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19/F/Lebanon
Poetry and violin stole my heart from the very start! Also i’m a thalassophile.
i write words that i believe in. i hope you can believe it what you write too.
Meaningless poems
Poems
Anne Shirley-Darcy May 2020
waves
Anne Shirley-Darcy
May 2020
the waves rose the waves fell the waves rose the waves fell; the waves roused the waves, and fell the waves; it rose the waves and fell the waves that rose yet the waves did fell; the waves rose the waves fell and their waves rose to the waves that fell; the waves rose and rose, but then other waves fell; the waves rose the waves that fell the waves which rose; the waves felt the waves rose; the waves fell as the waves rose; the waves fell against the waves that rose; the waves fell and the waves rose; the waves fell and the waves rose but the waves that fell felt the next waves that rose; the waves fell to its knees; the waves rose in droves; the waves fell and wept; the waves rose to help; the waves fell the waves rose the waves fell the waves rose; on and on the waves fell with the waves that rose; watch the waves that fell when the waves rose; the waves fell in wells, sipping from the waves which rose; the waves fell the waves rose on and on the waves fell for the waves that rose; the waves fell in the deep; the waves rose and lifted its kin in heaps; the waves fell with the waves who rose; the waves fell hard for the waves that rose; the waves fell to the waves who rose and rose the waves that fell to those waves that had rose; the waves fell the waves rose the waves fell the waves rose the waves fell and fell for the waves to rose; the waves fell the waves rose the waves fell the waves rose the waves fell in shock to see the waves rose their waves which fell; the waves rose the waves fell the waves rose and rose; the waves fell and the waves rose; the waves fell the waves rose the waves fell the waves rose the waves in their fell; the waves rose the waves fell the waves rose the waves fell; weeping, the waves rose, for the waves who fell; the waves rose the waves fell the waves rose the waves fell; time trickled to and by as the waves rose and the waves fell; the waves rose the waves fell the waves rose the waves fell; hurt and weak, the waves rose from the waves that fell; the waves rose the waves fell the waves rose but their waves fell
on and on and on
we see, they
rose
and fell
on and on and on
we see, they
rose
and fell
Nat Lipstadt
May 2019
~for Steve Yocum~
if
well you know me, ken the man that has
surf-surrendered before you in one too many visions,
if well you know me, now with solstice summer just to come,
a man ever asking, where’s shelter, returns to the whence and why,
for each year, the summer man (1) was and is reborn to die,
reborn at the whence and where each wave dies storytelling of him
you see him, but do not see-think, the man’s endless wave watching, final resting on a shoreline, think incorrectly, each, just a repetition,
one story come and gone then shattered, busted-blasted,
into sea green glass pieces, then when retold, worn yet further,
into granulated pictures, each a sugary sand speck, a letter-memory, locked, loaded, then hid embedded on an ocean graveyard
no two waves alike, men cannot distinguish, same as humans cells,
the body itself, all its microscopic cells, cosigned and cousin’d,
yet each minutely singularly unique and differentiated,
so the waves as well, of single droplets ribbed, but ocean appearing
as a forestal paradisal garden with trees of life and apples of death,
each customized, but all of one body of blue soil clayed with water
there summer man pilgrimages, on a May to Fall Jerusalem journey,
sits on the sand amidst ocean angels come to grasp dead carcasses,
he observes his summer New Year rituals, the waves grasp his soul,
wrap him in prayer shawl, skin striped by tefillin leather straps,(2)
each wave, a sentencing, a long novel of the loving life, writ by an
infinity of recombo-wakes, some woke/some sunk - all never-ended
I crawl into foamed dreams, the white salt blanches living skin,
swim out to wherever legs and arms have no power of propulsion,
carried and drift but never aimless, never shameless, always endless,
we, all, children of Israelites, wade on water a 1000 fathoms deep,
soaking in tales of landlocked organisms, all from the water created,
all are sprung, all come, returned, waves speak, histories for retelling
so from now till the fell of fall, the summer man pays obeisance,
his sitting place, his sand markings so well entrenched, waves
leave it untouched, his indentation upon the grains, they go around,
friends, sun wind tide seagull and ospreys, keep their distance, not disturbing his reading, telling, praying, adding his owned/disowned
particle-of-the-day of creation/becoming/diminution,
his poem tales written, then diminished, the man
lost in the waves, found in the waves
~~~~~~~
5/07/2019
writ upon an isle of concrete,
resting upon a bedrock of volcanic schist at 4:24am
before the pilgrimage to a true sandy isle
~~~~~~~~
inspired by a rendition of “Lost in the Waves”
https://youtu.be/MayNMko-e4s
Lost in the Waves, written by Kooman & Dimond
At the edge of the Atlantic,
Can't bring myself to swim.
I choked back the tears for twenty two years,
Drowning in shadows of him.
The waves etch out a pattern
Long after they're gone.
The lines that they trace, they quickly erase,
But something's still lingering on.
Lost in the waves.
I am lost in the waves.
No one but me and the silent black sea;
I am lost in the waves.
A vision in the moonlight:
A family on the beach.
A boy on his own, by the undertow thrown
Far beyond his father's reach.
He's caught in a riptide.
A man has to choose.
There's a race to be won for the life of his son,
But someone has to lose.
Lost in the waves.
He was lost in the waves.
Salt water burns, the tide always turns,
When you're lost in the waves.
Now I'm the one sinking.
There's no solid ground.
And I can't help thinking
I'm the one who has drowned.
Now knee-deep in the water,
I feel my father's touch.
And though fully grown, I've still never known
How to love someone that much.
Lost in the waves.
I am lost in the waves.
No one but me and the silent black sea;
I am lost in the waves.
I am lost in the waves.
I am lost in the waves.
heard last night in a Master Class for actors/singers taught by
Lea Salonga, in Studio 5, City Center, NYC
if
well you know me, ken the man that has
surf-surrendered before you in one too many visions,
if well you know me, now with solstice summer just to come,
a man ever asking, where’s shelter, returns to the whence and why,
for each year, the summer man (1) was and is reborn to die,
reborn at the whence and where each wave dies storytelling of him
you see him, but do not see-think, the man’s endless wave watching, final resting on a shoreline, think incorrectly, each, just a repetition,
one story come and gone then shattered, busted-blasted,
into sea green glass pieces, then when retold, worn yet further,
into granulated pictures, each a sugary sand speck, a letter-memory, locked, loaded, then hid embedded on an ocean graveyard
no two waves alike, men cannot distinguish, same as humans cells,
the body itself, all its microscopic cells, cosigned and cousin’d,
yet each minutely singularly unique and differentiated,
so the waves as well, of single droplets ribbed, but ocean appearing
as a forestal paradisal garden with trees of life and apples of death,
each customized, but all of one body of blue soil clayed with water
there summer man pilgrimages, on a May to Fall Jerusalem journey,
sits on the sand amidst ocean angels come to grasp dead carcasses,
he observes his summer New Year rituals, the waves grasp his soul,
wrap him in prayer shawl, skin striped by tefillin leather straps,(2)
each wave, a sentencing, a long novel of the loving life, writ by an
infinity of recombo-wakes, some woke/some sunk - all never-ended
I crawl into foamed dreams, the white salt blanches living skin,
swim out to wherever legs and arms have no power of propulsion,
carried and drift but never aimless, never shameless, always endless,
we, all, children of Israelites, wade on water a 1000 fathoms deep,
soaking in tales of landlocked organisms, all from the water created,
all are sprung, all come, returned, waves speak, histories for retelling
so from now till the fell of fall, the summer man pays obeisance,
his sitting place, his sand markings so well entrenched, waves
leave it untouched, his indentation upon the grains, they go around,
friends, sun wind tide seagull and ospreys, keep their distance, not disturbing his reading, telling, praying, adding his owned/disowned
particle-of-the-day of creation/becoming/diminution,
his poem tales written, then diminished, the man
lost in the waves, found in the waves
~~~~~~~
5/07/2019
writ upon an isle of concrete,
resting upon a bedrock of volcanic schist at 4:24am
before the pilgrimage to a true sandy isle
~~~~~~~~
inspired by a rendition of “Lost in the Waves”
https://youtu.be/MayNMko-e4s
Lost in the Waves, written by Kooman & Dimond
At the edge of the Atlantic,
Can't bring myself to swim.
I choked back the tears for twenty two years,
Drowning in shadows of him.
The waves etch out a pattern
Long after they're gone.
The lines that they trace, they quickly erase,
But something's still lingering on.
Lost in the waves.
I am lost in the waves.
No one but me and the silent black sea;
I am lost in the waves.
A vision in the moonlight:
A family on the beach.
A boy on his own, by the undertow thrown
Far beyond his father's reach.
He's caught in a riptide.
A man has to choose.
There's a race to be won for the life of his son,
But someone has to lose.
Lost in the waves.
He was lost in the waves.
Salt water burns, the tide always turns,
When you're lost in the waves.
Now I'm the one sinking.
There's no solid ground.
And I can't help thinking
I'm the one who has drowned.
Now knee-deep in the water,
I feel my father's touch.
And though fully grown, I've still never known
How to love someone that much.
Lost in the waves.
I am lost in the waves.
No one but me and the silent black sea;
I am lost in the waves.
I am lost in the waves.
I am lost in the waves.
heard last night in a Master Class for actors/singers taught by
Lea Salonga, in Studio 5, City Center, NYC
(1) https://hellopoetry.com/poem/447181h/i-am-a-summer-man/
(2) https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tallit lookup tefillin
(2) https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tallit lookup tefillin