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Dark n Beautiful Nov 2020
When a poem speak in confidence
That is how I am as I walk the street of Brooklyn

me, a poem of mystery, a bite senility though
in my sensate world:

I know ones pride, can over shadow them
Never ride ones pride.  Especially when the
price of victory is high but so are the rewards.

Did our former leader congratulate the new President?

Maybe I missed his speech,
pride is born in the heart
Ego is born in the mind
today is November 10th 2020:

My job can be so frustrating at times,
during these times of uncertainty

I have to push on daily,
to have a joyful moment,
at the work place
Give thank in all circumstances,
but I will never uttered those words
That is was God work:
it was because of my inner fears.
That led me to stay as long
as I did at the seafront:

The world feels lighter these days,
Satan power is lessening,
Death has lost its sting ( 1 Corinthians 15:55

For the first time in this country
A black female is the vice president of America
And what bring a smile on my face,
She attend the same college as my younger daughter
Howard University.. Thumps up !

When I was a teenager,
I went swimming late one night
In the cold water down the harbor Road,
A poem was created that night, little did I knew
Here I am rehashing those memories…..
A happy mood clouds our judgement
Words, words, images and the truth
Michael might not remember, but I remember,

The city lights and the whispering of the wind:
My shivering slender body was a poem inside and out:
When my poems speak in confidence,  I walk, the walk
In the street of Brooklyn..
Amanda Kay Burke Apr 2020
What I want
To feel happy again
I don't get what I need
Things I harbor hold me back
Beneath skin are wounds that bleed
If I could only let go of this baggage.. then maybe I could be free, and light enough to fly.
Michael R Burch Mar 2020
Safe Harbor
by Michael R. Burch

for Kevin N. Roberts

The sea at night seems
an alembic of dreams—
the moans of the gulls,
the foghorns’ bawlings.

A century late
to be melancholy,
I watch the last shrimp boat as it steams
to safe harbor again.

In the twilight she gleams
with a festive light,
done with her trawlings,
ready to sleep . . .

Deep, deep, in delight
glide the creatures of night,
elusive and bright
as the poet’s dreams.

Published by The Lyric, Grassroots Poetry, Romantics Quarterly, Angle, Poetry Porch, Poetry Life & Times. Keywords/Tags: Kevin Roberts, Romantic, Poet, Romanticism, safe, harbor, night, dreams, imagination
Cynthia Jean Feb 2020
Go beyond
The safe harbor

Cynthia Jean
February,  2020
Sabila Siddiqui Jul 2019
you make my body quake
leave cracks in my esteem
and invite doubts
to harbor and fester as you
send a shiver down my spine
to drown my fire.

you soak up all the syllables.
that I was to mutter
so I stumble
and stand there mute
with my stomach heavy with nausea.

I take guilt bites
as I am lost in panicky howls.
while you lay out procrastination unevenly
and drink from the reservoir of my energy.

you trick my potential
wipe out my credential
leave nothing but
raspy and rough remnants for me
to draw from.

you rule the beats of my heart
pulling me out at the first hello.
you grip me,
whisper obscurely
whilst darkness grasps my sense
and wraps my dreams with dark matter.

with you my my soul
remains parched like the desert,
and my brain wrecked with nervosity
as the sensation spreads across my body.

But Fear,
I want to be one step ahead
of you this time.
I don’t want my fate to collapse
beneath your decisions.

I want to spell courage louder
than your stifling whispers
as I embrace opportunities
regardless of how daunting and risky you paint it to be.
JT Nelson Jun 2019
I visited my harbor
A refuge among the waves
I walked among giants
And touched the cold firm ground
And rocks that formed foundations
Of communities and families
Of a world handed down

I saw the faces of my elders
I felt the hands of my grandmothers
On my shoulders
As I scrubbed the stones clean
The sun shone on my neck
Warming me as I worked.
One last rinse of their headstone

And my task was done
They sparkled and smiled
Back at me
And as the dates in the stones held fast,
My clock continued to advance
And I left knowing I felt better
Their embrace was healing.
My Memorial Day routine and escape when I need to talk to my dad.
Megan Hammer Feb 2019
As I listen to Otis Redding on the harbor, boats named after people float around;
Boats named by fishermen who think just a little too much.
They come out everyday like Hemingway Jrs; the old men and their sea.

December does not feel right here: It’s not the same without a Chicago winter,
But this harbor’s got my father on my mind.

He used to run numbers for a local casino & now he writes numbers in a sudoku box on Sundays.
The days of wild adventure on the streets of Germany are what he sees when he looks at his beer mugs.

and when he’s had a little Heineken, Marlboro, and a spin of his record player,
I know that no one else should be in the room.

He shows his thoughts in photos: His winters spent coming back home to feed his family,
Keeping warm in a house with one heater, snow, noses blown in hankies, Uncle Frankie,
Harry playing jazz in the living room, and walking to school in the cold.

But there are no photos of him - and there wouldn’t be -
When he snuck away to the harbor with his friends.
We tend not to talk about them anymore, but he still remembers where they lived.

And sometimes, I catch a glimpse of him - with his Heineken and his Marlboro and his music -
I catch him as he smiles in hiding while his eyes confide in a light I do not see,
And when I do,
I know that my father is still on that harbor.
Rexhep Morina Sep 2018
eyes clouded,
only in my dreams I can truly see,

see you as you are,
see me,
you see,

my dreams of us
is what we should be,
let the clouds clear
so we can see clearly

open skies,
my eyes
reflect you
as you are,

see you as you are,
see me,
you see,

you are,
without a doubt,
a endless sensation
that resides in me

affection I feel,
love, I harbor,
a part of you in me,
After almost a year and a half, I decided to venture back into writing, I almost had forgotten the relief, the feel of finishing a piece of poetry, pouring my self into something and, what creating something was like.

I will most definitely keep on writing, keep on sharing, keep on pouring whats in me. It is a great way of meditating, speaking to the reader, and releasing any bottled feelings.

Alice Lovey Jul 2018
Even if I waited, as I would,
On the harbor of the sea from which you've drifted,
You are the Captain of your driftwood.
I am a Lighthouse.
Standing on its own, but beckoning a safe return.
Kewayne Wadley Mar 2018
Having to forget you is a misconception.
I understand that things happen and these things we often have no control over.
Watching the boat leave it's pier is one of the most beautiful things.
My honest opinion.
The beginning of new experience.
The sensation of watching the odds disperse wave after wave.
Love happens.
It hurts a bit.
Being gone so long.
Docking other places, under different lights.
Finding that every city has a different sound.
A different smell.
It hurts knowing that you've docked somewhere new.
The same flow of emotion parted by the hull of your coming.
A new home.
A new place to rest your fears.
It takes courage to open up.
Thick ropes tied in knots.
An ever changing world.
More advances made in the world of travel.
How we get from point A to B.
It doesn't mean that I don't miss you.
Leaving my rope on the dock of the harbor.
Free to come and go as you please.
Having to watch my boat sail away.
The chance of knowing you may never return.
The same intimacy we shared given to someone else.
It's the same understanding that hurts tenfold.
Knowing these changes must be made in order to progress.
Going out on the town to find myself back here waiting for your return.
Relating to the tears of the ocean.
A new experience we both separately share.
The nights spent alone in wait.
The pier lined up with different ships and boats.
None of which are never you.
It's impossible not to miss you.
Holding on to your beauty, grace.
Waiting for my ship to return.
Knowing that it will never happen
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