"riverbanks" poems
I am at a crescendo of this mercurially
fervent woe, maimed by the visage of
_smoke and mirrors;_
"a death in chrysalis is to live once again."
Draping into the worn out disheveled
silk, _beautifully withered_
lulled by the sound of riverbanks
as if it's pacifying the feral.
A star-lit eyes deluged with bliss
rose with thorn-teared flesh
overwhelmed by a mawkish melancholia. Although we were haunted by our old love, _it will never be the same_.
Oct 9, 2022
Oct 9, 2022 at 12:05 AM UTC
Right...
catfish slippery
gourd slippery
and I am to catch this catfish
mountains stand behind
covered by mist
mountains have grown
as have my whiskers
and my clothes tear and wear out with time
and I am to catch
slippery catfish
with slippery gourd -
O god
of streams and mountains!
how do you catch, dear god of bamboo,
a catfish in a gourd?
and the waters flow
of many monsoons and storms
and the river has changed its course
many times
while I stand here with my gourd
and myself twisted and turned and all my virility lost
not a jot closer to my task
even with the god of riverbanks;
but all the while this catfish jumps around in the stream
mocking
clapping its fins like a pair of hands
and beating the water with its tail
and the message it sends is: *“Come on! come on!
Catch me if you can!”*
Right...
catfish in the waters slippery
gourd in my hand slippery
and I am to catch this catfish
O god of mist and rocks
how do you catch a catfish in a gourd?
Nov 16, 2011
Nov 16, 2011 at 5:26 AM UTC
The sky is pink with the sunset and,
The clouds look like cotton candy.
I want to eat popcorn at carnivals,
or spend all day by riverbanks soaking up the atmosphere.
The air is tinged with sun tan lotion, freshly mowed grass and,
the laughter of children playing in puddles
left over from afternoon showers.
The breeze is thick and warm, flowing through the skirts of lovers
And kissing bare shoulders.
Daisies and dandelions tilt their faces towards the sun,
Proudly pretending they each deserve to be picked and
braided into chains, adorning necks and hair.
Little girls dressed in sunshine
dance in the evening glow, as
little boys catch fireflies in an attempt to captivate and impress.
I hold my breath as the sun dips below the horizon and,
sets the sky on fire one last time.
I could swear time stops
As everything transforms into silhouettes of what they were.
The clouds give way to a million stars, that still can't shine
as bright as your eyes.
The whole world tucks itself away, but not us.
We lounge in the cool grass and breathe in the moment when
all I can feel is your hand in mine, and
the earth still coming alive with summertime.
Feb 10, 2011
Feb 10, 2011 at 9:54 PM UTC
Oh Baby,
These still pictures seem to be running free
Tell me why your eyes have begun to move through mine
Just you, in a field of flowing flowers
The red and blue tulip hues
Wish and wave before your legs
And there you are, in full bloom
I am not so mad, that I believe I can touch the past
But I can feel, still today, the warming rose color upon my face
See, nothing ever truly gets washed away
We linger still
In a longing look just beyond our windowsills
My tortured rain has gone away
For these rolling fields and riverbanks, you have my thanks.
Jul 28, 2021
Jul 28, 2021 at 5:17 PM UTC
Cradling snowy doves in your soft palms;
fluttering wings and fluttering smiles.
Tip-toeing shorelines, wet grass on riverbanks;
sun-kissed shoulders and Apollo's eyes.
Flushed skin in the shade of Pelion,
fig juice in your cold gold hair.
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 11:36 AM UTC
it’s inevitable
we are two waves crashing upon one another from diverse directions
6 feet overpowering a near five
an abundance of sand collected in her toes, painted sunset in season
salt in the crevices of his cracked lips
he hasn’t drank since March
wildflowers on her dress and holes in his shoes
it’s faulty
we are racing towards riverbanks: barefoot, unsteady, and homely
this doesn’t feel like home
he’s a moonlit tower, prewar stairwells, and a bright white nail bed
she secretes meteors in her pockets and a jackknife
slopes and curves and hills to stumble
words and doorknobs and photographs to wonder
it’s vexed
we headline in bold faced Georgia
friends concerned themselves with each petty fight
oh, boy did we
fight until her tongue wore out
his palms scratched to be healed by hers
her mother was on board, she guessed; his mother said yes
it’s bereft
we’re naked on the South lawn
a rose brush picked, prodded, called to question
her hazel eyes lack the ability to cry and cry and cry
his voice, stripped of rage
politics behind the scene
a young widow’s desperation for peace
it’s mass-produced
we’re political maps facing the chalkboard
colored crayons and heel-high socks
pepperoni’s dot her pizza the way she dots her i’s
as she writes lyrics of you
he raids the kitchen for her, prying the fridge for her
glinting sparkles in artificial light
it's submitted
we’re chipped steel bracelets
her straw bends forward at a crease
they didn’t realize what factors meant
his version too close to candor
yielded, the missing L on a paper sign
a stranded guitar pick balancing atop city grates and a below ground maze
it’s whatever it may be
and may be whatever it’s
but she and he and I and you
we perch on seven lines of fact
like birds we wallow, and trees we droop
‘til the ending sunrise
where you figure the truth
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 8:03 PM UTC
I have sought many of the past lives,
Witnessed ages of the Earth’s passerby;
From when I was a little sapling,
Until vines and twigs turned wrinkling-
I am a linden tree and this is the story,
I’d tell in the form of poetry.
Many and many a year ago,
When mountains ceaselessly echo
And the birds chirped harmoniously,
Zephyr mutters silence and serenity;
Clouds clover sky in gleaming azure,
Meadow teeming with verdant grandeur.
The sound of the raging sea wave
Reverberates through the mighty cave;
Sun-kissed sand wallow all day,
Pristine and bright as the sun’s ray;
In the boggy soil I stand firm,
Watching the pendulous vine squirm.
Butterflies fluttering in great splendor,
Hovering and sipping nectars galore;
Screeching seagulls can be heard-
From a distant they form herd;
A group of mackerel rapidly swim,
Dwelling into the never-ending stream.
Those were the days when green
is all there is to be seen;
Before the rise of the civilization,
When humans value appreciation.
Blazing red lights swallowed,
Then ashes and dust followed;
Streams and riverbanks silently cry,
As fishes and clams gradually die;
Birds started singing in sorrow-
The broken melody of tomorrow.
This is the story that I’d be telling-
To my children and their sapling;
I am a linden tree, blessed and forsaken,
Whose memories and land they’ve taken.
May 16, 2017
May 16, 2017 at 11:01 PM UTC
Somewhither, we wilt meet,
Whether afore mine
Ending; maybe in the
Hereafter's passage,
gramercy to god,
babes once again
Reborn in the
Perfection of
Love-
None struggling to
Survive, nor push
And shove; we'll
Be happy to gaze
At the exquisite
shimmer's. Ourn
Thought's wilt
Burst of unearthly
Features. With un-
Earthly teacher's we'll
Meet along the way,
Abraham, Issac and
Jacob; Paul, Daniel,
Ezekiel to. Enoch to
Sit the riverbanks of
Life, whilst the seraph's
Sway to ancient live tunes.
None mockery of yeshua
Christ, inside this holy
Place- many mock him now,
And the Prophet's yell loud,
Though many shut their ear's,
As their fear's they eat on
Dog's puked up plates.
I sayest lift up thy voices
Oracle's, prophesy to the
End's of the gates, the time
Is now, the day of salvation
Is today. Jane, ourn lord
Wilt call, with Gabriel's horn to
Be the precursor; of mankind's
Fate. A heavenly date it shalt be.
O' a heavenly date;
2016.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Prophetic poetry
©Earl Jane nagley dedicated( agapi-mou)
Aug 29, 2016
Aug 29, 2016 at 10:10 PM UTC
I’ve always felt insecure
About my body,
Knowing
That if I’d start talking
About how I feel towards
The bones you could see,
And
The curves you could not,
You’d call me crazy.
I’ve learnt not to be frightened
Anymore.
I’ve learned to say,
“Look, being skinny isn’t always
So much fun either.”
I’ve learnt to be proud and
I am on my way
To love myself.
I’d like to think of
My body
As delicate.
As a form of beauty,
Like the leaves on trees,
Like the water running down in riverbanks,
Like the sunlight cracking through stormy clouds.
// a form of beauty – nautilus poetry
Oct 18, 2018
Oct 18, 2018 at 4:21 PM UTC
Chest-pounding, calf-wavering fun suspended effortlessly between the riverbanks, and hot, sweaty faces scour city limits for madness.
Beneath our towering majesty rainfall is upward
and all we hear is our inconsistent drumming.
Distant breath stirs our spirits with
promise of bubble wars christening a new dawn.
White hares peek out with wandering eyes of our huge black hats,
rumbling and grumbling, awake with a thirst for severed limbs.
Populated ***** stalks surround your amoeba of love
erasing time
and line
and rhyme
Jun 1, 2011
Jun 1, 2011 at 5:43 PM UTC
They flex slowly.
Come up tails.
Coin flips floating down the
Riverbanks,
Past the fountain pens
Dripping with fresh
Ink and short-armed knives.
Laughing hard
At their ridiculous leather jackets,
Brandishing bug eyed grins
Above all other
Deadly weapons,
Just as disarming.
Souped up
Vintage cars and hats
And stowed away
Overcoats and canes
Somehow soaked
By the groundwater rain.
Coming up
Aces,
Breaking through the sea
These
Kids,
They'll be alright.
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 11:28 AM UTC
I long to go now...
To where sunlight sifts its happy golden rays
Through leafy limbs that stroke the riverbanks;
To where the wafting wind
Winnows summer’s ripe-corn light,
Broad-casts, along lush, lithe folds,
And the hollows of the hills;
To where skies gently breathe above,
And all afloat
Clouds unfurl their mainsails & their jibs,
To tack along a doggerel day.
To wander towards hope,
That feather in a fool’s cap,
And find a morning rainbow bright,
A brief cool kiss of rain,
All to excite skin, then lend lean shadows again,
Oh! how one curls, unfolds,
Under the polar sun,
Like a magic fish,
Flapping on a spread palm,
Or hydraulically smooth,
A giant clam’s lifting shell.
Come now, warm airs, **** vegetable scents,
And full sun after noon,
To expiate the sins
Of replica monsoon.
Jan 10, 2011
Jan 10, 2011 at 2:27 AM UTC
**Celestial scholars
deliver influencing scripts
days brisk with drumbeats
evenings spilled from riverbanks -
drifts of violet, ripe moons.
A life for living
make creativity your song
let all sorrow go
our tomorrows fade too fast
every moment so precious
Your choices to own
claim to have truly lived
be free like a bird
soar to the highest mountain
feel the breeze beneath your wings
All will surely die
your body is not a chore
the energy life
is eternal, infinite
and clothed in velvet breathing
Life's ageing busy pace
relax - observe and still time
neither thoughts nor none
hum a song about the stars
or astronomy lessons
Dwell in loving peace
share spiritual sustenance
imperfect mirage—
unbend, barefoot in its shade
languid afternoons, blessings.
Hearing poetry's grace
Echoes that laugh-lust-cry-love
relentlessly true.
Souls rapture joined - bestowed
kiss softly devastating.
A world awakes
in spaces of wonderment.
Slows worries until -
our eyes open: Surprise Splendors
Treating earth like a lover**
**Refining senses -
resilient beauty touched**.
*???
???
???*
Submit your 2 line 5/7 challenging verses then your 3 line 5/7/7 answering verses in a 'reaction' please
.
May 17, 2010
May 17, 2010 at 11:29 AM UTC
For Pennsylvania is the Land
Where Men with Hearts may Understand,
And much the nicest part must be
The County of Montgomery.
And in that district I most like
The town that ends the Pottstown Pike.
For heaven's blessings rarely stick
to folk who live in Limerick,
and you would be the worse to know
the crimes that they commit in Stowe,
and heaven's wrath comes raining down
on men who live in Boyertown,
where sins are strange, and stranger still
are secrets hid in Douglasville;
they'd slit your throat for twenty pence
in frightful Lower Providence
and rumour tells me true that no men
are virtuous in Perkiomen.
But Pottstown, oh, but dear Pottstown!
Why, there a person may lie down
upon its riverbanks so stony,
or paddle in the Manatawny.
They laugh and love their life so well
They're purchasing a carousel.
(And when they get to feeling old,
A thousand senior Cokes are sold
with super fries and apple pie:
McDonalds, Hanover and High.)
Nov 4, 2010
Nov 4, 2010 at 1:20 PM UTC
An angel on earth was found and blessed by a wonderful lover forever,
But this angel fell and she fell far, so far her lover could not retrieve her.
She loves him still and always will; even with her heart stretched by so many who love her so completely. Her heart has plenty of room to enfold more to love and care about.
But she lost her midnight blue, her silver cherubs running too fast,
spread too thinly. She sits on nearby riverbanks late at night watching the waters flow; crying for those she loves the most, those she believes she can help no longer. She cannot help herself enough to give way to some of the great ***** passions she believes cannot be met by him and he loves her from the bottom of his heart. The angel is so loved by so many, but cannot accept help; will not accept help, because she has fallen into a dark hole that has stolen her wings. She kicks and screams like a beautiful stallion all alone trying to get out of the waters of the dark hole. She is all alone and it is late at night, midnight blue with many silverly stars above.
The midnight blue starry skies watch and silver cherubs remind her of their love and needs. She wonders why she lusted so much, and he is glad she did. Did he tell her so? Forgive such a sin an angel feels. In love all is fair. Save her, let her know. Show her in oh so many ways!
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 11:39 AM UTC
The night is a creeper bent laden with brooding meditations and the mists of time:
Tonight, the moon is a distant jasmine bud; nascent fragrance waiting to pour into the world.
I've seen your work, magicienne, how you roll the stars out from your hat.
A wand wave, and the celestial chorus of chants and hymns pours out from the skies.
I've walked with you, on the old beaten steppe, pole star,
I've seen ships dock at ancient inlets of water
engorging in parched lands - they were reed boats before;
they were catamarans later, rafts and sailboats;
This is how we rose from the mollusc, seeking you in the stars;
When thunder strikes the lonely peak and rains wash our plains,
I've seen your footsteps, half-erased by the swelling riverbanks.
I was in your womb, and never afraid of the primordial waters. Yours, an umbilical love.
The clouds part for your evening sojourn through the western sky,
where the larks go forth spreading cheer.
I am the wood, the last refuge of all mysteries.
I am the clearing where a solitary home hangs in time.
I house all the antiquities.
I am the subtle space that hosts bubble worlds.
I am Hyperions.
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 7:26 PM UTC
I went canoeing today.
I got lost in the weaving ways of the riverbanks.
It reminded me a lot of you.
I got pulled in the current much like
the way I got pulled into your eyes.
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 8:30 PM UTC
this is my city, my bones
my architecture i have crafted
started here, riverbanks and pinecones
budded here, my roots continue to grow
May 29, 2023
May 29, 2023 at 9:41 AM UTC
I am the other
Under the painted sky
Where I am invisible
Even in the rays of the sun
I am the other
That waits in the riverbanks
Scooping memories with my hands
And draw your feet walking behind me
I am the other
Dipping into your waters
And in the ripples of your memory
I begin to fade
I am the other
Who wishes upon the stars
To fly me to another world
Where you and I
Can no longer be the other.
Jan 26, 2012
Jan 26, 2012 at 7:45 AM UTC
A white egret, slowly treads on marshy land...picking food
unafraid, beside a big carabao that munches grass...
...the tall reeds grow on their own, along riverbanks
........or on wide, unattended, sodden areas
no barbed wires control them from leaning, or sagging
they sway........where the wind goes.
Butterflies, dragonflies, birds
and bees in bright colors, hop on open blossoms
feasting on ripe seeds, nectar, and pollen grains.
and i, am wandering, flying, with these creatures,
perching on top of stalks.....even on carabaos' backs...
i am out there, in the open...swaying with the reeds
while dreams and inspirations spill over.
my mind roams free...no reins, no bounds,
above, and below....or, even sideways,
i inch, and feel my way
through the breathing,
...and the non-breathing...
i am a poet...i write what i feel...what comes to my mind
i follow rules set before me...though, i have
my own existing rules inside me...born with me
an innate knowledge of my limitations
as a person, as a parent, as a writer;
what should...and what shouldn't be,
what to reveal...and what to conceal,
how it is to be compassionate...and
how it is to be indifferent.
i am a poet, still hearing my late mother's voice,
emphasizing..."amor propio" and "delicadeza."
an invisible *** of fresh yellow daffodils,
lives on in my mind...a discretion ingrained in me
a kind of freedom, i opened my eyes to....
Sally
Copyright September 20, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 2:34 AM UTC
OUR MASGOUF
The fishes have high wings, but they can feel our deep pain like sisters. Yes, we are the fishes’ brothers and any halo you may see in the dark night is a birthday of this brotherhood. Come here and see the seeds of this earth in an ancient Sumerian tablet, which its recipes were shining as the sun. In that Iraqi mud, you can see the smoke of our Masgouf and you may smell its exciting flavor. It is residing in our dreams like the moon, and we delightedly disappear in its perfume with the butterflies. The face of our Masgouf is pure, and I will be so happy if you can see its chants dancing as fairies at their small riverbanks.
THE MAGIC DOLMA
The small girls in our gardens knew nothing about the flowers or their breathtaking colors, but they are so efficient in making of magic Dolma. In the morning they meet a green dove, and listen to her chants. They are soft and pure exactly as our Dolma’s smiles. She teaches our girls the art of Dolma and the secret of grape’s leaves with a smooth voice and gentle hands. This Dolma’s master is so soft and deep, and she can color the girls’ hearts with the wedding dresses.
THE KEBAB GLORY
The Iraqis can’t live without war or Kebab, and can’t smell the morning breeze without their deep voices. Our souls were kneaded with the sad Kebab’s Sumac and the tears of war. Our dreams had immersed in the Kebab’s perfume and straggled in the desert of sad Sumac. Yes, you need the Iraqi sad smiles to find the Kebab’s sublime glory.
Dec 25, 2018
Dec 25, 2018 at 6:21 AM UTC
*days brisk with drumbeats,
evenings spilled from riverbanks—
drifts of violet, ripe moons.*
Jan 4, 2011
Jan 4, 2011 at 5:19 PM UTC
seasons pass
months fly by
crisp November air
trembles bittersweet
changes go past
from streetlights on main
to budding riverbanks
a love lost
for something and somewhere
far out from grasp
May 19, 2020
May 19, 2020 at 8:25 PM UTC
That solid rock
on which pearly
mountains grew
seemed ageless.
Like shifting tots
on playgrounds
more than anything
thrilled to finally fill
the bitter silence
speak to me again
with church bell
hush.
Applaud with clapping
wings of butterflies, but
where have all the fireflies
gone?
Little lanterns barging in
like riots begging
the whiskey night,
like riverbanks in
Kentucky.
Better than the blue
plain cornflower hill
that thanked Heaven
for it's tender wet kiss.
It's raining,
it's raining again
sings the dawn.
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 9:25 PM UTC
The floor beneath me crumbles away.
The picture that you've drawn dissolves.
I used to take the words you said to me on faith.
My sacrilege was in knowing,
But loving you this long.
The sparkles in your eyes ignite me;
Reflections of your teary eyes.
You can take the words I say on faith.
Enough now of this heresy.
I've loved you for too long.
What was a singularity
Began to walk in single file.
Now agents of your faithless heart
Fall to the heaping pile.
You came to me as someone
I would give my life to serve
But the way that you are now
Means my whole world has changed
I don't know
If it's better or it's worse
I only know
That it's real.
Your regal words designed a world
That was fitting to my foolish heart.
I thought that you worked magic but it was illusion.
My blasphemy was in knowing
And still loving you this long.
The tender nature of your lie enticed me.
I put my faith in it.
I gave my life to you.
I gave, gave you all,
My all is true;
And lie is all you do
My blasphemy was seeing it,
And letting it continue.
At first it was a trickle,
But it became a stream.
Now the riverbanks erode,
Washed out in your flood.
You came to me as someone
I would give my life to serve
But the way that you are now
Means my whole world has changed
I don't know
If it's better or it's worse
I only know
That it's real
Not just a lie,
Not just a scheme,
It is exactly as it seems.
I don't know
If it's better or it's worse.
I only know
That it's real.
Here on this street, you try talk to me;
I don't want to hear it,
There is nothing more you have for me.
Watch me get smaller down the street,
So I don't have to hear
Another word of your fantasy.
Jan 26, 2018
Jan 26, 2018 at 2:26 PM UTC