"quicksands" poems
These birds of war that encircle the sky
painted dark by smoke from fires engulfing
events here: every one of them spawns
an illusion, spreading in all directions, until
no twig is untouched: everywhere only
the Mistletoe. Fragrances of the deep night
by the ford under the moon, silken hair
soft for touch under first rays of the golden
morn, images, return broken like imprints
on the ramparts; where now, those oaks
of love that sustained our passion for war?
Years sunk into the quicksands of greed,
After nine winters, now only the Mistletoe.
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 12:06 PM UTC
Oh what comes over the sea,
Shoals and quicksands past;
And what comes home to me,
Sailing slow, sailing fast?
A wind comes over the sea
With a moan in its blast;
But nothing comes home to me,
Sailing slow, sailing fast.
Let me be, let me be,
For my lot is cast:
Land or sea all's one to me,
And sail it slow or fast.
3.2k
Crimson shades that hang on late
on cloudy mornings, cormorants
that carry tidings from afar
reeds that roll over slow in their measured nuances:
wind roars, noon bells, distant shorelights at night.
I sought glory with love in my heart
Midas-like, glory became my gold.
Every wave carries a new meaning
for one who sees life
from the window of death;
How many deaths for honour, how many
for glory, how many more for perfidy?
Ah blessed love, that
- when the glitter of glories descends
into quicksands of darkness -
from whom nothing can ever be snatched away,
the one love that shone before my birth
as Athene, who I loved as Penelope and
who loves me as Calypso, receptacle of worlds!
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 4:12 PM UTC
In your ship of
white sheets
you set the sail
you leave the shorelines
of consciousness
and begin to drift
from the docks of reality.
First you cast your fantasies
then your visions
in hypnagogic imagery
cast you
as you wait for the winds
to take you
into the currents of unconscious seas.
what do you see?
what do you experience?
Those living memories
of
other places
other times
other lives
a string of faces
a hotel with many rooms
and no exit signs
and
as you open doors
on different floors
you find
yourself
at different ages
on different stages
familiar terrors
sometimes vivid
make you shutter
falling into
quicksands of blood.
On the roof of this sea
you take flight
and are free
when you hit the heights
you're in your car
with a stranger and me
we give you directions
and
at each turn progressively lost
panic sets in
late for work and can't find the way
your GPS
keeps pointing to the fact you're here.
Small craft warnings come and go
the lighthouse beckons you back home
to the shoreline and the dock
but first you crawl into the
arms of the sexist soul
you know
as your finger tips touch
this night's
journey is done
as
your alarm
sings out
The Four Seasons.
Headlong to the shore you ride
your breath is taken away
you throw your rope to the dock
of reality
and have that moment
of longing and wonder
when dreams can be life
and
life can be dreams.
A big sigh.
You've bought your ticket
for
tomorrow night's voyage
where it will go
you just don't know
but
when you get there please let us know.
You get out of that
cozy warm white sheet ship
and
put on clothes
with the sunrise
and
the half cut moon
your traveling companions
into
your awakening.
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 12:15 PM UTC
*Solitary, lie-back moments; of being in the coziest of places surrounded by the most mundane yet magical. Melancholy has a way of tinging itself with those little nuances of memory, and those little nuances of memory tinge themselves with shades of bittersweet and sad recollection over time. Silent reckonings, simplistically suppressing thoughts - all huge contradictions to the slow, natural motion of letting the waves wash over you.
Is this emotional maturity? Is this a step forward? Life is always full of too many intricacies to tell for sure.
The familiar scents of tearstains and revulsion being punctuated by the occasional flicker of light ahead; pain and perseverance, hope and the promise of heaven.
We are so full of contradictions - concrete, grounded beings yet with so many abstractions and complexities in our heads. A constant grapple, a relentless cycle. Coming back to places of washed up memories has this effect on you; but you pull through, you plough through quicksands, you pick up the small rationalities that have gone astray, and you move forward like you’ve always been doing before. It’s the only thing we know how to do.
Walk on our own, on our own two feet.
And pray that whatever knocks us down, will never be enough to sink us.*
Sep 25, 2016
Sep 25, 2016 at 10:31 AM UTC
When I gave up, I pretty much just stopped, like two feet firmly planted into quicksand. I just stopped.
When I could no longer take a step, I just let my arms fall down to my side, fingers spread and just sighed.
Chin tucked to my chest, an even breath, then a scream that only echoed on the inside.
When I stopped screaming, I was still sinking and the crushing absence of movement made me bold. I struggled and I flailed but to no avail did I become free from the quicksands hold.
Within reach of my fingertips was a ghostly branch, from a tree that had weathered sicknesses untold. But still that tree reached out for me and as I took hold of it's ghastly brittle fingers, and even now in my mind it lingers, I took that tree out by the roots to sink in cahoots beside me, lingering in this quicksand.
I immediately apologised profusely to the tree that now sinks beside me.
The tree answered back, no, please it was I that lacked the fortitude to save thee.
Oh no! I thought, it was my troubled mind that led me to sink so deep, it was me who should weep quicksand tears for the tree who fell for me so blindly!
So me, and the tree, used each other, you see, one to stay afloat and the other to lay down finally,
to hold another up kindly.
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 3:08 AM UTC
Fleeting expressions culminate
in rich tapestries given a chance,
you , tripped over my shoe.
I , touched your arm
We tumbled into conversation , we tumbled out of bed , we tumbled in emotion
history unsaid
Cultures with the same mind , how we are running the game
Tourists who go by the same name a single sigh when words escape our minds
Reeling as the waves roll in.
In ,
In,
In,
The tide is coming out again , we can walk across the quicksands with the chartered marks written by the corrosive tides , i'd whisper this to you , but there is no distance
Space but an illusion
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 10:02 AM UTC
The night holds secrets of hidden longing
Flamed circling desire til the break of day
Agony of conscious denial whispering
Wordless tales of thoughts coming to play
Depth bearing are the quicksands of lust
Arcadian sinking of silenced urges
Yearning of ferocious recurrent thrusts
Quick wave of desire submerges
Trembling, aching fingers, dried lips
Sentient drift with every passion
Hand craving the tender capture of hips
Fossilized moment of flowing emotion
Yet a barren field of frozen reflection
Forbidden path we like to borrow
Sweet devilish temptation
Filled with ecstacy but sorrow...
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 5:59 PM UTC
You wanted me to see you
and you dripped in my stare
and I ended up here
surrounded by guests
waiting for you to announce
if you'll leave
or if you'll stay.
And what am I supposed to do with our story?
Throw it to the sea and watch from the pier
How fishes mistake it for plancton
and devour it piece by piece
until there's nothing left?
I would have followed you
to the end of the world
through the path of cactus and thorns
but tell your October Sun
next year, he won't see me here
I'll finally be free
I'll be free to leave
Far from its eden
Abyss over abyss
and my neck on quicksands
I created myself.
You could have leave me
for the power
of your own American continent
But what am I supposed to do with our lands?
let the plague **** anything is born?
and let the raven polish off the harvest
just because we missed a scarecrow
in this botched feint?
You wanted me to see you,
and you dripped in my stare,
and I did.
And I did.
Nov 24, 2011
Nov 24, 2011 at 6:55 PM UTC
i used to have a candle in a dark room
and words were like moths
they thronged the glow of my flames
in the haunting darkness
that is my mind
ideas used to be like quicksand
once I set foot on the soft surface
it engulfs me whole
taking me to a different place
that is my imagination
i used to have a voice
i used to write in that voice
but i lost it
along with everything else
i didn't know what to do
i used other people's voices
i became a different person
for a piece of literature
i saw the world through the eyes of that person
i wrote in their voice
i lived their life
and i liked it
i didn't want to go back
the candle in my mind was nowhere to be seen
quicksands didn't take me anywhere special
they just made me sink
into darkness
after that
i just stopped writing
i lost my voice
but i have to find a new one
ns
Sep 2, 2017
Sep 2, 2017 at 6:49 AM UTC
I was a person
I'm just a fossil
Into the quicksands of time
I'm slipping away
My face is losing color
I try to get warm
I bury myself under
In the middle of the winter
Walking through the desert
Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 12:08 AM UTC
Money talks
Truth walks
Green paints a new world
Blood red stains the profit
of pain unfurled
From those who seek its power
Above life
A sick patient
On the operating table
Gets the treatment
Suffocation in quicksands of poverty
You bleed to death
Inspiration appears to only belong to the wealthy and their benefits
Dec 21, 2020
Dec 21, 2020 at 4:06 PM UTC
worries and fears
make for strange bedfellows -
they hold your hand,
as if to soothe you,
and then whisper into your ears
a long list of names
of the people who loathe you.
i try not to be bitter,
i try to escape mental quicksands.
but here's when i don't mind
being called a quitter,
at least i have time,
and my own heart in
my own hands.
when my bedfellows turn
to talk to me in the dead of night,
i turn too - a blind eye,
no indication of despair or delight.
it is better that they rest
in a bed together,
i'd like to run as far away as possible -
the less i know,
the better.
Apr 18, 2019
Apr 18, 2019 at 10:10 AM UTC
*a quicksands ******* a trap for sure,
but the cozy warmth of the feeling,
is muy attractive, and the first step
is a ****** sweet curlicue slide into
oblivion
the more you sink, the sweeter the meat,
but when you can’t breathe no more,
and the lungs burst, neath the sea of
reeee~greeted re|greet, and the pinpoint
***** of light bidding you adieu with
a wink, is thinking out aloud
“ah those human fools, they drown themselves
so willingly…”*
May 20, 2024
May 20, 2024 at 1:49 PM UTC
I want to say "I'm sad"
In thirty-three different languages—
Whichever you prefer,
So long as you'd get what my message is.
They asked me to chase the "light" once again,
And I hope they meant "lightnings"
Because I've been wandering around outside
In hopes of getting struck by one.
In between my internal monologues
Are bottomless pits awaiting my next mistake.
And behind my play-pretends
Are quicksands awaiting my heart to ache.
I have been blaming my own reflection.
I guess you can't wish for “a happily ever after"
When you were born to be a monster.
And I guess you need not to be kind
When you are meant to be out of your mind.
Even so, send in the clowns.
Jul 3, 2021
Jul 3, 2021 at 8:18 AM UTC
Christina was an angel.
A miracle which was extinguished way before it's time.
I expressed to her, my last message, sadly.
"You lit my fire to fuel my soul. you cared for my music and heart
I Love you and shall be your rock.. your wall of deep and respectful support."
I heard the ending of her miraculous invention , brought to life, "Which was her soul and music."
I felt my once huge and loving heart, break into a thousand pieces. It is still hurting, quite badly.
I felt a needle of emotional medicine from Christina's fall, it had stabbed me in the chest, and it has numbed my feelings that were awe inspired by her.
Just as I had admitted to her that I was falling in love with her beautiful heart, friendship, and sweet music.
The evil reaper
took this "part of me" that she had been in addition to, away.
My heart was, then too burried with her still beating heart.
My clock stopped. I felt the best, of me, sink with her last breaths, in quicksands of the oppressors.
such sank my creative spirit to depressive and unfeeling depths, in thes sands of lost time, quite still deeper.
i have cried inside rains of shock.
i felt the winds cease and the sonic boom of defeat's sounds
of the winds of ill fated changes
stop my creative and artistic heart
from beating.
My care and inspiration from Christina Grimmie, the kindness that drew me from my own near self suicidal demise..
her kind and uplifting hand that lifted my spirits from dark depths...
Such love to me, a newly met stranger, saved my own artistic soul.
It was a destructive and hateful nuclear bomb of destructive mass
that now has no measurable size.
I shall honor the beautiful and gentle soul, which still talks and sends love to me, at my darkest of times....
Such saved myself from defeating her truer propose
of higher and kinder purposes...
and her angel wings swooped down from above.
She saved me from my own ruin as I honored her true name.
"The sweet Bird of A winged Pure Heart"
That flies and watches over all she truly loved and cherished
In eternal life after the physical realm , which we assume is our ends of our existence in life, she showed her oppressors that her demise was her extended beginning.
She shall be within my heart..
Worth more than gold and fame.
As her spirit shall forever love and guide me
to a more beautiful song and dance in my life
She still is my roaring and burning loving flame.
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 8:50 PM UTC
Both sides opened up the doors to their once-closed countrysides.
the intense light that shined into their once dark eyes
lit up their once grey skies
in result...
such color changes had changed their once heavy and drowning pride
once sinking into the despair of mistrustful quicksands
of each other
through long-range binoculars
The now once close-up and handshaking meeting
through the opening of these once closed doors
was nothing under "Spectacular."
******* from chains of Mind-Limited training from ancestors on how to lead their people
breaking into the freed world
for their wills to explore a freer
and ingenious means in which to advance a more obsolete and dying nation...
the voices of hunger and change had broken open the barrier of light
to those ideas vacating,
A fireworks level celebration.
As to arms leads to death
Hand in hand
Side by side alliance leads to strength and advancement of future
leads
our two nations
to salvation
Ways to fuse the divided cuts of division like a medical suture.
Now, as we grow to know and to trust one another, both sides can learn
one another's bright cultures
while abandoning other notions
that was ill-founded by ideology and myth
and empower us with much more.
growth and change
prosperity
and even
Unity
New people ruled by a leader that saw the real world through his bare eyes
rather than through the machine
now can equal with us the means
in which to live a united life
Happy and to others in conflict
A better a way to live
as brothers in the world
Large, happy, and clean.
Apr 9, 2018
Apr 9, 2018 at 6:41 PM UTC
Just like you
I am doing my best
Holding onto reality
by it's fragile strands
trying not to drown
in time's quicksands
I'm holding
These days I feel divine,
there is a big awakening
happening all around me.
Tonight I know I won't slip
I will sleep in the mourning
With time's finger prints
all over my skin
Beautiful scars, mother nature's tattoos....
Sep 23, 2020
Sep 23, 2020 at 5:35 PM UTC
I put all my trust in God
He's the firm foundation on which I stand
Other grounds are nothing but quicksands
I've submitted all of me into His hands
And I look to Him before making my plans
He nourishes my mind with creative ideas
And He blesses the works of my hands
In all my endeavours, He gives me an edge
He's also blessed me with sound health
All the days of my life, on this Rock will I ever stand.
Dec 15, 2019
Dec 15, 2019 at 10:46 PM UTC
A couple jogging in the park
Can't seem to schedule in ***
They pass the plight
Of an overwhelmed trashcan
With indifference.
Some have too much,
Others not enough.
A young mom
Pushing the pram,
A young snail
Pulling its shell,
A bird on a wire
Watching both intently,
The call of his stomach
Shall prevail.
Love and doubt,
Apathy and duty.
A checklist of options
Lost in the quicksands of time.
Pick one to share,
As if metering off infinity
With a yardstick.
******* the hour.
Confuse the day.
Create exotica by building
Interest in offshore drilling.
The well run dry,
What's left to strike
Rests inside the mind.
The second hand cannot remember why
She must constantly move like a shark,
And so she settles to sleep,
Forgetting who she is.
The couple in the park may run
home to make love in the shower.
The trashcan may finally
Be relieved of its anxiety.
And young mom, snail and bird
May find continued purpose.
But when asked what time it is,
The clocks with amnesia
Will only be able to say,
"I don't know."
I can no longer see past the smoke.
Life is a heartbeat
Inside a cage of fear.
What we don't know is terrifying.
What we do know is even more so.
Mar 27, 2020
Mar 27, 2020 at 10:09 AM UTC
Every night I feel the cold breeze
Being alone, in the quiet, with memories replaying..
An energy that almost downs me to my knees.
Days are filled trying to find another way
In which to be able to finish what I had started
Finding the other hidden heart
To complete this unfinished soul.
I work my creative magic…
The emptiness starts to chew at my imagination
Shards of dread, doubt, and question stab my being like swords
A moment quiet and tragic.
When will these wheels that hold me in the place I’m at
Finally break free from the quicksands of limit and invisibility
Enabling the launch of my message, soul, and ventures
To newer heights of lighted up Electric Visual abilities?
Teach me a new rout that this older ship must sail
the path to a brighter future and calmer waters….
Allow the bonds of circumstance to break and allow this captive soul, freedom.
Before the sands of sorrow drown him on weakened knees that shall falter?
Nov 6, 2019
Nov 6, 2019 at 10:16 PM UTC
Christina was an angel.
A miracle which was extinguished way before it's time.
I expressed to her, my last message, sadly.
"You lit my fire to fuel my soul. you cared for my music and heart
I Love you and shall be your rock.. your wall of deep and respectful support."
I heard the ending of her miraculous invention , brought to life, "Which was her soul and music."
I felt my once huge and loving heart, break into a thousand pieces. It is still hurting, quite badly.
I felt a needle of emotional medicine from Christina's fall, it had stabbed me in the chest, and it has numbed my feelings that were awe inspired by her.
Just as I had admitted to her that I was falling in love with her beautiful heart, friendship, and sweet music.
The evil reaper
took this "part of me" that she had been in addition to, away.
My heart was, then too burried with her still beating heart.
My clock stopped. I felt the best, of me, sink with her last breaths, in quicksands of the oppressors.
such sank my creative spirit to depressive and unfeeling depths, in thes sands of lost time, quite still deeper.
i have cried inside rains of shock.
i felt the winds cease and the sonic boom of defeat's sounds
of the winds of ill fated changes
stop my creative and artistic heart
from beating.
My care and inspiration from Christina Grimmie, the kindness that drew me from my own near self suicidal demise..
her kind and uplifting hand that lifted my spirits from dark depths...
Such love to me, a newly met stranger, saved my own artistic soul.
It was a destructive and hateful nuclear bomb of destructive mass
that now has no measurable size.
I shall honor the beautiful and gentle soul, which still talks and sends love to me, at my darkest of times....
Such saved myself from defeating her truer propose
of higher and kinder purposes...
and her angel wings swooped down from above.
She saved me from my own ruin as I honored her true name.
"The sweet Bird of A winged Pure Heart"
That flies and watches over all she truly loved and cherished
In eternal life after the physical realm , which we assume is our ends of our existence in life, she showed her oppressors that her demise was her extended beginning.
She shall be within my heart..
Worth more than gold and fame.
As her spirit shall forever love and guide me
to a more beautiful song and dance in my life
She still is my roaring and burning loving flame.
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 8:50 PM UTC
I noticed that I only write poems
Whenever I get to lose my courage to vent,
Fail to escape from the clutch of rock bottom,
And have no one else to comfortably talk to.
And with the quicksands of changes
That I have never opted to be stuck in,
I guess I am bound to exhaust my hand
Writing poems till the end of my days.
May 20, 2021
May 20, 2021 at 8:50 AM UTC
So,
you want to try amphetamine?
methylated Ketamine?
have you seen the stat's?
that's a bad movie in which to
play a role.
Give me acetylene to set fire
to the dormant dream,
let's wake the sleeping
there's
not much point in them keeping
their eyes closed
when they never see
anything anyway.
I've seen them drinking gasoline,
eating boot polish because it contained
morphine
syphoning paraffin to get their fixes in,
it's some serious **** when you'll die
for a hit or
**** for a spliff.
These are the quicksands
the tightening wrist bands
the end of the good times
the start of the bad lands
hands up who still wants to try.
Apr 29, 2017
Apr 29, 2017 at 5:43 AM UTC