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Anthony Mayfield Jun 2018
They know my name.
They seek my fame.
My Temple plays unwitting host
To the horrid displays they love to *****.
I don’t think I can bear to know what’s wrong
With me.
I don’t think I can bear to know what’s strong or weak.
It all comes down to the end.
It spins,
It slides,
It taunts,
Maybe if I spin again my own weaved web to comprehend,
Then maybe I can fix this flux that burns down my will to trust.
Or maybe I can fly again or jump to the sun;
An Icarus end.
I’m broken this time, you can bet.
It’s what I get for casting light on my silhouette,
When I wasn’t ready yet.
I said stop
alexa Oct 2017
i sort of feel unneeded
'cause it seems that no one cares
and by no one, i mean the friends
who i thought cared
but now i'm not so sure.

one apparently cannot stand me
ranting to her

another seems quite bored

and some i can't trust enough

but still, i can't help feeling
unneeded there.
some friends may not be true friends.
Cori MacNaughton Oct 2015
She had been at sea for three decades
her first voyage at age eighteen
a week after her marriage
in the year of our Lord 1883

She married a sailing man
captain of his own ship
handsome, bearded and tall
a fine commander of his men
as they searched the sea for whales

She loved life at sea
and could imagine no other
the motion of the ship
the sounds of the rigging and the sails
the quiet companionship
with her husband every evening

She was beloved by her husband’s men
whom she mothered well
having had no sons of her own
but nurtured and healed
patched and sewed
bloodied and broken hearts and men

Often she came out on deck
for she knew when they would find them
and though she was in the stern
and the lookout was high in the crow's nest
she saw many whales they missed

She thrilled each time she saw them
awed by their sheer size
marveling at their strength
humbled by their beauty
careful to hide her feelings

Sometimes she could feel
when a whale would blow
and she would call to the first mate
so the men looked at her
as the whale passed unseen

Most times she silently prayed
willing the lookout to search
the wrong spot of ocean
and felt again the pang
of disloyalty to her husband
for he commanded a whaling ship

But then the lookout's call came
"Thar she blows!"
and the men sprang to action
taking after the whale in longboats
while she escaped below

She had seen before the killing
she would not watch again
too many whales succumbed
to exploding harpoons
and a death horrifyingly cruel

And she wondered
what would happen
if only whales could scream . . .
Originally written on 4 Feb 2006 at 11:57 PM.

This poem is very close to my heart, as I have been strongly morally opposed to whaling since childhood, and it was inspired by the following wrenching quote:

The methods have hardly evolved since Dr. Harry D. Lillie worked as a ship's doctor on a whaling expedition in the Antarctic in 1946:

"If we can imagine a horse having two or three explosive spears stuck into its stomach and being made to pull a butcher's truck through the streets of London while it pours blood in the gutter, we shall have an idea of the present method of killing. The gunners themselves admit that if whales could scream the industry would stop, for nobody would be able to stand it."

I recently read the wonderful book "Fluke, or I know Why the Winged Whale Sings" by Christopher Moore, in which , though it is a work of (mostly) humorous fiction, he recounts a factual occurrence of a mother whale attempting to protect her calf from the Japanese whaling ship pursuing them.  In Japan, whales are considered to be nothing more than fish, with therefore no moral reason not to hunt them to extinction, but her actions showed the whalers onboard the ship that she truly displayed a mammalian motherly love, and moved many of them to tears.  

There is still room for hope, but we have to act NOW, and drag our government officials into the 21st century kicking and screaming if need be.
Danielle L Cook Sep 2015
I would post more poems,
but whenever I come online
all I see is people advertising drama
and calling down one another
some people are just being idiots..
its not a positive space anymore
at least, not how I see it
Do not fret
about  today
next week
because tomorrow  has enough worry
of it's own.
Frank Ruland Nov 2014
"I do not like Spam."
said, Frank I Am.
*"Please, put it back in the can,
'cuz your ****'s not worth a ****."
Please, repost this if you hate Spam and Spammers. Seriously, leave us AND Hello Poetry alone! Go do something productive. You're just annoying..

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