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Thomas Harvey May 12
I open my eyes but am blind to the sea
My ears are filled with myths
For no creature could lurk in the abyss
Perhaps I should have paid the fee

The air is denser than it was yesterday
The sun is refusing to shine
And the lonely sea continues to whine
Six more nights till I see May

I try to sleep at day
To be prepared during nightfall
That’s when I hear him call
Five more nights till I see may

I’m getting closer I think
Based on my supply of food
It’s not lot looking to good
One more night, I say on the brink

He waited for me to reach the bay
Where he rose larger than the sun
There I knew I was done
Here I almost made it to May
KarmaPolice Jan 1
The distance between us
Grows further apart
Consumed by the storm
That blackens my heart

And out at sea I battle
With all that nature throws
Waves that strip the ocean
Exposing cracks and bones

I'm battered by the storms
Waves tower over me
I'm frozen on the sea bed
Time stands still for me

I'm paralysed with fear
Exhausted, weak and prone
The sea will soon consume me
I can't fight this alone

My life flashed before me
A memory kept inside
Playing my emotions
That surge with the tide

A glimmer of light
Breaking the skies
In awe of the wonder
That light up my eyes
Carlo C Gomez Dec 2023
Time is a dark feeling
—the spell of a vanishing loveliness;
in the present mist
the imperatives in the wind
move less and less.

Haul away the anchor,
this is not a safe place.

Between insufficient coasts
—a land of look behind—
science is dead,
pessimism in the remaining oar,
and flies in the eyes of the Queen.
Their graves decorate the spine
on the east bank
they call Euthanasia,
each crucifix made of plasticine.

There's a discursive quality to the sea,
I can see the pearl fishermen,
the empty dancehall,
victims of latitude and eclipse.

I can see the tattered sleeves
of Edmund Fitzgerald and the pockets
of emptiness inside,
hoping to quell the hunger
of the cruelest month.

I can see an underwater country,
colonized by the unborn children
of pregnant African women
thrown off of slave ships
during the Middle Passage.

I can see myself sinking;
farewell my sorrow,
keeping precarious time
against a backdrop
of silence less and less;
its final sound being
that of seagulls
flying away into the distance
—a force of nature that’s
both solemn and inspirational
in equal parts.

ZACK GRAM Sep 2023
You can ban a poet...
You cant take the voice of the poets poetry!!!
Anais Vionet Aug 2023
I love spending nights on the lake.
Once the oven-like sun disappears,
things get suddenly quiet, except for
the occasional hoot of an owl, crickets, frogs
and the soft lapping of the lake on the boat.

When the moon rises above the pines
the sky lights up, like a fireworks bloom,
its reflection is brushed, in scatters on the lake,
giving insubstantial moonlight a sharp substance
not unlike a fractured, undulating, glittery lace.

This evening, there’s a rumble, stage left, off to the west,
and a thunderstorm’s growl, like a wolf on the prowl.
The wind was picking up, so we began battening down,
stowing things in the galley and taking in the flag. The wind,
had become almost solid with its insistent and restless energy.

The question, with these daily, southern, summer thunderstorms
is whether you’re going to catch the edge of it or get the full onslaught. The doppler radar, of my iPad weather app indicated the monster was headed right for us.

Just as our phones, watches and iPads began chirping
with National Weather Service, “Severe Weather Alerts,”
Charles asked, “You two still want to stay?” His voice fighting
against the stiff wind as he watched the tall pine-tree tops bob,
like boxers, afraid of the far off lightning flashes in the sky.

“Of course!” I chimed in, wearing a grin, I LOVE boat storms!
“Lisa, there’s a storm on the way but we’ll stay on the boat, ok?” I asked, trying to English the question with both a sense of adventure and nonchalance. Lisa, of course, followed my lead, saying, “Sure.”
“It’ll be ill,” I assured her.

Charles nodded and leapt to the dock, replacing the gunwale rope lines with longer dock rods to distance and secure the boat (lowering front and back anchors too).

“We’re staying,” Charles walkie-talkie’d Carol (his wife) below in the staterooms where she was probably making the beds. “10-4” she replied.
I love her, she’s so game for anything. While Charles worked, Lisa and I sealed the upper deck from cockpit (helm) to transom, putting up sturdy plexiglass windows and closing the transom doors.

Charles came aboard just as we turned up the air conditioning and thick raindrops started falling. Having finished our work, we looked up and the moon was gone, hidden by dark clouds that writhed like some angry, mythical, steel wool animal.

The rain went from a delicate pitter-patter to a generous applause and finally, a steady torrent. We felt it initially pass over us from port (left) to starboard (right). The wind whistled, like a giant’s breath, rocking the boat, alternately, in two directions. It was wonderful.

The far-off thunder had become intimate, bomb-like and personal, with its Crack-k-KA-BOOM! Every time such a concussion rocked the air, the boat and our teeth, I cackled, with joy, like Poe’s Madeline Usher, the madwoman in the attic.

“HOW DO YOU LIKE IT!?” I yelled to Lisa, but she made an ‘I can’t hear you,’ sign. Carol, who’d been working the galley, produced yummy tuna-fish sandwiches, potato chips and milk. We played a dominoes game called ‘Mexican Train’ until the rain stopped, then we watched ‘Jaws’ on the fold-down TV. Lisa had never seen it!

The boat had rocked, lightning had flashed, the cutting wind howled and the thunder boomed, but it was the clawing rain, like a tiger trying to break into the boat, that made it an unforgettable night on the lake.
My parent’s boat is Tiara-43LE
Ignatius Hosiana Jul 2023
In the dusk's fading light of youth , a ghostly spectre stands tall,
An abandoned wreckage at the old dock's forlorn sprawl.
Once majestic, now decaying, she's a vessel of despair,
The timbers of her heart weathered and worn, beyond any repair.

Like a fossil of forgotten tales, she stands in solemn gloom,
Haunted by memories, whispered secrets, and tales of doom.
The ocean's embrace turned hostile, her beauty eaten to decay,
As the years wore on, stealing her magnificent colors away.

Anchored in the stagnant waters, trapped in a wistful trance,
An epitaph of dreams dashed she's a vessel caught in circumstance.
Tangled in seaweed's grasp, her sails once proud and taut,
Now a haunting reminder of a journey that was never sought.

Tempted by the tides of time, her fate was sealed,
the undying resilience broken, her septic wounds revealed.
There she lingers, forsaken, a relic of forgotten glee,
A rotting boat, a silent witness to the cruelty of the sea.
Savio Fonseca Jul 2023
My Heart was Torn and Broken
with Wounds all over My Skin.
She floored and kicked My Feelings.
Thus burning My spirits Within.
Alone is the Word, that I've become.
Sailing a Boat that's lost at Sea.
I loved Her more than My Life itself,
She was the whole Universe to Me.
My Nights are Long and Lonely.
With a Sun that hardly Shines.
But what good, is the Sun to Me.
When I keep sipping on Red Wines.
My Tears now keep trickling,
as Time keeps passing By.
All I need now, is a small Corner.
Where I can Sit, to Sob and Cry.
I S A A C Jul 2023
Discovering all of the holes in my boat
changing channels, moving remote
wonder how far my legs can take me
ponder where i hid my hope
clinging then climbing
stimming then silent
i have anxiety that i wear like a backpack
i have meds that keep my grey train on track
tired of wildfires and thunderstorms
they say its natural you know?
that my autonomy is second hand
to the chemistry
its factual you know?
the cocktail of chemicals that ruminate
dispelling a flesh body’s gloomy state
Hussein Dekmak Feb 2023
Your life could be going smooth like a ship sailing in calm waters, yet a sudden change in your life can turn it upside down, suddenly this ship is caught in a raging storm.

Are you ready for the rough ride? With all of your planning, knowledge, and skills?
Have you prepared your survival boat to safe shores?

Hussein Dekmak
kian Jul 2022
When I was born the theme for the shower was Noah’s Ark, which if you don’t know is the story of hundreds and thousands of People being drowned by their father because He made them in a way that He knew He had no choice but to hate.
And because He had the power.
I always think this is a strange inheritance
To give a Child:
Countless mothers, thrashed against rocks and stones and trees that grow seed-bearing fruit, Grandparents scraped against the sides of cities, Sisters sputtering when lungs burn up with water.  Chaos everywhere. Pallid bodies floating over dark depths. Waves bigger than mountains, surging over clouds. Growing with the torrent. And worst by far, Wailing that is louder than the onslaught
of rain in sheets the size of seas.
When I go home I wince at blankets and baubles
Plastered with smiling elephants, giraffes and dolphins, blushing two-by-two.
That is just like my mother
to look at the tempest that killed everyone alive
and see the animals
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