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Maria 1d
I’m full of love! It is inside me!
It’s huge like the Pacific Ocean:
Complete, horizonless and deep.
My love is kinglike as an ocean.

It can be never swum across,
Won over or comprehended.
You can be pleasingly present in it
Or easily got killed or disappeared.

And maybe love is like the Andes:
Spanless, unbroken, unfathomed.  
If you are nearby the Andes,
They’ll overwhelm you by its greatness.

My love will doubtlessly give
A shelter to a wounded heart.
It won’t reproach, play foul, betray.
It makes no odds who you just are.

It’s difficult to carry love,
Without dropping and destroying.
I try to save it anyway
From mean abuse and full dishonoring.
From my new book, Poems of Ancient Rome and Greece, available in paperback on Amazon and Barnes & Noble, as well as eBook on Kindle, Nook, and Apple Books:  https://www.amazon.com/Poems-Ancient-Greece-Christopher-Saitta/dp/B0DS6933HB?ref=astauthor_dp  

My mother the sea,
She woke my sandy eyes,
Just to tell me she had to leave,
Draw past the markets where the fish are sun-dried,
Snarled by the coral-rough hands of divers deep.

My mother the sea,
She left her running tab
Of the grocer’s choicest greens,
Thumbed the velamentous rinds and spiny scarola,
Her xylem and phloem are the slow moving cruciferousness of a breeze.

My mother the sea,
Charwoman of tides,
Who dips and delves upon her knees,
Who scrubs her brothel-coves with chamber lye,
Cyprian mistress of the salt-stained sheets.

I have looked for you, mother,
A scugnizzo amid the striped awnings of the marketplace
~ like sails to the sky ~
Where the fishmongers hawk their pride
Of conch, cavallo, and black sea bream.

I have looked for you, mother,
Walked sun-forged along the boardwalk,
Amid the neon-mascara of signs,
Hand-in-hand with only the ladyfingers of salt and vinegar fries,
Toward the crisp syllabub of pebbles and sand.

A beach is window-warmth spread free, cosmopolitan,
The longeur of eyes crushed in the glass-dust of cities.
And in the sputtering of the frosted spume of tides,
Held broken seashells in my hands like broken needles,
Heard the pump-click of the ventilator through your mask of sand.

My mother the sea,
A naked convalescent,
Whose ever-turnings have taken
A turn for the worse.
Who will know her by her death, who but me?
Notes:

“Velamentous” means membranous or membrane-covering, here to suggest melon rinds. “Scarola” is the Italian word for escarole, a leafy endive often used in salads.

“Xylem” and “phloem” are the water and food transport systems of plants, respectively. “Cruciferousness” is here intended to convey succulent green leafiness.

“Scugnizzo” is the Italian for a Neapolitan street urchin.

“Cavallo” is the Italian for horse but also refers to the crevalle jack fish, a large fish from the horse mackerel family, from which it derives its name. “Cavallo” was assimilated into the English language by 17th century navigators.

“Syllabub” here refers to the frothy beach edge of sand and tide.
I'm in the ocean,
I'm in the land.
For I reside in the feeble mind of man,
And all it takes for me to spread,
Is the fingers curling in a man's hand.
Who am I?
A take on the classic riddle form. Happy Tuesday!
Aires Jan 17
Four poles, four people, and I have four corners.
The color in me is red with a white background.
People like my colorful side, so they like me outside.
The strife of words has a momentary fragrance.
My simplicity requires the exclusivity of life.

My first fold is rather simple,
Closing the doors to my white side
And revealing my colorful side.

My second need is mythical,
Making me smaller while enlarging my weight.

My third fold is about keeping myself.

My fourth fold presents me to the whole world with layers.

Before my fifth fold,
I must fold myself into diamond and open up.

The last fold makes me lenient.
Now, I am a boat,
Discovering myself in this ocean.
Summary:
Here the poem is referring to making of craft boat.
With each fold there is symphony with life.
Morning beach
flat calm but bright
sips with ice the winter light
glass reflected rockpool puddles
fill with tangled seaweed muddles
A silly little thing but I enjoyed writing it
Sara Barrett Jan 11
Society taught me to hide.
A mask became my survival.
Now I wear the crown they covet,
and my truth drowns their silence.
Description
A raw exploration of breaking free from the pressures to conform, this poem reflects the transformative journey from hiding behind a mask to stepping into one’s true power. It speaks to the courage it takes to silence the noise of societal expectations and embrace the authenticity that is both freeing and fierce.
Sara Barrett Jan 11
I was never made to be an anchor.
I am the storm that cannot be stilled,
the ocean that cannot be held,
and the light
that leads itself home.
"Untethered" captures the essence of resilience and self-reliance. It is a tribute to those who embrace their own storms, navigate uncharted waters, and become the guiding light in their own journey.
Andi Leigh Jan 6
A thick
Blue comforter
Is like
An inviting ocean,
Soft
And ready to
Sweep you away
To places
Beyond what your
Waking eyes
Allow.
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