"plummets" poems
It plummets and wave takes way,
But carries imprint of love and life,
Develop its niche through air, water and soil....
Refurbish to energy
Energies and connect web
Continue the cycle!
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 3:09 PM UTC
What Hope Remained?
What hope remained when hope for hope was spent?
When putrid plumes dulled morning into night
Hope lived in heart-struck deeds of bold intent,
As mortals wept and earthborn angels went
With downcast eyes to clamber heavens height.
What hope remained when hope for hope was spent?
When panicked sirens wailed a lost lament
And backs were bowed beneath ungodly weight,
Hope lived in heart-struck deeds of bold intent
As boots bore souls up treadmills burnt and bent
To scale a void devoid of dawning light.
What hope remained when hope for hope was spent?
For those in sight of angels heaven sent
Atop the world to aid their mortal plight,
Hope lived in heart-struck deeds of bold intent.
When wingless brethren conquered feared ascent
To gift last hope to all who saw their might:
What hope remained when hope for hope was spent?
Hope lived in heart-struck deeds of bold intent.
In The Fall
I chanced upon a stranger in the fall,
Cosmetic garb of office black and white
Portraying calm demeanor of his plight
As shadows panicked on a stricken wall,
And oft' I find my mind in numb recall
To look upon that helpless human kite
Who tumbled from the terrors of a height,
Yet graceful as an eagle in a stall
Before it plummets earthward -- 'Neath the pall
Of twisted steel rended by follied flight,
That stranger lives forever in the light
Suspended in iconic timeless sprawl.
I wonder, in the briefness of his fall,
Did he derive the meaning of it all?
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 7:20 PM UTC
The black and white has lost its silhouette
The lines slip from the page
Who can say what reality remains?
Those who exist in three dimensions
Will decide where the truth of the matter lies
And if we're better off
The world pauses, a little more than eight
A man's lost his breath to another
It wasn’t theirs to take
Those who exist on the other side of the screen
Will decide where the truth of the matter lies
And if we're better off
A bounty is placed, a renegade is born
The long arm reaches for another soul,
Another soul is pawned
Those who exist for the law
Will decide where the truth of the matter lies
And if we're better off
A man is led to the edge of the world
He's pushed and plummets into the unknown
Everything in him breaks, but he survives the fall
Those who were standing behind him
Will decide where the truth of the matter lies
And if we're better off
Is any justice worth an injustice?
Can it still be called justice?
When the means don't justify the ends,
Is anybody really, truly, better off?
Aug 30, 2020
Aug 30, 2020 at 2:01 AM UTC
Will a Phoenix doused in water reignite?
Should the Sun ever disturb the night?
As my eyes take their rest my mind takes flight
Then quickly plummets straight into blight
Straight into sorrow; reigniting my rage
And keeps me awake as if it were day
Awake to write my story/Awake to dwell on the last page
How dare I wallow over someone engaged?
Great Leviathan, Demon God of water and life
Lend me your strength as I overcome this strife
Baptize me in your waters and revitalize my sight
Clear away all the salt and callus to turn my scleras white
Drown the anger in my heart; cease its return!
**** the Phoenix, for its presence burns!
Drown the Sun so that the moon may take its turn
Allow my brain to rest so that I may have the capacity learn
How to fully move on…
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 1:19 PM UTC
A shooting star,
falls from the skies,
through the mist,
clear to the eyes,
make a wish,
as it plummets to the ground,
smoke,
surrounding it,
floats all around,
hear the sound,
of it hitting the barren earth,
make a wish,
for all that it's worth.
Jul 26, 2011
Jul 26, 2011 at 6:40 AM UTC
keep my heart in a mason jar
above your bed
take it down and look at it
from time to time
then watch with a frown
on the day the jar slips through your fingers
and plummets to the hardwood
with a crack & a shatter
"sorry" you'll mutter
with an almost interrogative inflection
but you won't pick up the shards
you'll stare blankly at the contents - my heart
it's messy, not what you wanted
stains from the girl with the mason jar heart
will haunt the floorboards and echo in the walls
and you'll wish you'd been more careful
when you had her in your hands
- m.f.
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 2:31 PM UTC
When humanity loses their beacon
Future plummets to deepest chasms
No light to welcome the future
No hands to hold, in our weaknesses
Only shenanigans
Will finally obliterate us
Leaving this celestial space lonelier
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 12:35 AM UTC
If I let my eyes glaze over just right, I get a nice film quality picture.
I hover out of my body- like a mad director, evaluating what we've got, I snip the film strips from my memory, franticaly re-piecing together the story.
I didn't get the shots I wanted.
I feel hollow and sick.
Playing and re-playing the scenes where it all went to the dregs.
Maybe if I were paying closer attention- I could have gotten it right.
I could've rearranged the shot list- so "major life accident" was at the end of the movie- not the beginning.
Sorting through what we're left with,
I hear no mellow music scoring my mothers choked sobs.
No soft glow to hide the harsh lines of grief described on her face.
The bottles of liquor weren't props.
And when the sound of silence rendered her breathless-
no one was there to yell "CUT"!
I grit my teeth and hold back my seething anger at such a **** writer.
This is not a sci-fi film.
No alien plummets to earth eager to turn back the sands of time because there was a fluke in the configubobulator.
Not a romantic comedy,
where his smashed body miraculously recovers and my mother, him, and all the kids pursue their dreams as a family of comics on the road- The jackson 5 of stand up!
No inspiring action film where the government tests a bionic exoskeleton, connects it to his brains nervous system, and after wild success he dedicates his life to intergalactic vigilante work, as well as a remaining a reliable family man.
There's no sending it back for re-writes.
There is no 1 hero to lean on.
No villain to hate.
Only us.
I hope one day, it's enough.
I hope one day we have a film we can be proud of.
May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 7:20 PM UTC
Boom... Bang.
There he lays… There she stays all alone and cold.
She’s bad… He’s in a gang.
Where all the good things?
Cause all I hear is the bad’s that have been told.
Cuz all I hear is the wrong, slavery in my family they were sold,
But we’re just learning about the past, not doing anything to change it.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s permanent so we can’t rearrange it,
But why are we just learning about it, instead of learning from it.
We try to make a slight change, but then give up and it plummets.
I know I’m young, so I don’t know much about life,
But I feel like the way the world is it’s not going right.
Yeah, it’s a “New Year. New Me.” kinda feeling,
But in this way of life, I don’t know how we’re dealing.
With being in a world where so much is revealing,
So many are hurt, but yet there is nobody healing.
There was judging back in the day, I know, I shouldn't I say “back in the day” but I have to say that I was taught this way.
To look not only in your future but look back in the past,
But focus on your culture because you're black and you’re “Free at last”
Jun 16, 2017
Jun 16, 2017 at 4:20 AM UTC
You can taste
the psychosis on my
lips but there's no
guarantee that I will feel it.
There's an umbilical chord
holding me down to ***** reality
and depending on my
perspective
it either looks like a
dog leash or a
noose.
Inject a sedative with a rusty
needle at the end of my
nervous system. I'm immune; there's
misery mixed in with my
white blood cells that swallows
all sense of introspection. When my
soul plummets down like an anchor
and the floating stops
feeling safe, I welcome the chest
pains with open arms. The pins and
needles in my lungs are better
than burning them.
Look through my eyes
and sometimes nothing is real.
Live through my heart and
it hurts like hell when
I'm not drowning in air.
Think with my head and
either you will want to get out,
or it will kick you out.
Apr 11, 2015
Apr 11, 2015 at 1:12 PM UTC
She is like a dandelion on the edge of a cliff
Next to the sea.
The wind-encouraged rapture brings her to her knees as she’s taken
From the rocks into the deadly blue sea.
(She is stronger than she thinks,
I know, that’s why she left me.)
Before the endpoint, the gusting breeze
Meets its end,
So the dandelion plummets into the sandy beach instead.
(No matter what brings her down, she shall always stand up.
It’s the way she is; the dandelion is tough.)
So comfortable now, her stem is stuck
In this thick warm surface,
The tide seems to be interested in this dandelion’s purpose.
(I tried to **** her into me with my love.
She didn’t give me a chance because
I wasn’t enough.)
The tide erupts upon the scene within the lively flower’s green,
And yanks it from the sand to bring her colors to the sea.
(He stole her from me,
she accepted his hand
There was no chance for me)
To the ocean, the flower seemed different from the others;
The dandelion seemed to be tougher.
She has always been strong, my little dandelion,
Even from day one,
(But like I said, I wasn’t good enough)
Nothing could destroy her pride, nothing could be done.
(She told me nothing of her
feelings and left my concerns in the dark)
She brought her roots down within the oceans depths,
And ****** the sea dry until there was nothing left.
And then came the rain.
(She left the door open on the way out,
I was so shattered,
I couldn’t even cry.)
Jun 26, 2010
Jun 26, 2010 at 8:23 PM UTC
the other night,
i had a dream;
usually,
i don’t remember
my dreams—
those unconscious
musings
of my mind—
but this night
was different;
maybe it had
something to do
with the fact
that i had fallen
in the shower
half an hour
before laying it
down on the
pillow...
...a trickle of
blood running
down my forehead,
transforming quite
alarmingly into
a babbling brook
consisting entirely
of chocolate milk;
my raft bobbed
up and down,
the demon who
haunts my nightmares
now clad in a
tuxedo—
a nice change
from the bright
pink trench coat
he usually wears...
...the demon’s
strong hands
propel the
craft forward
with a rather
Huckleberry Finn-like
affectation;
i turn my
attention from
my oldest friend
to the shore,
sparkling with
broken glass,
thumbtacks,
and mathematical
equations;
there,
i glimpse my classmates
doing burpees...
...suddenly,
a car crash
occurs;
the chocolate milk
becomes a very
narrow,
winding road,
the end of which
is obscured by
an angsty cloud
of disappointment;
the elevator
plummets horizontally toward
the 3rd sub-basement
of the shower;
my friend in
the tuxedo offers me
a steaming
cup of hot chocolate...
...which burned
my tongue,
causing me to cackle
wildly
and toss the
mug into the
abyss;
**** you cup!”
i scream,
utilizing my
full lung capacity
as i begin to
fall again,
down,
down,
down;
and then i was awake,
sweating, bleeding;
i may have a concussion...
Dec 13, 2018
Dec 13, 2018 at 3:37 PM UTC
crammed in corrals
hissing whispers of escape
and hoping their
size and shade
captivates
the next sticky-fingered cart rider
mother's mind so mobbed
and arms so grocery-laden
that the ribbed
and loosely coiled ribbon
remains unknotted, unbowed
to slip
from pudgy-fingered grips
the orb bobs and sways–
laughing, helium-high
as it makes its getaway
unknowingly following Icarus
to a solar ******
that is, if beak or plane
doesn't reach it first
POP!
shattered and tattered, irreparable
it plummets back to earth
its noose
still dangling from its neck
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 2:04 PM UTC
The writer sits and ponders,
filled with empty silent dread,
‘Sorry, this word cannot be found’
the smug spellchecker says.
Weary of petty complications
he drifts, searching for inspiration,
soaring through the African sky
with glorious, lofty liberation.
The yellow plains stretch far below
herds of buffalo, running free
the lions hide amongst the grass
dotted around sandarac trees.
He soars now, over snow-capped peaks
tableclothed in angry cloud,
by eagles, gliding with their young
their talons stretched in readiness
silhouetted in the fiery sun.
He conjures now, Fijian sand, lazy swaying palms
crashing frothy, roaring waves; silky banana ***
A sparkling ocean glittering, caked with yellow icing,
just a mirror for the setting sun.
But then wings of grace are stripped and
he plummets towards uncertainty,
falling back to swivel chair, staring
at desk lamps, coffee, burgundy.
The rain drizzles down outside,
the heating pours through well-placed vents
as Chinese Communism awaits:
confronting, mocking, dense.
Jun 15, 2012
Jun 15, 2012 at 11:33 PM UTC
I can’t help but mourn the frogs, flattened
like Wile E. Coyote after the inevitable boulder
plummets from a great height, leaving him
mashed on the pavement while the Roadrunner
speeds off - vroom, vroom, beep, beep.
I try to steer around them, but they blanket
the road in biblical numbers during the rain
and it’s like some impossible video game
weaving through masses of randomly hopping life
a certain amount of death is unavoidable.
When I walk the road I can’t stop
counting one, two, five, ten, twenty
cartoon-flat bodies littering the pavement
where I extinguished their glittering
copper and golden-green existence.
Last night, on the panes of every lit window
frogs of all sizes and colors gathered
outside, they covered doors, watering cans
even lined up single file on the coiled garden hose
like they were climbing the ladder to frog heaven.
Through the glass, I admired their rhythmic
throats and soft, creamy, underbellies
one, two, five, ten, twenty
fragile creatures seeking warmth
in the hastening darkness.
Jun 22, 2016
Jun 22, 2016 at 1:14 PM UTC
Rain plummets from your branches
to my face,
Overflowing leaf's chimb
Onto unvigilant ish limbs
While my blinking eyes are dim,
You long for an embrace,
Without word yet of rejection,
You are ever bold.
You've thrown your achy breeze at me
And now you throw those icy leaves at me
Cause this pain to freeze in me.
With your icy hold.
I do not have a love for you
Deluging tree.
Stay close to your own stem,
You're a cold love I condemn
Leave me in my lonesome,
Can you not see?
I do not want your flowers, berries,
branch nor bark
I don't want your petals' play,
Nor your leafy locks to sway,
I want your leaflets to on this day
remain at far.
Your frosty touch on my skin
it blanches
I'm not ready for love so steely
I suspect I never will be
So stick to your own tree, please
Rainy branches.
May 17, 2017
May 17, 2017 at 7:14 PM UTC
Let us awake from the decay of strategic costumes where the incestuous fragrance of madness permeates golden dreams of eclectic strokes.
Bureaucratic self-enhancement nurtures docile manufacturers of laborious compliance, whilst social conscience plummets to depths of callous and entrepreneurial versatility.
Enduring imitations of an unsatisfactory kind is like pairing mint fondant with rich and savoury gravy which is acquired with strategic dishonesty.
Oh, negligent wakefulness – will we ever arise and discern those lobotomised representatives in this legislative brothel of excessive absurdity?
Shake me at one minute to midnight in the House of Lords.
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 10:44 PM UTC
At an angle of ninety degrees,
two trees share the same plot.
This one grazes the eaves,
seeking vain attention in the window glass.
The other, its grey ghost lazes
prostrate on the herb garden, reveling
in secrets of lemon balsm and thyme.
At night, the first becomes demonic,
obliterates the universe,
branches scraping the pane, scratching
like fingernails on slate,
its coppery leaves trying to get in.
Its partner slinks to earth,
seeking solace,
wringing conterminous roots till sunrise.
I've had my fill of these unrested moments
fighting the pillow, not settling.
There is no joy in seeking stolen stars.
My dilemma grows horns.
I half dream of ******
at least amputation.
But even the dimmest light shines in the dark -
I consider its tormented destiny.
At daybreak, like a ****** I scale its gnarled branches
ridiculously one-handed,
the other a keen-toothed weapon.
I am an agile goat shinning upwards
feeding on dreams of peace.
Lost in the sky, I become sap,
melt into its arms,
(a vertiginous release)
I become a curved branch.
(There's someone standing in my elbow!)
Leaves helix down, settling on autumn crocus.
“Look! Gold on gold!"
The grey ghost yawns, grows its shadow,
waves its arms demanding justice.
I wave back.
Suddenly terrified, I secrete an invisible scent.
The branches contract, tense as ligaments.
My heart plummets, rolls out recumbent,
presses heavily on the earth
listening to fleshy roots recede.
A few deft cuts......
Sun gutters through bereft spaces,
striking the window.
Both trees a shade lighter, a lighter shade.
Tonight I will dream under visible stars,
feel the moon's half-light slide over me.
copyright © Caroline Grace 2012
Mar 2, 2012
Mar 2, 2012 at 12:12 PM UTC
my heart still plummets
when I see you next to her
I wish it would stop
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 10:10 AM UTC
A leaf falls
Brown and wrinkled
Starved of it's trees sweet nectar
A leaf falls
And while they are shedding their summer cloaks
We are adorning ourselves with scarves and hats,
Gloves and mufflers
Shivering at their barely clad skeletons
Huddling around their burning flesh
A leaf falls
It twists and dances in the wind
joyous at it's freedom
joyous as it plummets to the earth
Nourishment for it's mother tree
We watch and marvel at the beauty in the entropy
At the renewal that comes with destruction
A leaf falls
A change is upon us
A rebirth into a crisp and clear world
A leaf falls.
May 14, 2012
May 14, 2012 at 8:07 PM UTC
Everything stands frozen for an enternity, encapsuled in just a moment of time
Your notice your heart stops beating, the rhythm that has sustained you long before you were aware
Your throat constricts, suddenly unable to draw in the oxygen that feeds your body
Your next breath stagnates inside your lungs, decomposing with each missing heartbeat
Your stomach plummets towards the floor, falling further than the earths crust
Your intestines squirm inside your cavity as they disintegrate into nothingness
As your eyes begin to sting and water, overfilling until they breech the dam
Your heart finally remembers to beat, faster than ever before
And your jaw finally falls, along with the rest of your face to form a silent
"oh"
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 10:26 AM UTC
I feel more sedated than alive,
Defying reason and questioning reality,
It’s like morbidly walking through
The endless fields of familiarity.
Slowly losing the ability to feel,
I can no longer distinct what is real,
Cold melancholy and apathy creep in my heart,
My existence becomes shrouded; like a rainbow in the dark.
Testing the bounds of sanity,
Human excess and passion flood the mind,
Releasing any bonds of any kind,
As I’m consumed by the snakes of vanity.
Laying among the ruins of my life,
As my paradise plummets down to Hell,
Because the confusion of chaos defeated me,
With kind words of reverence.
“Pride cometh before the Fall”,
As narcissism festers in self-loathing,
The feeling which makes your soul crawl,
Will cause intimacy to be exposed like clothing.
Fear is a thief for whom I hold no grudge,
And pain is a rehearsal for death.
I looked down at the abyss and took the lunge,
As my world was compressed into a single last breath.
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 12:05 PM UTC
Time stopped. I had no bearing as to who, where, or what I was. All that was in my presence was the high, rolling desert painted orange with that odd sand-mud that he called “Geonosian rock;” his ebbing backpack being pulled from his shoulder, just like the ocean tide; his canteen bottle, lidless, slipping out of the rear pocket and whetting the sand with the boy’s quickly diminishing water supply; and the boy, Davy, being torn helplessly from safety by the cool, malevolent hands of gravity, and into the crevasse.
Reaching out desperately for the boy’s damp, warm hands, I grab a hold just in time—to consciousness, as he plummets and I stare wondrously; dumbfounded by my own ineptness in rational thinking. the boy is gone. Davy, my own stepson, my ******* child whom I would do anything for to prove my worth to his mother, Mary, who was the token to happiness with a new family, was ripped from my grasp, and eaten by the New Mexican terrain. So I delved after him.
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 12:30 AM UTC
The tide rolling near
the soldiers stood
at attention
saluting the rise
of the eyes of the
oceans salty clear
arms as she
plummets into sand
ripping apart
the grains
taking them with her
as she expands
her encompassing mouth
into it she swallows
all the little soldiers
standing at attention
saluting the ocean
waiting for her
beautiful
return
© 2013 Christina Jackson
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 1:48 PM UTC