"trickling" poems
Sit back and relax
Feel the waves wash over your back
In the melting sun
Looking at the clouds reflecting all the pinks and blues
Over the blooming hill, echoing white noise of chirps and crickets
Listen to the trickling of the slow water over the smooth rocks
Feel a warm wind brush your face
With your eyes closed
Enjoying the radiating warmth
And the soothing crackling of a log fire
Or sit and admire the shimmering spray
Of a waterfall smoothly crashing into the water of a sky kissed lake
Sunlight dancing through the vapor
Rainbows jumping through every droplet
Listen to the pitter patter of the rain, against a tin roof
Inside a warm cabin
Drifting to sleep
Soon to wake to the song bird's chorus
And the blissful sun
Bask in it
And relax
Jul 8, 2018
Jul 8, 2018 at 8:03 PM UTC
***** What are those?
creation of some great architect.
they vary in size, shape and dimension
also in weight, width and assimilation...
one touch takes you million stars away
heavenly bliss, on the earth nevertheless,
squeeze them to the delight,
hold them to their perfect shapes,
Hands in joy and trickling liquid SomePlaceElse..
moaning body, screaming someone's name,
dude! you are the luckiest, keep up the fame..
May 15, 2012
May 15, 2012 at 6:42 PM UTC
*be ever gentle to thy words
treat them, your tools, well,
cleansing and protecting,
wrapping them in cloths of chamois and moleskin
that they may be well conditioned and
pour forth with a temperament clear and viscous,
reflecting their high honors and a noble lineage,
they are well-intentioned to exist far longer
than your meager temporal life,
upon this ever hasty, ever perpetual, orbit
give them all respect, their fair due,
they are treasure immeasurable,
for which you have been granted guardianship,
custody received from others to be gifted onwards,
yours, but for the duration
so oft we trifle words,
expel them from the country of our body,
without passport and earnestness,
as if they were the cheapest of footnote filler,
day tourists, to be treated as leavings,
refuse for daily discardation,
barely noting their fast comings and faster disappearance,
but leaving not, a mark of distinction
more truffle than trifle,
find them in the dark forest of your life,
use them sparingly, just for soaring,
take them from the roots of your trees,
shave them with a paring knife,
counts them in bites and measure them in grams,
even in grains,
for words are the seasoning of our lives,
agent provacateurs that can modify the moment,
bringing out to the fore
the flavor of the underlying
speak them slow and distinct,
for they arrive slow to you,
a trickling of refugees for your sheltering,
harbor them as full companions,
protected by natural law,
provision them well,
prepared and ever ready for a quick departure,
moor them at the embarcadero,
for the next restless leg of endlessness,
which they themselves will inform you
will last longer than eternity,
long after there are no humans to speak them*
Oct 10, 2015
Oct 10, 2015 at 6:01 PM UTC
Light rain washes the red from my soul,
I close my eyes to see the darkness -
My own personal escape from the world...
The crisp air trickling its way to my chapped lips,
Invading my mouth and crawling into my lungs,
A brief discovery -
I exhale,
S L O W L Y
Thoughts are relinquished almost instantaneously,
Quietly in my solitude; nothingness -
Extraneous Relief.
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 9:04 PM UTC
Did you see the bliss
Shoot across the night sky?
Here then there so quickly
Like a blink could project its moment
Yet when crumbling
Into the quake of memory
It is the window's remaining rain
Trickling down so slowly after the storm
Until all that is left is its drying trail
Clear to see the tired clouds sink behind
A heart so weathered
Never truly sleeps. Never rests
The hallow beats manifest
Into the crippling visions of the night
Blanketed by such distress
Until the rising light does nothing
But awaken the regrets that were left on the nightstand
Like a book with one chapter
No where left to turn
Do you see the ache
Shining dim in the night sky?
Like a footprint in the moon's dust
As alone as one could ever walk
Do you see the shame?
Like forty dying stars
Their fiery, blazing eyes
Watching every paranoid jitter
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 5:54 PM UTC
we are but the sand and the ocean.
you are the sand
warm, fine, comforting, golden
people always seem
to walk all over you,
but not me
for I am the ocean
deep, brave, pure, peaceful
and I try so hard to get to you
but every time I push myself
I always end up trickling back to where I belong
it's not fair
I want to belong to you
c.p
Feb 2, 2019
Feb 2, 2019 at 6:24 PM UTC
Ceramic white, wood richly brown
Smooth liquid....touching buds of taste
Lips chasing chatter, slithering slogan sentences
Arm reaching, lift off, exposing the pit, selecting
Combination to the gestured shape, proposing
Enlivening, trickling conversation tripping
To my left. A phone, pressing snugly, ear
Tuned up, alerted, filtering the microwave
Throng. With welcome warmth, thaw began
Icy film packaging a heart temporarily beat
Free, playing, fraternising.....roulette with Russia
Jan 5, 2013
Jan 5, 2013 at 6:15 PM UTC
My anxiety is not me.
My anxiety is shaking hands.
My anxiety is imaginative.
My anxiety is sleepless nights.
My anxiety is never satisfied.
My anxiety sits on my shoulder.
My anxiety keeps me from making important phone calls.
My anxiety forces me to want to isolate myself.
My anxiety makes me cry over nothing.
My anxiety makes me cry over everything.
My anxiety tells me a C may as well be an F.
But my anxiety forces me to avoid important tasks I have to deal with. Everything scares me.
What am I so scared of?
My anxiety wakes me up vomiting.
My anxiety forces me to pull away from the people I so badly want to fall into.
My anxiety keeps me from living.
My anxiety makes me at least two to twenty minutes late everywhere because I don’t believe I am ever prepared,
so I have to retrace my every other step,
constantly checking and re checking.
Constantly doubting.
My anxiety is a thin stream of fear trickling through my mind.
My anxiety is a menace, a monster, a fish with teeth,
black yarn, lawn chairs sinking in the sand.
My anxiety rules me.
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 3:00 AM UTC
I'm tested everyday,
Tempted to throw away
The sanity that's kept my mind at bay
If inconveniences are shadows,
then troubles are ink-blotted water
trickling through the canals of my temporal lobes
which causes me to follow
any thoughts of failure instead of success
better to wallow in bed then get dressed
I almost forget that I am blessed.
I aggress the trickling pain
by staring skyward
like a man seeking the opportunity
to fly
soaring above the problems that cloud the eyes
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 6:20 PM UTC
The house was haunted
The family fled
They couldn't find the priest
So they got me instead.
I read aloud my poems
Full of sorrow and pain,
About dreary things
And nearly going insane.
"My Gawd", the ghosts cried
" This is fierce gloomy stuff,
I thought we were bad
But this, Enough! Enough! "
Well they wailed and they shrieked
And they wailed some more
Then holding their ears
They ran out the door.
Even ghosts they desert me I thought
After they'd gone
They'd never even heard of a sorrow
so deep
Or a pain as sharp as mine.
I sat there all alone in the silent house
With not a whisper, no! not a mouse
When all of a sudden there came
something strange
A little sound like that of slow trickling
water.
"Have you something to say to me
House", I asked
"Before I up and leave you forever",
The little sound, it stopped all at once
and looked up
As if very surprised at having been
discovered.
I rose to leave
But quickly turned back amazed
When from down & out of the
chimney
Crept this little voice so slight & warm
& tender.
" Forgive me Sir", it said,
"But I could contain myself no longer,
That little sound you hear, the tiny
trickle
Is but the teardrops from my eyes
dripping
Such a pain and sorrow as yours
I never heard before
Those anguish drenched words
They seeped through my walls right
into my heart
They pierced me deeply,
Yea, they pretty near tore me apart,
I'll remember you Sir when you're
gone
I don't think I could ever forget you".
I listened and was sorely moved
"Thank you House ", I said, "thank
you, thank you kindly"
And turning again at the front door
"Goodbye House, look after those
who'll live here, won't you".
Outside the birds, they were singing
And up in the sky, the sun
The sun, it was shining.
Mar 30, 2018
Mar 30, 2018 at 7:10 PM UTC
Poverty
Holding on to me
Dragging me down
Down
D
O
W
N
There is no revival
There is no survival
No way to reclaim
The life that was mine
Trickling away
Nickel and dime
I can't support my family--
I can't even support myself
Can't let my children know
This lack of things to provide
Even though I want to;
When wants and needs collide.
I can't explain it to you
You wouldn't understand
This suffering I see
Sometimes I think it only happens
Just to me
I have so much hope for my children
They have to go further
Make more
Do more
Be more
More than I was
More than I am
I will never be what I want
This world, so costly
I can't help it- but mostly
It's the people in my life,
The ones I hold at night,
The people who keep me going
Poverty
Dragging me down
But I will not give up
I can't release hope
For my children and their children-
Break this cyclical way of living;
Break the death and deceiving
I am stuck, but I have hope
I have love and I can cope
But I can't hold on much longer
Ripped to shreds by the economy
I loved you, my daughter
Be more
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 10:12 AM UTC
Like a bumblebee
She dreams of nature
Of fields full of flowers
Of life trickling sweetness
She’ll travel the world
With buzzing excitement
With gold dripping wings
And a love hungry soul
She’ll go with the winds
Dance her way over mountains
Scoping lands for enchantment
Moving hearts with her spirit
And like a bumblebee
She finds peace in the journey
In flying passion painted miles
But never forgetting her way home
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 2:11 AM UTC
I pried out my own skin
wide open
with needles dipped
in cheap india ink; I dabbed
at the black mixed with red
staining my fingers.
Do I do this for the pain,
or to get the poison trickling in
to my skin, to my veins?
A symbol, an alphabet.
Vast meanings that I tried to bestow
upon them hours later
really means nothing at all.
There's the cause and the effect,
which really goes both ways.
The pain for the gain
of the blurred out ink under my skin,
and the gain for the pain
of the sharpness prickling
my ankles, both legs
bare the stain of alcohol tinged
nights.
The skin beneath my eyelids
a darkened haze;
but the tattoo still burns
needle-sharp against it all.
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 10:53 AM UTC
The eternal tango of the maestro manifests itself in nigh infinite ways.
With the flick of the artist's brush, the stroke of the novelist’s pen or the chicken scratch of the scholar’s nib, legacies are etched, history is written and the world is shaped.
The astronomer, the craftsman and the physician all have one thing in common: Mastery.
Such pinnacles of skill have decades of their lives consumed, nay devoured in the pursuit of perfection, of greatness. Like grains of sand slowly falling into a furnace are the seconds of our lives, trickling, melting into puddles. But as sand melts, it forms shapes; therein lies the potential. Moldable puddles, colourless, devoid of naught but a clear medium.
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 12:43 AM UTC
Rain rain go away
We don’t want you here, your gloom and misery
your nourishment and catharsis.
We don’t want to be baptized under your command
or be surrounded by budding flowers
trickling streams
mud puddles.
Rain rain go way come again another day
Why do today what we can put off until tomorrow.
Let’s procrastinate the harbinger of life, the unrelenting cycle
Evaporation condensation precipitation evaporation .
We cannot delay, sit back and listen to the gentle patter.
Just enjoy the grey.
-AM
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 2:02 PM UTC
A cloud of smoke,
leaves through my parted lips.
I close my eyes with the urge,
to caress your body,
with my fingertips.
Another sharp bitter puff,
taken in by my lungs.
I'm just like "Baby,
come here, we are young."
A sharp bitter liquid,
is poured down in my throat.
In remembrance of the ring you bought me,
but now its gone.
I say "No, no! Don't leave me!"
You glance back,
regretful.
In a blink of an eye,
you leave me.
Suddenly,
someone is shaking me by my shoulders.
Sweat is trickling down my forehead.
"Baby, don't scream,
it was just a dream,
our little princess is sleeping next door,
you're going to wake her up."
And then you wrap your arms around me,
you hold me tight,
throughout the night.
We're sleeping fine,
with tranquilled minds.
Aug 19, 2013
Aug 19, 2013 at 1:46 PM UTC
"One may have a blazing hearth in one's soul and yet no one ever came to sit by it. Passers-by see only a wisp of smoke from the chimney and continue on their way."
-Vincent van Gogh in a letter to his younger brother Theo van Gogh in July of 1880"
I've taken the straight razor
to my ear like a third-rate
van Gogh.
Impressionism bleeding
into Expressionism.
Mania trickling into
an unmitigated need
to find the beauty
and grace he only
found with a paintbrush.
Blood clinging to the
horse hair bristles
like the blood splattered
in the margins of every
page I've ever filled.
Each line and brush
stroke choking out
a futile cry for help
as the wheat fields burn
and the sunflowers wither.
Sep 23, 2012
Sep 23, 2012 at 6:21 AM UTC
The river forks at big stone eddy
rending currents meandering course,
its silence speaks not with forked tongue
as kismet's swirling eddies abide
as if time immemorial;
a river naturally cleaved
in two separate distinct directions
befallen destiny without a choice
Spinning round and round in big stone eddy,
time just drifting by in the throes
of doubt — high water rising
beyond the bounds of earth
taking drowning souls up to the sky
Choking on a mouthful of unanswered questions,
suffocating on the parting words left unsaid;
distilling life into poetry hew from being —
trickling out like the spilled out sky —
taken down to the empty riverbed
leave lay' til it's all washed away,
in the music of the pourin' down rain
Freedom embodies metaphysical incarnations
riding the prevailing currents it can't control
Gravity-gathered down to the shoreline,
manifest reclamation after the deluge,
from somewhere far above the high-water mark
Swallowed by all the darkness woe betides,
thinking you carry such a weight to hold...
It seems all got a handful of sand to toss
up into the wind to seed the clouds
The totality of eclipsing silence grows
that rent the stillness of a dream
of peace on an eroding shoreline
In an Eddy of Expectations & Disappointment
dark waters will ebb and flow,
imponderable as drowning hope,
leaving it all out there to dry after the rain
believing in your heart —
the best is yet to come
Jesse Stillwater ... November 2018
Nov 24, 2018
Nov 24, 2018 at 12:09 PM UTC
His ***** tongue infuses every phrase
She glazes, spreads like honeyed butter
into the words.
Trickling slowly
Oh, so slowly
Through each stanza
This is her molasses moment
She is ready for his pen
to catch her syrup drips, to stop this slick
Becoming a pool.
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 4:28 PM UTC
You stripped me of my innocence.
Yours were the first lips
To press passion onto my stunted ****
My body bruised by your touch,
Your forked tongue hissed through gritted teeth,
Caress me, as your hands rattle
With anger, desire.
Testosterone fulled triggers
Blew holes into my anatomy,
Ripping apart my flesh.
Now I tie stitches where skin should be,
I'm bleeding out my purity.
Drip,
Drip,
Drip.
The beads of sweat, roll downwards,
Trickling off your looming armour.
They dance with the oceans in my eyes.
Itching spiders romance with the bones
Upon my empty corpse.
Hollow reeking mass,
Devoured by play pretend.
Love lead way to self devouring devotion,
We play on ties with lit matchsticks.
Broken, singed strings,
Where my innocence should lie.
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 7:39 PM UTC
For years words have dropped
Down
Into my head,
Like rain on the spikes of a bromeliad,
Single splashes forming trails
And trails and trails
Trickling
Down
Around the bud,
To fling themselves into the dirt
To splash the roots.
Then slowly up the roots they go
Into the bud.
It soaks them in and soaks them in,
It is patient patient patient,
Waiting too long,
Until I think it'll never open -
And then it
Blooms.
Apr 3, 2012
Apr 3, 2012 at 10:03 PM UTC
door opened
door shut, then locked
first morning urges
body greets the dawn
toilet seat up
pants unzipped
waste tube carefully aimed
flow turned on
trickling stream
becomes rushed torrent
small splashes
leave no mark
on steep polished porcelain walls
water slowly turning
clear to yellow
light to dark
liquid waste
flushed down the drain
shows signs
of dehydration
advising body
drink more water
restart the cycle
of urination
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 10:20 AM UTC
There is nothing more comforting than warmth
Rays of sun painting my cheeks red
Blistering campfires that tickle my toes
My own blood trickling down my arm
As I looked into the bathroom mirror I felt nothing but
Warmth
Toxic words that had been spat at me disappeared down the sink
A blurry fist fight faded to memory
My black eye and bleeding nose ceased to pain me
All I felt was the red blanket coating my arm
It doesn't hurt
I feel nothing
Silver pens write terrible tragedies in red ink
But they also write happier endings for troubled minds
I am my own demise
My destruction
There is no conductor and my train is off the rails
Spinning, racing out of control
And stopping at a red light
Red lights that pool into one in my palm
Translucent, reflecting the light above me
I see red
I feel warm
I taste fate
She can't hurt me as long as I am warm
I will leave this world with no blood on my hands but my own.
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 11:48 PM UTC
Can't seem to stop it.
Keeps Flowing
This gushing salt water,
these quick uneven breaths I take
like I am drowning and I'm just trying to get enough oxygen,
maybe if I could stop the shaking,
maybe if I had a nice clear nose,
I could have laughed.
But I didn't.
Can't seem to stop it.
Keeps flowing.
I lay here on the concrete,
and I cannot even see straight,
let alone think straight.
Can't seem to stop it.
Keeps flowing.
I cannot conclude on whether
these are happy fantasies,
sad fragments of memories,
or a mixture of the two
that is making me feel this way.
Can't seem to stop it.
Keeps flowing.
The concrete that supports my convulsing body
is soaked.
Every time I try to stand,
I hear a loud crack,
and find myself
cuddling with the concrete once again.
Somehow it stopped.
No more gushing salt water.
I still lie here with my silent, piercing cries.
With my writhing body.
With my nose and its trickling stream.
I must not have any water left to let cascade onto the floor.
But for some reason,
I cannot disjoin myself from this cold floor.
Cannot stand up.
Once I finally build up the courage,
something shoots me down
again
and
again.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 5:19 AM UTC
a quote of Bernard-Henri Lévy
~~~
the divers’ recovery, diverse,
shipwrecked salvage from different locations,
auctioned to the highest bidder,
tho the excised excerpts are exceptional,
none come to do the bidding,
for the provenance of words
belongs to all, and to none
~~
“so oft we trifle words,
expel them from the country of our body,
without passport and earnestness,
as if they were the cheapest of footnote filler,
day tourists, to be treated as leavings,
refuse for daily discardation,
barely noting their fast comings and faster disappearance,
but leaving not, a mark of distinction”
“the addicted pleasure words granted to we privileged few,
like every enslaved soul to the mind, which I am, I am,
evening dreams, midnight thinkings, sunrise seeings,
how can I infect and thus protect the young to the liberty
to love the crafted content of our human essence to better
comprehend that a moment caught on tape of our shared
words is a holiday, a celebration for the ages...and every molecule,
becomes a human tuning fork in concert, in pitch identical, in blood tainted with the simplicity of we are all the same, only words, this will transmit”
“murmur me, with soft downy charms,
these words discovered
recoursed and intended well to
pointedly offset and contradict
their very own tumultuous discovery uncovering,
tear tongue me
with calming, lapping word wages,
hymns harmonious and fine homilies,
a call, a request,
a bequest
to sedate my shrill life
“some cells, microscopic, preserved digitally,
aged to imperfection, thrash my eyes,
making me speak in tongues I do not recognize,
but fluently possess, no wonder there,
the memory place fairly empty,
room aplenty for passerby's and the imagery
of the vaguest of dearly departed
skin is not the only mot shed,
sloughing of woeful words”
“speak them slow and distinct,
for they arrive slow to you,
a trickling of refugees for your sheltering,
harbor them as full companions,
protected by natural law,
provision them well,
prepared and ever ready for a quick departure,
moor these words at the embarcadero,
for the next restless leg of endlessness,
which they themselves will inform you
will last longer than eternity,
long after there are no humans to speak them”
Mar 27, 2019
Mar 27, 2019 at 4:55 AM UTC