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Corey Parsons Oct 2017
My lone, disheveled skiff is flooded
With moonlight. I am a real-life sea captain,
Wading off the shore of Life.

I have jettisoned my mighty oar,
I now lie on the hull, drowning
In a Champion's brew.

I miss my mates.
I'm sick of reminiscing w/ the stars
Of my friends, my crew,
Our complacency,
And the Great War.
By Corey Parsons
Helios Alatza Aug 2017
tonight is strange.
you see,
i slept today
at a friend's house.
but now, cannot
sleep.

and when i say "slept"
i mean;
i laid there
in her blankets,
and thought of you.

and when i say
"thought of you"
i mean;
i wondered if
at that moment
you missed me too.

and when i say "wondered"
i mean;
i imagined your lips
against
my eyelids.

and when i say "against"
what i meant to say
was;
that i wished you
were held against
me.

and when i say "held"
i meant;
that i'll take your problems
and shoulder them
as My own.

but dear,
when i said
"problems"
what i meant to say
was that your
ink-stained fingernails
are god-crafted.

and by "ink"
you know
that i mean;
you've forever
left your mark
on me.

and by "mark"
i mean;
that you've drawn
in all the sides of
all the best poems.

and by "drawn"
i offer up;
that this is not
the first or last
time we fire one another
and scald the oceans.

tonight is strange,
indeed.

it's a good thing
You always know
what i'm really
trying to say.
Stopped on the shore
to snap a picture,
"can you pose more candidly?"
you asked the water,

while the sun scurried
across the sky to duck
behind the horizon for fear
of the ensuing argument.
If you should be lost
the police report
will ask me
to describe you.

I will say, “He is
the one with the gaze
that could sink a ship
and the laugh
that could bring it to life again.”
Anthony Arnieri May 2016
The dead captain quietly fights the reef.
Ooh, desolation!
Endurance, death, and endurance.
Never love a seashell
More than the glinting sunshine
ji Mar 2016
No matter how painful the words I write,
     or how perfectly beautiful they rhyme,
     no phrase, no line, no verse, no time
     or poetry in the world could bring you back.

And I'll miss you forever, like how the shore
     unspeakably misses the kisses of the tides
     as they recede;
     and like the corals on the ocean beds,
     you are all I need.
i miss you terribly.
Mokomboso Jun 2015
Two earth tones, green and blue
Fall from canopies into pacific seas
Mantarays or mangabeys
Each our neighbours
Both at peace in the mist and pool
My mind a contradiction
We built our shelters in these two worlds
Scales into fur and fur into scales
Changing skins, like a selkie
King triton holds a trident
And the ape sits atop her tree
I put the sea in sea monkey
Who put the monkey in the sea?
Frugiverous pescitarian
Queen of our domain
Whether 50 feet high
Or 50 meters below
The kelp forest as does the rainforest
Calls me to come home.
I have two places that draw me, the sea and rainforests. I feel part mermaid and part simian, as well as human. I have an odd way of identifiying.
ji Jun 2015
My heart fell and sank deeply at the sight of you,
     like an anchor hurled into the sea.

And then you spoke and I'm reminded of the waves;

You're the sea and I'm a fish,
     the salty waters I long and crave.
You cast yourself in people's lives. Some swim, but you dive. Then you drown but don't die, and then you knew: even divers swim back ashore to survive.
Tentacles twist breaking bow and mast.
Clinging and clinching to the once mighty vessel.
A ship once prized by the Navy
Now prized as a partner for the sea beast.
Each serpentine tentacle tightens,
Around wooden board, and cast iron fastener.
Creaking and cracking the boat dances as the beast leads.
Waves crazed as they are whipped to frenzy,
Matching the mammoth's rhythms.
They struggle to keep the beast contained.
White caps covering the beasts murderous desire.
The ship is his, and as dances do,
This one ends in a flourish.
Cracking crosstrees and foremast,
Collapsing the gangways,
Sails still whipping as the dancer's dress is ravaged.
And as quickly as it began
It stops.
The monster sinks back from where his strike began.
The tired vessel following quickly after.
The water forgets its rhythm and steps.
Inspired by a *** commercial? Who knew?
Kyle Kulseth Apr 2015
Plot a course through downtown doors
then drift along the concrete shores
of asphalt oceans navigated
          under stars
          imitating
     broken curbside glass--
     over crunching gravel miles
          measured in half-hours
and meted out in heavy, fogging breaths
          and squinting, midnight eyes...

Counted out the blocks, counted steps
and concrete squares by metered
three-four thoughts dancing across
     reflected skylines, just behind the eyes.

Each step's a held breath,
each footfall a prayer on crumpled paper,
each set of shoulders, a hanger for...

                                        coats are homes
                                             for hands
                                    rolling up in pockets
fishing for some solid anchor,
sinking into years of walks and silent words like these.

                                   * * *

Listing hard, adrift for years
     water-logged and pocked--
                    no anchor--
shredded sails and leaning masts
                    tell stories
                  of deck fires:
                   leaping rats,
             and charred strakes

Clear deck,
               empty hold,
                              abandoned helm.
                     this coat's Atlantic fog.
Frayed rigging like cobwebs stretch
          down and across
like lines on faces aged by the frost
          on midnight walks.

Strike the colors, mate...
Admit you're lost.
Was worried this one might seem a little...overbearing? Melodramatic? I kinda like how it turned out, though.
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