"ravine" poems
Maybe it's for you but not for me, but who knows?
When will the time stop and give way to the paradoxical space that will shove the soul out of its life, eventually?
Tend to think that the archetypal white collar worker is what you should be before you delve into the reality?
Jumped into the ripest chord of a void song, and you found nothing but truth and perplexity?
Threw yourself into the wilderness but you are still deprived of happiness, only peace, filled with emptiness?
Crashed the mental into bi-polarizing set of uncertainty and sanity, driving everything towards the ravine of confusion and misinterpretation?
Dropped the last sweat of joy and contentment before you discover the eventuality, pessimistic value of the whole context?
Until the ultimate full stop appears, will you understand what is the whole story is all about?
Mar 31, 2018
Mar 31, 2018 at 6:56 AM UTC
On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare that I might one day rue;
I saw the danger, yet I walked along the enchanted way,
And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day.
On Grafton Street in November we tripped lightly along the ledge
Of the deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion's pledge,
The Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hay -
O I loved too much and by such and such is happiness thrown away.
I gave her gifts of the mind I gave her the secret sign that's known
To the artists who have known the true gods of sound and stone
And word and tint. I did not stint for I gave her poems to say.
With her own name there and her own dark hair like clouds over fields of May
On a quiet street where old ghosts meet I see her walking now
Away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow
That I had wooed not as I should a creature made of clay -
When the angel woos the clay he'd lose his wings at the dawn of day.
22.2k
Oh the fun we had as little six year olds,
Laughing loudly and acting crazy,
Staying up till the wee hours laying on the floor watching Hairspray
Oh the hyper times we had as ten year olds,
Sipping a little too much caffeine,
Running around acting like animals in the front yard
Oh the crazy times we had as twelve year olds,
Not afraid to get down and *****
Camping and sliding down dirt in the ravine
Oh the terrifying times we had as fourteen year olds,
Living together for a whole week,
Trying to **** each other with words shortly after
Oh the bonding times we had as fifteen year olds,
The darkest time in my life,
Where we cried and I knew we would always be friends
Oh the lively times we had as sixteen year olds,
Both getting our licenses,
Driving around everywhere just to take fun pictures
Oh the tiresome times we had as seventeen year olds,
Sitting in your car before school,
Ranting and laughing about every aspect of life
Oh the amazing times yet to come,
Attending college and growing older,
Still talking and ranting and laughing like every time before.
Dec 24, 2016
Dec 24, 2016 at 10:26 PM UTC
If I knew, maybe I’d say something,
Why I miss my cats more than my parents
Why I miss the teal walls of my room and the full sized bed
more than I miss my family.
Why I miss the green trees and ravine behind my house,
all I hear is a withering beeping outside my five story window.
This room is so small
and I have to bear it with another
and although she and I get along,
Alone is weighted with wondering when she’ll be back.
Home is more an empty house than a room full of family.
Home is less talk and more birdsong in the background.
Home is…
Not these tight corners and partying bellowing music down in room 809,
not the concrete walls painted white, or the lofted beds I can’t sit up straight.
Getting away from my family was easy,
and my friends hard.
Leaving was easy.
And wishing hard.
I feel, less independent,
there’s only so many places to walk.
No car to escape, nor a room either.
The closest I get is headphones and online friends.
And yet they are so far away.
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 10:04 PM UTC
A life in poetry, A love in art
Set forth on a path that extends forever.
Though the closest reaches climb high
Over mountain and dale, through ravine and shadow,
The path goes on and as it does, descends into light:
So much light, more light than one can resolve.
It blurs the boundaries of the great valley
Splashes of green, the wonderful glare of richness
A river runs through the valley and nourishes the fruit
The sweetest fruit. It nourishes the body,
Nourishes the soul: renews, enriches, grows, sustains.
The path extends to the horizon. And beyond.
As it grows from the foothills it branches
Forming a fractal road of possibility.
Like roots growing from the mountain,
There appears nothing more natural in the world.
As the paths go on, they passes through diverse landscapes
Some places they make sharp changes in direction,
Some places they pass through further patches of shadow,
Some places they grow wider, Some places they get rocky,
But nowhere does the path narrow, beyond the first stretch,
Where the paths split, and over the mountains rejoin.
Beyond that there is always enough room for two
To walk astride.
Side by Side in Sunlight.
Hand in Hand.
For Maya.
Donald Guy
July 5, 2010.
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 2:37 AM UTC
A bridge is a curious thing to cover.
mile after mile of naked road -
then a wooden box over stream or ravine.
Why not cover the road instead
leaving the bridge unclothed?
But where's the charm in that, you say?
So perhaps it was fashioned for Currier and Ives
or to embellish the music
of iron shod hooves on oaken planks.
Or maybe was built as a kiosk
for fading feed and carnival posters
and jackknife glyphs of amorous initials.
No, all our covered bridges, imagined or real,
guide our passage over deadly waters -
holding us fast on the road
and safe from drowning.
March, 2007
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 4:17 AM UTC
Cool black night thru redwoods
cars parked outside in shade
behind the gate, stars dim above
the ravine, a fire burning by the side
porch and a few tired souls hunched over
in black leather jackets. In the huge
wooden house, a yellow chandelier
at 3 A.M. the blast of loudspeakers
hi-fi Rolling Stones Ray Charles Beatles
Jumping Joe Jackson and twenty youths
dancing to the vibration thru the floor,
a little **** in the bathroom, girls in scarlet
tights, one muscular smooth skinned man
sweating dancing for hours, beer cans
bent littering the yard, a hanged man
sculpture dangling from a high creek branch,
children sleeping softly in their bedroom bunks.
And 4 police cars parked outside the painted
gate, red lights revolving in the leaves.
December 1965
5.5k
my eyes
tongues of desire
a soft gauze
upon drenched red silk
stigmata
a river of marrow
flower of blood
creel of moist honey
hold not yourself apart
I kiss your wound
bell moon
crescent ravine, dark tears
like a spay of stars
arched spine
your raised ****
like scrambled eggs
curves to the heavens
a steep canyon aching
weeps blue darkness
legs wide in souls shadowed grove
tattooed pistols and knives
pierced by my autograph
for every letter, scimitars plunge
jeweled ******** ringed
sweet tarnished petal
gashed mouth; flower de luce
memories that burn
blotted like an eye in ink
to fly winged *******
your face
hieroglyphic of weird
crimson smear; cackle
with feet below hell
wanting to live
like fire in the sky
hot witch riding a broom handle *****
scummed mouth
the world soul destroyed paradise
and your form
hideous kisses
falling red ribbons
i am puddled;
a runny yolk
shameless for your open hollows
Dec 23, 2018
Dec 23, 2018 at 12:13 PM UTC
Oh, what a horrible night
Definitely not late December back in '63
These are the Frankie valleys of my days
Night is always black
Night always comes back
Night envelopes us in the abyss
And makes us cherish light
Heightening our senses
To help us handle the unknown
When my days are filled with stimulation
The stillness of night sinks me
Into quicksand mixed by
The current of my mind
Overflowing into the sands of time
And reminds me
Of the stillness of my eyes locked on you
Or the stillness of my actions as you walk by
Or the stillness of my heart when you call me a ******
My frustration boiled
Night's black tar
So I bottled it up
Placed it in a syringe
And medicated my love with darkness
I worked my first job at the local Kroger's
People would leave with everything they wanted
And I'd push their empty carts back into the store
The artificial lights of the street lamps
Lacked warmth
Their hypnotic buzz highlighted
The stillness of night
Making me wonder if there was any way I could be happy
Similar to when activity would die down in rehab
A pitiful wretch left to his faculties
I'd stare out the window
Into the concrete chasm
And wonder if happiness could be found by someone like me
Night continues
Night confines
Day comes
And goes
Night returns
Night reburns
Night relearned
I really hate to see the day come to an end
It'd be alright if I was on the bay with a pen
But I live near sulfur vents
Inside a searing tent
Where the hellacious temperature rises rapidly
Despite the absence of the sun's warmth
The hellfire of night
Reminisces of those
I have thoroughly failed
And my overwhelming remorse
As I stare out my window
Into the bramble ravine
I wonder about the possibility of contentment
The stillness of night answers me
But at least now I can open the door
And charge into the night headstrong
To search frantically
For someone who
Erases my history
And writes my future
And makes me wonder if I could ever be happier
Jul 11, 2017
Jul 11, 2017 at 4:13 AM UTC
when she says she is empty,
she is not asking to be filled.
stretch her thin and you will see
gold
peeking through her worn body.
stretch her thin and you feel her
fire
burning what you hold.
do not hold her.
when she says she is numb,
she is not asking to feel something.
do not wait out her novocaine
mood
drooling down her chin.
do not wait out her novocaine
high
she is elated.
do not bring her down.
she is a bookmark holding someone else's place:
do not move her.
someone left her,
waiting,
she does not know the other side:
that does not mean you show her.
someday she will be fire.
she will dry all that she has soaked with her
ravine heart.
you will follow her black markings to something
gold
she will be followed.
do not be surprised when she does not moan,
she will not moan,
she does not feel.
she is still ice.
when she says she is ice
do not try to melt her.
she will be fire.
Mar 27, 2017
Mar 27, 2017 at 10:46 PM UTC
in the middle of a dark night
no moon or street light
and I could hardly see the road in front of me
but it was free
and so we settled
and thus we pedaled
more then 30 winding miles
into this wilderness of isles
or so it seemed
so very mean, just like a dream
he said "continue ,
for it is in you
and we can make it to the place
within an hour, at this pace."
his plan was brutal
I'm not a poodle
but I could truly smell the sweat
and feeling hot and sopping wet
it was no fun. at. all
and like the day y'all
so very done
again not fun
and it is true
that maybe you
would think ahead and plan the weekend
get a room and buy a map
none of this crap
(but I'm a sap
and went along with his idea
for I had hopes for us last year)
and so we learned
the hard way burned.
Well I could barely,
i say just barely
make out the single line white striping
while he's right behind me griping,
"can't you speed up?
we're gonna meet up
and the collision won't be pleasant"
not that pleasant was he were
so very DER!
it's so ironic, perhaps moronic
for there were headlights
coming up the hill in front
and to be blunt
they had to blind me
oh please don't mind me
for I quickly left the scene
right off the road
and with scream
into the blackness of a pitch
which sent me down into a ditch
a steep ravine
so very mean
and then the bike no longer able
to remain beneath my seat
after that drop
the roll to stop
landed on top
and not so sweet
so very beat
I said '"oh sheet"
I was not laughing,
nor was I crying
and but more like " could it be
dear Lord that I am dying?
Oh my God, excuse the curse
so freaking odd, though i've seen worse
and though my body's somewhat shaken
not a bone or tooth was breakin'
and I'm fully wide awake and
not a pain or any ache~
so very odd
it must be God.
and there I lie
perfectly high
my eyes wide open couldn't scope but
in the darkness I could *****
the rock beside my fallen hide
and in a moment not an omen
he said "Gee!"
"Is this your knee?"
I said: " Hey Mr. Moulder,
you've got my shoulder."
"I should have driven in the Bently"
and as he pulled the bike off gently
asking how these things do happen
"nevermind, just lets get snappin"
and we made it to the youth hostel that night.
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 10:41 PM UTC
Yesterday my childhood came.
Playing and jumping around.
Unburdened, without any aim.
I kept on looking, spellbound.
With half eaten oblong eclair.
He ran after the goats herd.
Stopped to look at the hare.
And scared the tiny blue bird.
He moved slily to catch butterflies.
And plucked flowers from a tree.
I kept looking with yearning eyes.
Baffled, surprised he looked at me.
He ran towards the narrow ravine.
And disappeared into bushes green.
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 3:55 AM UTC
"So careful of the type?" but no.
From scarped cliff and quarried stone
She cries, "A thousand types are gone:
I care for nothing, all shall go.
"Thou makest thine appeal to me:
I bring to life, I bring to death:
The spirit does but mean the breath:
I know no more." And he, shall he,
Man, her last work, who seem'd so fair,
Such splendid purpose in his eyes,
Who roll'd the psalm to wintry skies,
Who built him fanes of fruitless prayer,
Who trusted God was love indeed
And love Creation's final law--
Tho' Nature, red in tooth and claw
With ravine, shriek'd against his creed--
Who loved, who suffer'd countless ills,
Who battled for the True, the Just,
Be blown about the desert dust,
Or seal'd within the iron hills?
No more? A monster then, a dream,
A discord. Dragons of the prime,
That tare each other in their slime,
Were mellow music match'd with him.
O life as futile, then, as frail!
O for thy voice to soothe and bless!
What hope of answer, or redress?
Behind the veil, behind the veil.
3.5k
Oblivion is the pit of this ravine
And I'm holding onto a feeble vine for dear life
You screamed, "Don't let go!"
My hands are losing its grip
Then you toss me a knife
Nowhere is the destination of this path
Still, I'm trying to find the right way
You said, "Don't get lost!"
My vision becomes hazy and unfocused
Then you give me the broken compass of yesterday
Pain is the entity waiting on the other side
I sink my feet deeper onto the floor
You whispered, "Don't leave me alone."
My fingers no longer hold the keys
Then I see you opening the door
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 2:15 AM UTC
I'm idle, as osmanthus flowers fall,
This quiet night in spring, the hill is empty.
The moon comes out and startles the birds on the hill,
They don't stop calling in the spring ravine.
3.4k
I feel like a ghost walking around unseen
in the backdrops of these other happy lives
I feel like I'm trapped in a ravine
in a darkness that never leaves
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 1:56 PM UTC
There's a sharp frosty switchback that never sees the sun in winter
skies of blue. The frost heave cut-bank rocks tumble down to the
side of the road, in the ice shard mottled ditch lay frozen stiff
Tall Sitka spruce marbled gray shadows mat the sparsely traveled
corridor, paved with potholes, where the roads have no names
Sometimes listening quietly to the bare stillness, there are
rhetorical questions heard in the silent reverie's say:
"Have you ever been afraid?"
The tree-line gaps above the jagged gray stone ravine, disappearing
down the rugged mountain shade, falling into the pillow-top fog bank blanketing the canyon's murmurs below — headed towards the ocean
Crystalline spring waters gurgle up roadside — out of nowhere,
where tired boots stand in reverent contemplation as it all sings out harmoniously to the trees in the key of silence; it was there
in a gust of restless forbearance heard the frozen peacefulness say:
"Have you ever felt alone?"
Gathering a deep breath of marbled gray shadows, silence bears
a loud holler's scorn — echoing back and forth down canyon walls,
with the spirit of a voice a multitude strong, evanescent
as winter's outgoing tide.
January 2019 — Jesse Stillwater
Jan 3, 2019
Jan 3, 2019 at 6:19 PM UTC
Skin as White as Winter Snow
Legs as Boundless as the Sea,
Stationed in Venice or Bordeaux
From Blue-collar to Bourgeois.
Hair is Chic, Yet not Pristine
Soft and Cropped and Fine,
Cheekbones High a Distinct Ravine
Embellished by a High Neckline.
Undefined Peaks and Troughs
Cumbersome and Lank,
Garnished in the Finest Cloth
Awash with Unassuming Swank.
Miss Androgynous hear my call
For I've Become a Virile Gent,
I Yearn for your Unwieldy Frame
That God in Heaven Sent
February 2011
Apr 3, 2011
Apr 3, 2011 at 3:11 PM UTC
Torrent of light and river of the air,
Along whose bed the glimmering stars are seen
Like gold and silver sands in some ravine
Where mountain streams have left their channels bare!
The Spaniard sees in thee the pathway, where
His patron saint descended in the sheen
Of his celestial armor, on serene
and quiet nights, when all the heavens were fair.
Not this I see, nor yet the ancient fable
Of Phaeton’s wild course, that scorched the skies
Where’er the hoofs of his hot coursers trod;
But the white drift of worlds o’er chasms of sable,
The star-dust, that is whirled aloft and flies
From the invisible chariot-wheels of God.
3k
……Now
With springing force
I was shot out into the future
And with needle to the suture
Sewed together what I could
Lo, the spring sprung back into
The autumn
Found my porthole at the bottom
Into all I understood
Yet,
An equal opposite reaction
Fueled combustibly by action
From believing things that I was told to read
Found
Me far beyond what I
had seen
Cross dystopian ravine
Though in spite of any betterment, still brought to you by greed
Now from safely at the station
In the cold and condensation
I can see with clearest vision
The successes of my mission
Here, within, the multitudinous expanse of tears and laughs
Will be difficult to honor with a proper epitaph
Jan 22, 2011
Jan 22, 2011 at 7:53 PM UTC
Nighttime slowly crawls across the sky,
encircling this lonely ravine.
Hiding from the dark shadows.
Feb 19, 2012
Feb 19, 2012 at 9:40 PM UTC
The ghosts in the trees,
They're all staring at me.
I'm out here alone and lost,
Can't they just let me be?
The ghosts in the trees,
They seem to be scared.
I just want to go home,
But I don't know my way there.
A ghost of a raven
shrieked from the tree.
*You may hide in a ravine
You may jump in the sea
You can run to the mountain
Pray to the craven
But I will find theeee!*
That ghost in the tree,
It knows my name!
Turning, I start to run,
I don't like this game!
That ghost in the tree,
That shrieked my name.
It's starting to follow me,
Does it know I'm in pain?
Raven, Raven
Stark and mad
No safe haven
To be had
Yellow beak
Upon your back
For evermore,
Forever more.
Ghostly raven in that tree,
Why do you wish to torture me?
I'm simply lost, I don't want trouble.
Can't you just go to hell already?!
Ghostly raven in that tree,
I didn't really mean that.
I'm already so afraid,
I can't stand your beak upon my back.
Flee, fly, foe, crumb
My claws in your hair
Till your heart grows numb
-Begone or your'e done
Evil black bird I can see,
With your mocking and taunting.
I see a glowing light ahead
Your ghostly image is fading
Evil black bird I can see,
With your hatred and torture.
The glowing light is within reach,
I'll be gone and you have no future.
*Begone, begone
The night is long
I fear your fear
Unbidden here
Forever more
Forbidden.*
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 8:21 PM UTC
Earthquake weather cracked the sky deep
A cool reprise in midstreaked heat
Alight with the flame of desire
burning with a full pink moon
Sleeping canyons black from fire
Glowed swelling, glimmering into
Neptune’s fantasies, frenzied
Splintered mad with sweltering gems
Shaking the summer from our hair
Dreams falling like stardust into the ravine
As the earth said “anything can be, anything can be...”
Flickering upon cracked faults
Glisten and catch in the night’s sunlight
Devastatingly seductive, smolderingly bright.
Sep 25, 2019
Sep 25, 2019 at 12:38 PM UTC
I knew it wouldn't be easy but they never told me it'd be this hard
I trace layers upon layers of scars
Remembering each lesson carved into beautiful trademarks
I seek not revenge but rather to transcend
and at my wits end I find time to make peace with the screams
While watching the stream ever-changing shaping the banks of
caving earth
Dispersing tiny dismantled pieces into a deep ravine
A place unseen but the depths taunting
Muffled whispers and glimmers stir and discern all visibility
The waters reflected the chaos that plagued my reckoning
As I sat tossing stones watching the ripples fade and form
My small attempts to redirect the current seemed insurmountable
The rush and persistence of endless resistance surpassed my will
Swallowing my feet in mud and dismay
Beside the stream I'd forever stay
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 9:15 PM UTC
cracked nose &
watching moose beside the river,
on video,
he cocoons himself
in room and drug elementals.
boy pupa.
boy biking thru fog
& urban light.
city mystics, city-wet faces.
primates.
he works the grill and grins
in back. lollipop jar.
he pours grease into trap or teeth of great beast.
bucket cathedral.
corpse of bird,
decomposing in the alleyway ravine.
he packs luggage for the exodus
to northern california.
wicker owl
burning in the woods on a solstice
drunk, or moon.
the fire & the girl & his tongue to her neck.
bathe;
drain the dirt and blood of weekend off
to porcelain.
combed hair.
to appear in the lawn of withered fruit.
he wheels his father to the zoo. the old man
is bent beneath a blanket and tapping his fingers
for elephants.
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 3:01 AM UTC