michael-benton
Armenian
Michael H. Benton is a freelance writer and political cartoonist living in the Beaufort area for the last four years. He grew up on St Simons Island, Georgia. After time in the US Navy navigating submarines and then as an electrical engineer, he has returned to his love for writing and to the coast to again call it home. / / Michael is the winner of the 2007 Espy Award, granted annually by the Espy Foundation, and writes for newspapers and magazines across the county. The Espy Foundation advances and encourages the literary and visual arts through residencies at its artists’ community in Oysterville, Washington, and through programs in which writers, artists and students pursue and discover new ideas and create new work.
All the sailor's know the warning
of a red-tinged sunrise morning
Storm clouds are on the bay
Just as Sally knew the forming
as his rage began its swarming
Storm clouds again today
Others see something pleasing
and rebuff the ocean's teasing
Storm clouds are on the way
And they said she was mistaken
no beast was there to awaken
Storm clouds they do embrace
But sailor's know their business
as time has oft made them witness
Storm clouds that run their race
To her the truth couldn't be clearer
as she looked into the mirror -
Storm clouds upon her face
The sailor knows to dodge the squall
that morning foretells with its call
Storm clouds then pass them by
Sally was left to take the fall
when truth was denied by us all
Storm clouds then let her die
Troubles in life they take all forms
so listen well when told of storms
Storm clouds never lie
Sep 19, 2010
Sep 19, 2010 at 1:33 AM UTC
You wear around your neckline
a lucid strand of pearls
but to think they hold your beauty -
an error made by girls
Pearls do complement the woman
everyone knows it's true
but yet something more goes on
beyond what pearls can do
See, a pearl can only focus
the charms you keep inside
yes, the woman is the secret
the pearls bring out with pride
For a pearl alone is nothing
just some small piece of grit
they only enhance the beauty
that's there before they're fit
So wear your pearls on the evenings
and look your very best
but the beauty lies within you
it matters not to how you're dressed!
Sep 11, 2010
Sep 11, 2010 at 2:03 AM UTC
Lazily I slip along the mud bank, gliding with out a sound.
Low tide demands my interest to pass within the marsh.
Snakelike, I travel the path that time has set
I round each bend to wondrous creatures big and small.
Be it heron bird or turtle sunning on a stump, they greet me,
but only to a point – away they go! I have disturbed their day.
Forgiveness is assumed as they flee to a comfortable distance.
We gain equilibrium of trust, the creatures and me.
Neither wanting nor fearing, we enjoy our moment of faith.
Again, the tide demands my attention as I touch upon the bank.
I bid farewell to my companions and travel down the way.
The next turn is calling, new friendships to be found.
Time grows short, as the day passes and the surge is rushing in.
Freedom from the banks has her price - I see the marsh no more.
Only the Spartina reaches above the waves, bidding me time to go.
I row now, home with a smile, for soon I will see my companions again.
Aug 23, 2010
Aug 23, 2010 at 5:09 PM UTC
Rising up above foam-crest waves
the Highlands call me home
Yes, call to me in Gaelic tongues
to leave my water’s roam
Riding across waves of ocean's far
to reach this wondrous shore
I'll soon be there on ancestral land
known by lives before
Then nearer still, the waves reduce
I find a river wide
I sail within its Lowland shores
upon the Firth of Clyde
As stars reduce by the morning's rise
more wonders take their shape
I see cliffs all lined with moss and grass
that form this wondrous scape
This beautiful land with its rugged build
bids to me "come explore
and climb straight up to a Highland lake
then to the Upland moor"
So along the Clyde I sail my craft
and enter Scotland's soul
Like a Tartan's weave this water binds
a nation as a whole
To the North you see the mountains raise
so rugged and wild and free
To the South are hills with moors that roll
calling all "look, come see"
But it was the Clyde than won my heart
as I sailed to this place
For it opened wide, like arms stretched out
granting a sense of grace
Aug 21, 2010
Aug 21, 2010 at 10:16 AM UTC
The world can be a cruel and hurtful place
We blame fate, or Satan, or even God
All things that amplify
our own failings as human beings.
Fate does not deal in good or bad
It can bear no blame at all
All fate can do is point out
our own failings as human beings
Satan then must be the source of such
But blaming him only furthers his cause
All the dark one does is allow us
our own failings as human beings
Then God must do these worst of things
But that’s not the God I know
All God does is love and forgive us
our own failings as human beings
The world can be a cruel and hurtful place
We blame fate, or Satan, or even God
All things but where the problem lies –
our own failings as human beings
Aug 21, 2010
Aug 21, 2010 at 4:37 AM UTC
Endless sea-foam ribbons twist along the shore left by waves,
waves recalled into the sea. Many waves, their numbers never to be known.
With a drunkard’s walk I trace their path at the water’s edge.
Though the path I trod leads nowhere, it still gives me direction.
My body follows my eyes, my eyes follow the foam, the endless twisting foam.
Endless sporadic emotions twist within my mind left by pain,
pains long ago endured. My pains! Too many to count, these pains that I have known.
With a drunkard’s folly I bring them back from my soul’s darker edge.
Though to do so helps nothing, it still gives me direction.
My mind follows my soul, my soul follows the emotions, my endless twisting emotions.
Sea-foam is the evidence of waves that once washed upon the shore.
The proof they did exist. What more could you ask of a wave? Nothing.
Emotions are the evidence that my soul is still there within me.
The proof it does exist. What more dare I ask of my soul? Nothing at all.
I do not follow the wave, nor do I the pain, sea-foam and emotions are enough for me.
Aug 20, 2010
Aug 20, 2010 at 4:49 PM UTC
Care not my love, of this distance between
'tis like two hands on arms reaching full wide
though no greater space will ever be seen
I still hold you near, as if by my side
For connected we are, as parts to a whole
with emotions of love, a life blood shared
Distance does nothing to weaken the soul
keep that in mind at times you are scared
A touch on the hand is known body wide
though it's only one hand at times involved
We are the same when our love is applied
love is our touch and distance's problem solved
Together in life our hearts beat as one
two souls entwined, our life-course is run
Aug 20, 2010
Aug 20, 2010 at 4:34 PM UTC
The empty page before me
holds magic within its bounds
I sit and hold its edges
'til my inspiration's found
Shh... Quiet now and you’ll hear
it so softy speak to me
Guide's my mind to fill its lines
but knows not what it’s to be
The poet's task is simple -
to repeat the paper's tale
and give its thoughts some action
on this course we dare to sail
The subject can be the same
of the many poems you'll read
but each one holds some magic
as it plants its thoughtful seed
For two poets can hear its voice
though miles apart they be
and both will craft a telling
each one grayed by what they see
For therein lies the magic
which each poet is entwined
new ways to express the thoughts
of blank pages that we find
The poet is a partner
to the paper, thought and word
A poem is but their melding
giving sight to things once blurred
Aug 20, 2010
Aug 20, 2010 at 4:28 PM UTC
With the fairest of breezes,
off I go! I take to flight.
A silken twine holds me fast
looking back, it leads to you.
You, only you hold the twine,
I rise further to the sky
until no sight of you's left,
still, the twine holds me to you.
Drunkenly I ride the breeze
knowing that you set my course.
I reach for the high-up clouds
and then strain against your grasp.
Soon whipping winds have me caught,
and they sing upon the twine.
A song we both hear and know,
a sorrowful, wailing song.
Damage done - the string does part
and I flail within a cloud,
leaving you there, holding twine.
Stringy, stretched, useless twine.
You stand there, left wondering
and I'm lost within the sky.
The twine floats back, back to you
and I'm numb without it there.
Away I fall lost to you
as I crash upon some tree,
leaving you with tangled twine -
the folly of flying kites.
Aug 20, 2010
Aug 20, 2010 at 4:16 PM UTC
My eyes see a tarnished world
A world with stain
Stain my soul
Soul
My soul feels an angry world
A world with hurt
Hurt my mind
Mind
My mind needs a better world
A world with delight
Delight my heart
Heart
My heart is a willing world
A world with trust
Trust my eyes
Eyes
Aug 20, 2010
Aug 20, 2010 at 4:13 PM UTC