and eventually
gleans it’s way into your subconscious
it’s a-more-of-ay consuming blaze
that leaves you in a haze
and the cinders smolder for too long after
it’s a-more-of-ay painful wound from which you never heal
and the only real
truth anyone will tell you is how love hurts
**** right it hurts**
It rips you to shreds and builds a new you
A-more-of-ay tender you
A you that feels the pain in your every fiber
until it hurts so bad you begin to LOVE the pain
that’s amore…
a-more-of-ay joke than I’ve ever heard before
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 5:47 PM UTC
In the light of another sun
much brighter than this one
there no darkness is ever seen
as the mind of thought is clean.
When the ladder is climbed to that domain
what any go there with except love is vain.
Everything else may or can exist below
which is only what this light does show.
There is the Radiance of Pure Being
the like of which few are ever seeing.
A very rare experience by actual sight is had
as the mind is bewildered but the soul is glad.
Intellect and reason have been left behind
as all else except to that light one is blind.
Intuition or direct perception is the means
whereby the mind at its own source gleans.
Any limitations and divisions there don’t exist
only the effulgence of True Light does persist.
Though we receive light and warmth from the stars, moon and sun
all the light in the universe put together can’t ever equal That One.
Could it be That from which all of existence flows
as time and space by mind’s true reflection shows
and whatever seen here is the becoming of That which forever is;
in tangible finite shape or form a manifestation of The Infinite is?
The Radiance of Pure Being is also the essence of everyone’s soul
and so is seen after self effort and grace have performed their role.
To live through all of our days in life and be ignorant of That Light
isn’t what any of us have been born for in this world or given sight.
____________________________________________________
Feb 3, 2013
Feb 3, 2013 at 4:31 AM UTC
Give me my pen and feed my heart with muse,
And I shall write until the night transforms
Into the morning, when the earth imbues
And quakes with spirits of the sleeping worms.
I’ll glean as gleans a reaper golden grain
Sweet dreams, which with some mystic magic swell
And set my spirit and my burdened brain
Free from the fleshy temples of their cell.
My quill would spill sweet words as if it’s dew
Or some ambrosial nectar from a fount
In Heaven’s reign. My tongue shall throb anew
With gilded glory. Evermore I’ll mount
Into the cloudless climes of deep midníght
Just give me paper and the will to write!
Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 8:50 PM UTC
Repetition gleans the joy from our work and forces despair into our sorrows.
We're born;
we work to make something of our lives;
then we work to sustain our lives.
No choice is given to us. If we wish to survive, we must work.
We are given the illusion of freedom.
Our rights say that we are
free to speak, and they guarantee
the right to the pursuit of happiness,
but our fates are decided from the moment of our birth.
“You will go to school. You will get a job. You will start a family.”
Even the ones who speak against
conformity play into this, the greatest conformist act of them all.
The world appears to be ignorant of the suffering and destruction this has caused.
People everywhere
hate
their jobs but refuse to quit because they would have no means of supporting themselves.
We are tested on only six subjects
as if they could encompass the genius of us all.
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 11:36 PM UTC
Why is it that a peek into the past
Gleans direction and goals so fast?
But the memories scatter and fizzle out
As they wilt into the present full of doubt
Feb 17, 2025
Feb 17, 2025 at 8:28 AM UTC
Anna encrusted dust suite luster
All of the bevel the ocean could muster.
Trust, the comfort found here at the shore
Sands to revel in all you adore.
Further, floors elude the light for placation
As roots are harboured, an act of vocation.
This tree gleans no place of rest
But chosen as berth, the hold for a nest.
An expression of palace and that of place
A digression to speed and not of haste.
But throats grow dry as if necks could curd
As we depart to our homes again like the bird.
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 2:02 PM UTC
A soft, northern wind brushes the bristles of my skin, runs the surfaces of my faces, and steadily chills the bones that lie within.
It flows around the contours of thought that bubble and break the surface of motion, of time.
In this dream state, patches of warmth and wet, sunlight and oceans green rise and fall with the breath of my aging body.
Empty and desolate, the eyes of a lover can be... cruel and merciless as death it, weighs upon the arms like a politician's troubling words to his constituency.
Truth is hard to bear when it is birthed twin, with contempt and sin.
The dead lie and the living hide. But each does what the other is purposed to achieve.
So if they each do what the other must, what are they really?
Something else entirely, yet one and the same.
Only the waves of song, crashing against the drums of my psyche, beating me to a calm submission can alleviate the pain of loss.
The pain of want is something that, when destroyed, grows anew, strong, and more violent.
Until satisfied with fire and soapstone, washed away without a moment's notice, the breaking heart will continue to beat for no one can stop passion.
For a moment, love is all that gleans in the rays of life. All these, and all around, slow down to a halt.
The end is when you decide, none of it provides happiness.
The end is when you decide, nothing in life, is worth the blood that was spilt to keep it.
So I wander in a world that makes no sense to the lover unknown, grasping for the essence of something real in the distance. Something I cannot see.
Jul 28, 2016
Jul 28, 2016 at 6:14 PM UTC
Like light to blind eyes
or the sun to the night,
he strives.
Like needles to Cobain
or ***** to Bukowski,
he wanes.
She sighs in his dreams
on the verge of sleep,
he gleans.
Shes there, he tastes her
soft skin on his mind's lips,
he's sure.
The wrench tightens
and twists,
his heart pounds
in remembrance,
and his hands
reach for
nothing.
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 5:52 PM UTC
What is there to life but only a lot of worry and woe
and the truth of our existence is so difficult to know.
When one truly sees or gleans what's hidden to normal view
the world and almost all it contains one considers to eschew.
_______________________________________________
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 9:48 AM UTC
Between the reality and light
Shades of colours are we
Maybe I'm as blue as the sea
Everything is the colour it is meant to be
We are looking through the eyes of a dream
I often think of colours like emotional degrees
When I do the world is just a picture that deceives
All the places I have been to are all a shade of pigment it seems
Saddest thoughts are memories that you can't change because of your consciousness in means
White or black the mood is chosen to the wildest of screams
A broken piece of glass shatters upon the floor I see the dark red once more as it gleans
My hands are stretched out wide and I am floating on a white boat with flowers around my neck dripping blood and lives are but streams.
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 4:14 AM UTC
The petals which had been so red
Are browning now and bow their heads
The limbs which held the greening leaves
Are garish colors now instead.
Everywhere that I can see
Summer is prepared to flee
From cooler days the autumn brings
Before the winter's frigid sleep
I stand among the morbid scenes
Of the dying beauty Nature gleans
By calling back what She bestowed
To the earth with summer's heat
They'll rise when springtime melts the snow
I wonder if the same is so
For me once I am put to rest
I wonder, will I even know?
Sep 13, 2019
Sep 13, 2019 at 7:25 PM UTC