"meanders" poems
Through an open window, I hear
the Big Thompson's steady music
drifting up from the valley below.
May breezes and gentle rains
coax the snow-capped peaks
to surrender their alabaster cloaks
downslope into gathering streams.
Silhouetted by light from the waxing moon,
a cinnamon bear lopes along water’s edge,
pauses for a draught and meanders on.
A bull elk newly coifed with velvet antlers
folds his legs beneath its belly
and kneels into grasses beside a tranquil pond.
while the Big Thompson rushes on.
Spring beauties, calypso orchids and geraniums
shake off their winter's sleep and
dot every vagabond trail and verdant hill
while fresh new leaves adorn the aspen boughs.
The Big Thompson inexorably presses on
bound for rendezvous with time and space
and tumbles into the always patient sea.
© 2017 by Robert Charles Howard
May 28, 2017
May 28, 2017 at 8:57 AM UTC
forged in the likeness of you
the whisper meanders in my memory bank
it dances softly on a burgundy velvet glove
that covers my wrinkled hand
it visits me in deepest dreams
and speaks in hushed tones
of the infinite days ahead
when we shall once again dance together
forged in the feeling of you
I live each day like the last
holding onto the past
like a cat with a captured bird
not allowing it to die
waking to the sounds of winter winds
and old favorites on the radio
the ones we listened to together
so many years ago
those years that forged a love so strong
that I rarely blink twice
without the thought of you dancing by
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 10:04 AM UTC
Poetry has a sensitive soul
A drive and impulse
Telling stories the way they are
Feelings of soberness
A heart felt word
Poetry has a sensitive heart
Beautifully immense
A heart of gold
Giving values to life
Adding years to life: Poetry is beautiful
Poetry has a sensitive soul
Like streams that meanders slowly
Like a river glorious: It Flows
Poetry has a sensitive heart,
A beautiful soul; A flying Angel.
Poetry is the signal
that
The soul sends into the world
Like the river, it flows into the sea,
yet the sea never gets filled.
Poetry is the fluid for the soul,
The liquid for the yearning of the Mind
That which quenches the fire
Feeding the deepest desires
Poetry is Gold in essence
Ovi Odiete©
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 8:34 AM UTC
Music meanders mightily moving my soul seeking songs sung by strings and piano plays purposefully pounding perfectly pretty rhythms running round through thick thought of only one nicely named note.
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 12:34 AM UTC
A grass land was there,
Birds use to dance around,
Their song echoed around,
Snake use to wonder around!
A grass land was there,
Porcupine, Rabbits, Pangolin........
Tidy around!
A grass land was there,
Raindrop meanders around!
****
Now only building and terraces are here!
Car and two wheeler running around!
Noise of human voice and machine thunderous around!
People use to say, everything is developing... in and around!
****
Still I am searching around
The elegant
Birds, their song,
The gorgeous
Snake, their beautiful scroll,
The Splendid raindrop on grass!
Still I am belligerent,
Powerless to remove my childhood memories!
****
Still searching..........
The grass land....
Birds..............
Snake...................
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 12:30 PM UTC
I expand, ingrediently.
Song
sun, bare foot
on accelerator
all the way, heart
at last
excited.
What roads where?
Who wind who?
Because day meanders a tra la la alchemy
And night shivers me into
the furthest permissions of gold
Jan 14, 2012
Jan 14, 2012 at 6:56 AM UTC
The markets up, the Markets down
For weeks it just meanders.
Alas, my stocks are always down
Each time I take a gander.
GM, Lehman, Citicorp
My broker bought for me-
And you can guess the net result-
IHe bought a yacht, not me.
Those friends who don’t avoid me
Say I’ve reversed Midas’ touch.
I don’t turn things I touch to gold
I turn gold into rust.
I’d heard dart tossing Simians
Can best the S & P
So I went to the Zoo this March
to consult a Chimpanzee.
He took the chartt, he threw the dart
And picked a stock for me-
And now I’m getting margin calls
because I bought BP.
He seemed the sage of Omaha
before he ruined me.
I should have tried Orangutans
And paid their higher fee.
They wanted five bananas
My monkey worked for three.
But now I’m bust because I used
the discount Chimpanzee.
Dec 18, 2011
Dec 18, 2011 at 8:26 PM UTC
The Cornish shore …
Where golden sand lies next
To dappled grey granite rock,
Where the sea breeze sweeps
And the mussels flock,
Where the rock pools gather
And the small ***** patrol,
Where the white foam curls
And the breakers roll,
Where the sea birds call
And the salt spray stings,
Where the seaweed sunbathes
And the limpet clings,
Where a stream’s course meanders,
And reflects the azure sky,
Where a starfish gazes skywards
And white clouds go scudding by.
By all means take treasured memories,
But please take nothing more,
And leave nothing but your footprints
On this sacred Cornish shore …
May 8, 2021
May 8, 2021 at 1:08 AM UTC
In her dream, a cataract torrent
Crashes to effervescence,
Force and verve, vivacious apparent,
Shoots arrowed iridescence.
In reality, a rivulet meanders,
Blind to mountain, fountain and fell,
Downhill she flows, barely seen,
Pebbles 'n stones part of her scene.
Here she circumvents boulder and rock,
There gives way to shout and shock,
Hiding her head between her knees
She longs to lose herself in the seas.
I knelt down close to hear her cries,
Allowed her tears wash over my eyes,
Caressed her soft water with my hand,
Sprinkled her sweetness o'er the land.
'Sweet stream', I whisper'd, 'The waterfall you dream,
Lives through its awful roar ‘n terror,
But life lives not in its awesome scream,
Life lives not in its horror.'
'Without you, doe could not parch their thirst,
Frogs would not breed or dippers immerse.
Heavenly daughter, jeweled traverse,
One silent ripple is an angel's universe.’
Mar 1, 2019
Mar 1, 2019 at 8:12 AM UTC
On nights like this
Tired eyes reminisce
Of a former life
Like French doors opening
To familiar gardens
Where prunes grow on fingers
And lavender blooms
In the iridescent luster
Of warm water droplets
Serenading shoulders
Where reason and chaos blend
Into peach white tea
Swallows carry songs
Through their wings
Stirring decadent incense
Of exhaling trees
Sunlight waltzes with
Saturated leaves
Their indelible patterns
Rhythmic marigold sleeves
Carefree meanders along
Luscious promenade, swathed
In pomegranate-stained poppies
Ripe for the picking
In them, a fragrant ecstasy
Alive inside this memory
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 12:58 AM UTC
Deep between the veins of a crying leaf
Lives a sneaky green thief.
Hidden deep within is an infinite release.
Under his cracked wooden dome, found belief.
Creating magnificent worlds abound!
Fascinated with the life that sprang from ground.
Humming, he meanders from each sparkling leaf.
Catching a wind breeze drifted by belief.
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 1:32 PM UTC
There we were
In the midst of an oriental expose
More like a permanent museum display
The history of our foundation here in the West
Build on the backs of the yellow and black
Only I prefer to keep clear of the festering beast that is Oakland at high noon
No
This was someplace stranger
Chinatown, San Francisco
A soy canker in the greasy mouth of America
In some circles this was the closest thing to an escape
Or the closest thing to internment
It’s all about perception
A pompous soccer mom/beast attempting culture meanders through the local chaos
Green beans or shallots tonight?
A psychedelic mess with an unwarranted response
Could she handle the absurdity?
I care not, choose the latter sweetheart
“Shallots”
May 11, 2013
May 11, 2013 at 12:42 PM UTC
On silver star a gleam
Reflecting purest love
And by crescent moon I dream
His love a radiant beam
Glowing warmth from above
On silver star a gleam
Love flitters so supreme
On the wings of a dove
And by crescent moon I dream
Love like a gentle stream
Meanders hand in glove
On silver star a gleam
Time and distance extreme
But ‘tis him I think of
And by crescent moon I dream
Enchanted it may seem
He is my one truelove
On silver star a gleam
And by crescent moon I dream
Jul 18, 2010
Jul 18, 2010 at 1:09 AM UTC
∙∙∙◦◦•◎•◦◦∙∙∙
Sometimes
(Just like these days)
When my heart
sang a placid song
the speaking brooks
meanders my soul
Wild hounds
hovered the meadows
And the sky was blue
ethereal as the billow
strews in shades anew
For Daybreak
is awake
On the fields
of glowing weeds
a subtle flower blooms
through the breeze
And to thee,
it kisses the gentle mist
Oh! what a Morning
Oh! what a day
When trees glistens
from beams
of never ending sun rays
made me so gay
so yes, it can be.
Sometimes
(Just like these days)
Like Diamonds & Gold
upon barren land
and rubies worn
by a maiden’s hand
Oh! what an Evening
Oh! what a way
When monarchs flew
from voluptuous crooks
dodging witches
and evil dukes
Callous, Treacherous
"A Foolish Irony"
might I say
but yes, it can be.
Sometimes
(Just like these days)
May 25, 2017
May 25, 2017 at 9:28 AM UTC
The mist meanders through the copse
Beside the bridge over the brook,
Where both daffodils and snowdrops
Emerge everywhere one looks.
Watched over by weeping willows
Amongst other old ancient trees
A babbling brook gently goes
Winding through woods and valleys.
Further and further, on it flows
Below bridges both old and new,
Meanders through fields and meadows
Blanketed by the morning dew.
All through an awakening park
Warmed now by a weak winter sun
Night creatures leave only their mark,
Bedding down now day has begun.
Silence surrenders to bird song
A sure sign that day is dawning
Lo and behold before too long
Casts of creatures greet the morning.
Dawn gives way to a brand new day
Leaving a slight sense of sorrow
As magic moments slip away;
A different dawn tomorrow.
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 3:49 AM UTC
The markets up, the Markets down
For weeks it just meanders.
Alas, my stocks are always down
Each time I take a gander.
GM, Lehman, Citicorp
My broker bought for me-
And you can guess the net result-
I’m broker now, not he.
Those friends who don’t avoid me
Say I’ve reversed Midas’ touch.
I don’t turn things I touch to gold
I turn gold into rust.
I’d heard dart tossing Simians
Can best the S & P
So I went to the Zoo this March
to consult a Chimpanzee.
He perused the chart then flung a dart
to pick a stock for me-
And now I’m getting margin calls
because I bought BP.
He seemed the sage of Omaha
before he ruined me.
I should have tried Orangutans
And paid their higher fee .
They wanted five bananas
My monkey worked for three.
But now I’m bust because I used
a discount Chimpanzee.
I might have dodged a massive loss
And profited besides
Had I but heeded the baboons’
Sell signaling behinds
Jan 14, 2012
Jan 14, 2012 at 3:43 PM UTC
Calmly the river flows
To many creatures, yet unknown.
A place to drink for those who know,
And a place for many to call their home.
The river meanders through the countryside
Like the veins essential to our lives.
Carrying nourishment on which to feed.
Vital to our daily needs.
An abundance of food for man everywhere
And a bounty of salmon for the hungry bear.
But, do not be fooled by its magnificence
For the hidden reality is far more intense.
The river so powerful yet seemingly steady
Barely a sound echoing in the valley.
So very quiet, yet mightily strong,
Silently waiting for victims to come along,
To the river the victims now belong.
But it's in the nature of the beast,
And man tries to tame it
By putting in place
A huge wall of stone
To slow down it's pace,
And in the end, sadly,
It's life, man will take,
And this wonderful life force
Becomes just a still lake.
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 4:56 PM UTC
Down dark alleys
Which meanders deep in the midst of cities
One would find the best kind of people
Labelled as "outcasts".
It is down these dark alleys
Where the darkest thoughts are shared
Where the "taboos" of society can be found.
Secrets shared are kept
Promises said, never broken.
The best things are shared amongst all
So is the worst.
Bustling with activities
Down the alleys
Warm smiles exchanged
Along with heartfelt feelings.
Dark alleys without light
Are aflame with love
That one can never find
In the hustle and bustle of a hectic city life.
Though poor in terms of material possessions,
They're rich with all the necessities,
That are needed to live a real life.
(c.c)
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 10:00 AM UTC
The rain falls in whispers,
Meanders through the
Cracks in our lives.
The sky claps sardonically
Prophetic, pathetic fallacy
Alive and well.
As time swells and breathes
Solaris flares, coughs and heaves.
Scorched earth, ashen leaves.
The rain is gone but so's
The emerald green.
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 8:18 PM UTC
For Basil@Egmont
Old school hotelier, conservationist, mountain man.
Festooning drapes of weeping moss
Hang damply from the trees
Cascading lengths of dripping fern
Bring wetness to your knees
The clutching boughs of gnarled branch
The olive greens and damp
The winding path meanders up
This mountain's rocky ramp
Grey boulders in the river bed
The rush of torrents fast,
The song of falling waters
Plummeting into the past.
The flash of brilliant plumage
A blue kingfisher in a dive
And the tragic death of this field mouse
Means other creatures stay alive.
The mammoth mountain hangs above
The snow is clean and white
The cornice shadow aqua blue
Ridge ice is sunlight bright
The summit wind is blowing hard
The snow is curling round
To recreate a billowed crown
Atop that seaward mound.
A dancing *** is eyeing me,
Impossibly it clings
Inverted from a totara trunk
With rapid flitting wings.
Exploding from it's hiding place
A ponderous pigeon *****
And weaves it's way between the boughs
With noisy wing tip slaps
The magic of this secret place
Is the drama in the air,
The solitude of teeming life
In green-ness everywhere.
The hardness of the freezing night
The harshness of the wind,
The grandeur of it's wilderness
Paints splendor as it's sin.
Taranaki's goblin forest
Is resplendent in it's garb
Of emerald green and turquois-ness
And rugged rocks and shard,
Cascading rivers, waterfalls
In sweeping walls of trees
Where pools of still transparency
Bring you breathless to your knees.
Where Egmont's goblin forest
Will make your spirits sing
And the urge to climb another mile
Will reward you with something
You had not bargained for in visiting
This remote and splendid place,
......It will reward you with a warm,
And knowing smile upon your face.
Marshalg
Dawson Falls Romantic Hotel
Mt. Taranaki
15th September 2008
Dec 10, 2009
Dec 10, 2009 at 8:28 PM UTC
T'was little fun
T'was a little town,
No virulent delirious runs
No irking sounds
As t'was a little dangling town
All t'was a feasible brew
No meanders to sought
No conundrums of anew
just wired timely things to rot
When all t'was a portent upcoming
For t'was clad and veneered
In a amicable sun-daze groaning
T'was a peaceful loop of mono-gradient seasons
and all to do was ponder
For t'was guzzled with reasons
T'was yesterdays jigsaw puzzle
T'was a nightmare in sun-light
But for now, let's retch our unknown dazzle
As t'was,
A flippant fuss
For what shan't be
A beguiling me
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 5:21 AM UTC
Take a step
Breathe
Take a step
Off the edge
Fall free into the air
Nothing is up
Nothing is down
Floating in freefall
Wind meanders by
Your body speeds
To somewhere
But the mind is behind
The air has stopped now
Were you in distress?
Or did you imagine that?
Either way, you’re finished now
Falling ends at the bottom
Of the endless nether
The ground creeps up
Then your body assaults it
Laying on the concrete
Waking from a dream
Brush yourself off
And take a step off the edge
Oct 8, 2016
Oct 8, 2016 at 7:14 PM UTC
©Jeannine davidoff 2011
table 22
sitting at table 22
wondering what to do
life meanders around
keeping me on the ground
opening options
opening dilemmas
process thoughts
delight in fantasy
develop dramatically
time is ripe
pick the fruit
sally forth
** ** ** **
here i am again
at table 22
knowing my heart
knowing what to do
(moving on is easy - jack johnson – playing in the background)
Jan 13, 2011
Jan 13, 2011 at 1:42 PM UTC
I doubt the humble caterpillar
has any premonition
of the glory that awaits
on her impending coronation day.
Newly hatched, she meanders
over leaves and stalks, binging on the crawl,
in quest of the perfect hanging leaf.
Then suddenly metamorphosis
and silk is everywhere
wrapping her up like Nefertiti -
her insides churned into enzyme soup
a new essence in the making.
Shaking, writhing, a bold new self
is emerging deep within -
an orange and black-winged butterfly
waiting for that liberating hour
to shed her crumbling shell
and beat the air with new- found wings.
*July 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015 at 3:41 AM UTC
after Alexandra Leaving, a song by Leonard Cohen
<>
to go where?
to a city self-consuming in madness,
giving every excuse to stay, and yet,
it came to me just now when the poet
must be leaving his redoubt, with doubt,
and return to the concrete and anomie
of a different kind of splendid isolation
when the last leaf meanders slow down
to the battlefield, and the falling terminado,
and the tree branches are stick figures, each
finger pointing skyward in an j’accusing manner,
accussing & conceding defeat, begging for mercy,
their pleadings too much for me to bare and bury
when green has been wiped clean, and deleted
from the dictionary of colors, my moth eaten soul,
can no longer be granted a stay of execution by
merely looking at the landscape and seascape
to admire their friendly contrasting schemes,
their installation in me of the awe of a visual
quietude, that was an astonishing injection
not truly appreciated till now, too late and
still early, the awe colorations of nature’s vibrancy
The gods have come, my soul hoisted upon their
broad shoulders, the dead-appearing tree branches
can no longer keep their poet safe, hold him back from
meeting his fate; now, he too is a leaving but
floating upward, unlike like the fallen crowds that have
come to rest upon the soil that born them, now to be buried,
all saying: Goodbye Island Poet leaving,
Island Poet
has no poem, no good understanding, no vision,
had no plan, no foresight, only a hope against hope,
that safety was/is not seasonal, Van Morrison reminds,
“These are the days of endless summer,”are memories,
to be held onto tightly, until when if I pass muster, angels
will return to my island abode, where my natural friends
will greet me again, with a flowering and new births,
and The Island Poet can once again revel in ideas in words like
future, sanity, when boarding the ferry with a one way ticket smile.
Sep 2, 2024
Sep 2, 2024 at 2:23 AM UTC