swimming to the bottom of the bottomless sea
won’t you come and swim with me?
it’s the only place they’ll let us be
when we get to the bottom we’ll be free
just you and me and the bottomless sea
The bottomless sea
Reply
Tag Archives: verse
outa her mind
telling stories
of phantom glories
looking over her shoulder
smirking until I cry
beating on the table
playing I Spy
wondering who’s there
saying it’s fine
working in montage
death and decline
definitely hers
probably mine
twitching of the wrist
pumping of the fist
batting of the eyelids
passionate kiss
vicious kick
full cheek lick
what makes her tick
she’s a bomb
A Surrealist Rhyme for Erik
I clipped their wings with shears of grey
The telescope told me I must act Whispering of star falls and moonrise attack I reflected on the power I lacked I must net time and hold it back the home I could lose the ground where I stood solid as rock shapable as wood saw me wretched with fear indecisive and torn was this last of days the final morn? So I took my sharpest pencil my notebook red wrapped my head in wool to drown out the dead in their bottle on the waves above the seabed. I went to the library to learn from the books how to save the moon from destructive skyhooks the learning was crystal clear as a diamond shards came together for this ignorant vagabond I knew what to do I knew it was right to save moon and world I had to take flight I set my glider to fly from an open window when the sun’s mellow light fades to soft evening glow I leapt on board to find rising fresh air but all that I found was a down draft there and I fell to the earth as so many more I resolved to try again but not like before. A path to nearby mountains was a long weary trek if I ramped it straight upward I could launch like a jet but the weight of the world again dragged me down into glass houses I crashed with a moan so I built giant steps on which I climbed high to take the moon down from the sky. As I ascended clouds hid the way I clipped their wings with shears of grey the stars came to guide me as I climbed and climbed pushing ever upward was all on my mind until the way was clear the view up ahead was one of the moon on a black velvet bed a moon barely rising still held in sleep’s sway a moon reluctant to hear my story let us say so I sweet talked that moon with promises and bribes offering pleasurable time on earth in which to imbibe the moon gave a yawn looked up and looked down asked if I was prophet, conman or clown? requested some proof what I had to say was true for it could hear only nonsense hard to construe so I pointed to the black heavens where no starlight glowed the moon was astonished then concerned and then bowed I will go with you to spend time on earth while threats to the skies are beaten and dispersed I will rise again when the stars once more burn to light the night sky with starlight returned. Moon sank into the ocean for a seaside holiday destruction avoided with the moon at play the culprits attacked night to find nothing but vacuum and the cow in the sky scooped them up with a spoon. This week Mish asked we poets to write from a gallery of surrealist photographer Erik Johansson’s images. Find the prompt here:
https://dversepoets.com/2023/05/09/poetics-slipping-into-surrealism-with-erik-johansson/
Roderick
Roderick was into sleeping.
He went to bed because in his head
he was boring.
No one noticed his time asleep.
He’d been gone a year and week,
which suggests he was quite boring.
He’d been lying in bed day after day,
when someone wondered, then went on to say,
“Where’s Roderick?”
They found him asleep and snoring.
Then they said how long it took
to find him in his tiny nook.
He quietly stated that he mistook
the year and week for one nice long sleep
convinced it was just the next morning.
Only getting up to go to the toilet,
his face was pale, eyes crusty and set.
At some time his beard he’d wrapped into
a bun, his idea of having a small bit of fun
to deal with the cold and no nightcap instead
he wrapped it around his balding head.
They all said how odd he looked.
He replied it was heat restoring.
With no one to talk to and no tv,
Roderick had slept all of that time restfully.
In his small dark room where day remained night
where awake was tedious and without delight.
When Roderick woke to that knock on the door,
a voice had asked, “Roderick, would you like to sleep more?”
Roderick never felt better than when he was sleeping
so to sleep again he went as night came creeping.
Never was he or others so content
than when Roderick slept and time simply went
another year until Roderick’s next dawning.
The Wombat Burrow
The wombat builds each burrow mindful of each tomorrow knowing he won’t stay long before an urge moves him on then on he goes to build again dig and scrape til when he sees some point of no return ends nights scouring with a yawn he sleeps all day and eats all night moves very slowly unless with fright when with lightning speed he bolts for a hole one’s always nearby because building's his role after a while he returns to the past to re-excavate old burrows that didn’t last knowing the smell and pleasure of earth knowing each hole is his home and hearth
Today’s d’Verse prompt for we poets was from Kim. We were asked to write about animals making their homes. We have lots of Wombats around our place, so it was an obvious choice.
I did it for my babies
I sobbed while I banged my head on the dock
I lit the fuse tick tock tick rock
With nowhere to go I ran amok
because I knew no one gave a fuck
and my children died inside the conflagration
while outside I died as a witness stationed
to watch this act as the ultimate martyr
from lover to mother to miserable failure
now my babies don’t suffer anymore don’t you see?
their loss was my hope for my babies three
their release from torment my relief and my grief
I their life giver corrupter and thief
I scratched at the doors where help is the word
I pleaded for help and not one cry was heard
I make no further excuses for this desperate crime
judge me oh judge me and I’ll do my time
but I urge you who judge to stop and reflect
on the festering harm of abuse and neglect
on how absence of care equals opportunity cost
from pitiful existence my babies were lost
Bruised
I’m feeling a little bruised
a little rushed a little used
when you turn your whip like tongue on me
a little crushed and very confused
when you say that I’m not worth it
yet you keep on coming back
I decide that I’ll stick with it
and then you call me slack
yes I’m a sucker for punishment
my friends all tell me that
but really I’m a sucker for nourishment
I pray for it after every spat
I hate you and I love you
I tell you and relent
then you diss me and you kiss me
never knowing what each one meant
you don’t hit me or spit on me
you don’t go out with another
you just discard me like a soiled rag
whenever you think I’m a bother
then you take me back when it suits
knowing you'll always have the boots
to stand over me til I breakdown
to abuse me when I meltdown
I crave to be better, yet I'm a weak nag
always with one hand reaching for an escape bag
but I turn back from every open door
I pathetically keep coming back for more
then as I slide down every jamb
lamb to slaughter, slaughtered lamb
self esteem slides with me, to the floor we sag
and I gag and I gag and I gag
I see myself for what I have become
I know I'm not the only one
It isn't something helpful to know
others also powerless if they stay, powerless to go
August
the long grass dead brown
the short grass stunted green
faded blue skies
with no summer bright sheen
grey come the clouds
hanging low overhead
heavy with moisture
that will drop like lead
the air has a bite
bitter snaps each night
and each day frosted crisp
icy as any day has been
the cold sodden earth
awaits its rebirth
fresh food supplies
border on lean
as breath mists the air
those rugged up don't care
but the strugglers
blanch at the scene
winter cold eats budgets
of those who can’t afford it
where constant warmth
is but a seasonal dream
homeless under bridges
in doorways and niches
families living in cars
huddle away unseen
as others drive over bridges
secure in their riches
to homes warm inner glow
where no want has been
The dVerse prompt today came from Sanaa. She asked we poets to recognise August. We in the southern hemisphere may see it in a different seasonal light to that which Sanaa had in mind. However, one sad thing we do have in common around the world is the widening gap between the haves and have nots.
The art of deception
To be deceived by art Is where the pleasure lies As Oscar Wilde said When the finished work dries Art unexplained Awaits reference in time For art to have context Someone must find An intrinsic meaning An enchantment or spell A hard fact or history That explains it well So ethereal This imaginative bent Where art creates product But may not pay rent The elusive success Of an artist such as me Depends on the work And conveying what we see To be reminded of something That may not be there Is the way we see art Reminiscent or bared The artist displays What the artist portrays The observers creates What the observer says And the feeling is surreal This fraught disconnect Must artists defer To the critics subject Is it in artist’s deceit Where the pleasure lies Taking the work and working it wise Psychological or literal The interpretation applied Is anything worthy In a meaning belied With all the definition in Every artists hand The lines of description Are at critics command The intensity of design Or depicting a glance For artist and critic It’s the art of chance Is ugly ugly Or is it brave and true Is beauty beauty Or a sop to me and you Only the artist knows Where the artist goes But as deception grows Across art shows The artist bows To the stories faux As the critics row And the sponsors crow And the buyers coo Gallery owners woo speculators too Attempt to choose The number 1 pick That makes art slick To turn a buck Art by the truck Instead of art refined As in the artist‘s mind But only the artist knows Where the artist goes
The Gambler
Precedence
is chance
The roll is a fast
chaotic dance
The die is cast
numbers spin
Will luck outlast
the spin I’m in?
The dotted faces
turn and prop
bounce and hop
My future turns
on fortune’s stop
Excitement
Anticipation
Fulfilment
or suffocation
Desperation
Indecision
High risk taking
recidivism
Bound for glory
is my folly
Wracked and ruined
that’s my story
Highs feed lows
on pure vainglory
Today’s dVerse prompt from Ingrid was for a subject of each poet’s choosing. This one came from a draft I had on gambling, a subject I have been trying to get my head around.
Their hands
Their hands when they touch
Flow from rolling of wrists
Each touch is a signal
Each touch is a kiss
Their fingers are folding
On whispers and secrets
Cupped hands are holding
All ahead that will be
Their fingers trace circles
On their palms telling futures
Tender are the touches
Of their hands as their tutors
Their hands rest together
One on top of the other
Their hands mark their measure
Their harmonious hands
Their hands spread out
Open and true
Telling each story
Each soul on view
Hands hold each heart
Supporting each core
Their hands do the learning
Of what more to adore
The extension of hands
The parallel lines
Pads of sensitive fingers
Their dreaming defines
There are fists and shaking
The are dips and rise
There are quivering fingers
Before flickering eyes
When hands arc with arms
To gracious embrace
The lovers say nothing
As hands touch each face
Delicate lines are drawn
Across soft skinned cheeks
Then with touches to lips
Mouths start to seek
Two seeing hands
guide the blind
Sensuous and caressing they massage
to unwind
Four hands synchronise
to breathe in kind
in waves of love
entwined
life is to death as tears are to rain
Bright is the light that shines on me
as I dwell finally
in deathbed reverie
the doctor he talks
and talks and he talks
my wife she weeps
and weeps and she weeps
and time it creeps
and creeps and it creeps
what is this light that shines above
lights pallid face of death
to my love
the darkness it resists
and resists and it resists
in brilliance it glows
and glows and it glows
in radius it grows
and grows and it grows
this light that calls me as my light fades
this light that draws me
to the night of shades
with death it walks
and walks and it walks
my feeble hand I raise and wave
I waver and it waves
faces watch uncertain so grave
grave and so grave
I see my hand stir dust in the air
second last thing I will see anywhere
the dust it wafts
and wafts and it wafts
my brow is mopped
and mopped and is mopped
my hand drops
I drop and it drops
as dust I settle back onto deaths bed
into the pillow sinks my head
life’s weight I shed
I shed and I shed
looking down into the room
I am surprised it is lit
by only gloom
the husk has collapsed
collapsed collapsed
hollowed of life
of life and of life
beside my wife
my wife my beloved wife
the dust dispersed draws my spirit in
and back to dust
I go again
the gift I leave is small but complete
I was loved and I loved
I am replete
Today’s dverse prompt is from Laura, to write words of departure based on your choice from a set of quotes. I chose the quote from a favourite and most remarkable movie – “All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain.” Roy Batty, Blade Runner.
Dreamland
Ah, my chimeric and fanciful place
A world to inhabit when I displace
Where food is abundant and water is clear
Where choices are free I’ll ne’er shed a tear
Where sharing is normal no money spent
Home is a shelter without mortgage or rent
Ideas are born to be actioned for pleasure
Actions occur for outcomes or leisure
Thinking is respected intellectual pursuit
Everyone loves and all follow suit
Where judging is absent because no one judges
Where grudges are absent because no one grudges
Where religion only follows the Gaia led path
To planetary health such joy makes me laugh
My friends are my friends conflict unknown
We simply marvel at how friendship keeps growing
Juliet and Romeo
Juliet is all slick and wet her long hair in her eyes she has been hit by an idiot drunk driving by bye bye Romeo roams idly by sees the girl on the ground He looks at her quizzically then realises what he has found Juliet breathes in gasps as blood pools under her back She looks up sees Romeo last look last love as limbs go slack Romeo’s not much you know but this time things are different He wipes the hair from glazed eyes and wonders where her life went Juliet rises above the scene She watches Romeo He cradles her head gently in his lap He whimpers out a moan Romeo struck by love’s full fist his only love has gone He whines he weeps at his loss Death into his soul creeps Juliet bears final witness to Romeo’s last testament “Did my heart truly love till now?” he whispers For the first time he knows what love meant “Good night Good night” “Thus with a kiss I too die” He declares to her death pale face Romeo bends his head down tenderly brushes her cold lips with his own he lets her head down lightly beside him as he lies quietly beside her takes her right hand with his left Romeo from his pocket retrieves a knife meant for other men he eases the blade between his ribs it finds his broken heart As blood pools under his back his life is also gone Juliet utters one last cry of grief before she disappears or was that one last cry of relief in hope he reappears for never was there a story of more woe than this of Juliet and her Romeo
Ingrid’s prompt for this week’s dVerse poetics was “Homage to the Bard.” I chose to write a poem approximately on the theme of Romeo and Juliet. https://dversepoets.com/2022/04/26/poetics-homage-to-the-bard/
Okra
Two women sit under a thatched roof
supported by rafters
coarse wood brown
smiling and chatting together
Chickens scratch at the edge of their shelter
a bold shiny colourful rooster
a big shiny black hen
Their surroundings are a circular patch
dry dusty earth red
small mud brick dwellings
define a perimeter orange
The late autumn day is lit by a cold sun of
clean blue light
One woman sits above the other higher
she is perched
Her long thin legs hang over a shallow edge
a rug covered platform
She is the older in a thick faded purple
dress a pullover yellow
is topped with a scarf white around her neck
Her head is swaddled in a woollen wrap crimson
it frames a face sun
lit, weathered and aged by decades of labour
Spaces such as this
fields such as she can choose
to see at anytime
will forever be green and brown
She gazes pensively across
open communal space
She ponders her past with pleasure and regret
she speaks of things new
old, deep and trivial
Her arthritic hands clasped in a lap
of gratitude flesh
Her battered Nike sneakers peek out from
the long layers of fabric above grey and yellow
her face is calm
Her future as it will be
The younger sits cross legged
a woven mat under her strung tan
Together cultivating lines of okra
drying under sheltering eaves ragged
shadows of indigo host
hangings vertically in bright green
coloured lengths
unclasped necklaces ornaments
of metres adorn the space with a decorative
interior that creates a sense
coming festivity
The drying shed colours the day, the place
it’s people making
according to the crop
a pride of place for transient
prettiness and implications
security, work well done
Here for generations other
younger women have
sat for hours
days post harvest preparing
sustaining products of manual fieldwork
multi hued
for deep grey winter consumption
Her dress is brighter golds
magentas her hands are as yet
unaffected by the gnarly
growths destined by labour
She repeats centuries old weaving
patterns confidently efficiently unhurried
listening quietly thoughtfully respectfully
Tales of the past wash over her black and white
through her as water of life in delicate pastels
as hope as comfort
She knows here there are will be
still lessons to be gleaned
conversation the reflections of her elder
The younger a willing learner of
a quasi meditative state borne soft pink
by the methodical repetitious
nature of her work it is was as surely known
the best way for learning lessons
by the word of her people
successes and failures
myth legend
retelling that never ceases to inform
warm warn entertain and delight
There is comfort in the learning
a knowing that all the natural obstacles over
which there is little control life
will continue on on on
There is no question about how
time is to be spent
day by day this is dictated
by seasons culture necessity
green yellow brown grey
There is no concept of time ticking away
each day is known-quantity where
choice is limited but colour rich
life is sometimes unpredictable dangerous
set fluid simple
giving and taking with impunity
Time has no measure
life itself opaque
Two women commune as did
two before them
back it goes into the dark
blue of distance
where many women become every one
sitting together, stringing up green okra
another part of every year’s never ending
rainbow
The Tall Brown Woman in Green
They told me about her hair
before I met her.
It was green.
I thought it the best hair
I’d ever seen.
The fall of her locks
topped long flowing frocks
that ran neck to toe
as they swept the ground clean.
In bare feet
so she walked
or sashayed
I should say
her hair bounced away
like gentle waves of the sea.
In long flowing robes
from her head to her toes
luminous bright green
and shimmering a sheen,
she moved as one
supple, undulating dream.
Her hips that were square
rolled sensually there
under rippling fabric I deemed.
Her shoulders carried smoothly.
Her pose held beautifully.
Her skin smooth as polished gold.
Her head held proud,
and defiantly bold.
Her face was of grace
framed in fine green lace
at the edges of the green hood
folded around her neck.
From the dripping sleeves of her gown,
where long hands emerged brown,
slender fingers completed the scene.
Bright brown eyes
looked curiously around,
‘til she stopped,
tall and sure
image of a noble queen.
She had turned toward me.
I, the watcher was seen,
and I found myself bound
to the tall brown woman in green.
Hades begets Persephone
She awoke with a raw sense of dread
A cold sweat soaked the sheets of her bed
The sounds that night were not nighttime’s she knew
A hint of smoke contradicted the dew
Shadows danced on the bedroom wall
Where dancing shadows should not be at all
The normal still off white of the paint
Was lively with movement and firelight feint
She fumbled with billowing robe and nightclothes
Tying her robe up tight as she rose
Into a world of self doubt and fright
She stumbled out into the cold of the night
She touched the back of the door to sense any heat Realised she’d no shoes put on her feet Sidestepped and slipped into a pair of sandals As her hand reached out for the frightful handle
When she dared to look through the gap in the door Using light flickering lively onto the floor From her half awake hazy sleep deprived daze She wondered if the place was already ablaze
Further she pushed open the portal
Considered precious life and all that was mortal
Within her tiny flat B number 144
She wondered if she could take the fear anymore
And she listened alert for other clues
Thought about the price of paying her dues
She heard the crackle and pop of combusting wood
Her only thought now to get out if she could
She peered out into a reddish early morning gloom
To an apparently deserted yet eerie lounge room
But there at the side a large shape sat in a chair
Exuding an oppressive weight of despair
The wood fire aglow had strangely been lit It certainly was not her who lit it A monstrous head turned to look into her face An inhuman form by nature disgraced
He had discreetly followed her around town for weeks In peripheral vision never seen when he seeks Creating acute nervousness from endless teases A cat playing with a mouse its tormenting pleases
She knew instantly her time had come
It was not to be as life had begun
No comfort from her mother’s caress
No strength to be found on father’s chest
Hades stood to meet her towering ominously above Leering and smug antithesis of love She resigned herself to the monster’s arms Wishing after horror would come blessed dead calm
In this d’verse challenge https://dversepoets.com/2021/08/03/poetics-persephone/ Sarah asked us to take inspiration from the myth of the abduction of Persephone by Hades. I saw ancient (and not so ancient) patriarchal rituals and modern parallels as I read Sarah’s summation of the story.
Sunshower
Today I saw the sun come out
From behind a veil of rain
But still the drops
Fell all about
As rain fell just the same
The sunlight formed
Into golden shafts
Vapour lit illumination
The earth shattered the falling drops
I watched with fascination
Strathbogie poetry
#strathbogiepoetry
Fledglings of fear
The dawning was a slow one we were fledglings of fear victims of illness, Children of Lir Number 1 was long strong. Her job to protect. Strong for a long while, until proven imperfect. Number 2 was a mess, times hard as hard for that little girl, our fractured shard. Number 3 was me. Death to the fiddle! Hate for love. None in the middle. Number 4 was Baby, always our most precious. Watching and suffering, the indiscriminate malice. Mother was mad as mad could be. Inside we knew, outside, none could see. House to school school to house all running scared each quiet as a mouse. Freezing bath water, heads held down. Gasping for breath. No sound, lest you drown. Smothered in cereal, honey as glue, naked on the floor kicked black and blue. We lost our only friend. Older sister on the verge. Took flight literally. Our life and death dirge. To young to know. To young to do. I first noticed the down while cowering, we few. Necks stealthily extended, to get a better view of punishment to come, forewarned by cue. Heads tucked under wings, to avoid each other’s pain. Our wings were getting stronger unobserved by our bane. Three remaining cygnets together finding voice seeking strength together, a transformative choice. Reddened eyes were normal, the feathers came next. Black, as our experience lengthened our graceful necks. Then came time to speak with red bloodied beaks making plaintive warning sounds ugly ducklings began to sneak. Eventually, we broke out of bounds, braved an outside world, the hurt, the rage, the hopelessness, to unravel and unfurl And when we told our story, of years of abuse and neglect, no one knew a thing out of privacy respect. Together we remain fragile. Together we remain strong. Together we mourn our sister. Grief upon hope upon wrong upon wrong. For Sinead O’Connor. Strathbogie poetry #strathbogiepoetry
The shallow of looking deep
I’m still drowning in the water of you
My feet can’t find the bottom
I don’t know what to do
It’s like all we’ve done’s forgotten
I know it was a blind step
A leap into the dark
When straight after we met
I let you leave your mark
Now I wonder what that time was worth
Those years since spent together
Now I give a wide berth
To your dark and stormy weather
I still don’t know you, I never did
What is it that I was missing?
Disappointment of which I’m never rid
A deflating balloon, ever hissing
When I reflect on you as a person
You’re surrounded by a wall
As I watched our relationship worsen
You never heard my drowning call
Was your silence about making a choice?
Or were you incapable and you couldn’t?
Could you not hear my pleading voice?
Everything about you said you wouldn’t
Did I simply miss you’re shallow?
Because I was always looking for the deep
Is it there was nothing to really know?
The wasted years make me want to weep
strathbogie poetry
strathbogie photography
Sublime
Soft touch Soft lips Hug held Soft hips So precious So fine So perfect Sublime
The Last Butterfly
When the last butterfly flutters by your seat on the grass When the sun moves overhead in one more timeless pass When the creek’s empty water flows by and on When the creatures of the bush all around you have gone Will you sit and reflect on what could have been When you knew it was coming it had been foreseen Will you ask why you didn’t when there was time and you could While you sat on the grass thinking I must then I should
This is how I love you
You know how much I love you – much
I love so much to touch you – touch
Let’s not make a fuss about it – fuss
Just live and love together – just
I adore you I am all yours – adore
The more I see you the more I want you – more
Let’s spend our love together – love
Above the mundane we’ll rise – above
Be as one known one to – one
Like sun you light my world – like sun
Love’s gauntlet
Here once on this path love’s torment
Found me quietly pleading in fear
Then twice by this way love’s sonnet
Helped me to see my way clear
As I thrice put my case love’s comet
Struck me, rendered me seer
Four times in the midst of love’s torrent
My heart stricken by love beyond peer
A fifth run to the end of love’s gauntlet
Win or lose shapes my life on from here
for eternity
Image
A poem for thine eyes to see
Words that speak of love for thee
A verse from where my head doth rest
Upon thy softly rising chest
A breath
A gentle tender plea
To bind our hearts eternally
To state our love is rich and rare
An intimacy that none can share
I’ll stay with you through eternal life
My friend my lover my eternal wife
seanmathews.blog 