Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Travis Kroeker Dec 2019
Like the licking of an old dog that insists you take her
for a walk
the insistent swell
laps your legs.

Off port, headlamps
slip by in an unending current
supplying the illusion of your
inevitable progress forward,

and little certainty you had ever been moored at all.
Jonathan Moya Aug 2019
The port rests on my high right chest, a pink crater,
a  cleanly folded linen shroud kissed with tears
wheeled from operating room to recovery  
by melting folds of scrub blues with iodoform scents.

The fragrance of me is creased into a tucked blanket,
monitors on my legs and arm caressing rhythmic,
sounds dissolving into the hum left in a plastic wind-
wafting hints of my odorless crenulated alchemical cure.

My wife holds the origami of my old self in a
blue zip lock hospital bag that opens with a
singe of nitrate, the final aroma of good cooked food
settling on a rack then vanishing into a memory portal.

I smell no future,  just the staleness of hope and fear
as I uncrease myself into my clothes and stand unfolded
at the exit, in the threshold of a shadowless sunlight
whose sleeves I sniff for the blossoming plum tree.
The port is a medical port that is installed for the administration of chemotherapy.
Drop in the Sea Apr 2019
I love that love of marines
They kiss, and then they go
They won't take their promises
But either will come home

In every port, there's a sad lady
But they kissed, and now they're gone
Some night , as everyother
They'll kiss the waves to forget shore
Partial Translation of Pablo Neruda's farewell from Spanish language
Tommy Randell Mar 2019
Today is a bad news day
And, despite the outward folding memories
Seeking a place for themselves,
Probably no time for a Poem. But,

Only ten minutes ago I walked a hillside,
For the first time
Knowing you were gone,
And the wind found me and made me cry.

It is in the voice of the tongue caring lies;
And the quiet whispers which ask the most.
As you always said, Mate, after asking the right question
Life really is just a question of answers.

I miss that memorable night of comic, even cosmic highs,
With some vintage Port and board of cheese,
You took up the Times and said with with throw away ease -
“ Finally, Life As We Know It is over... well, it's no longer in the papers at least”.
Great Pal, raconteur, Folk music enthusiast, and Port drinker. Cheers, Pete!
Kayu Venture Mar 2019
Invincible for the empire roman;
That fury and vengeance was his language;
How Viriathus as vanquish around 200 years;
And lusitânia wasn't clears;

Port du graal was it's the place;
How was hidden the Holy Graal;
The secrets and wars was case;
And raise the Portugal;

The Kingdom for war and conquer ;
Was spoken by a glory Europe;
The spanish, french,english and Dutch ;
Bowed over the mighty Avis Master;

The glory and death of The Empire ;
Was not clear , the kindgom was gone;
The King D.Manuel II wasn't the bel;
But was bare wire;

Know Lusitania is lost;
So high is the cost?;
We never know the reason;
But Iberians gonna be the new season;
PoserPersona May 2018
'Twas a time I deemed thee love;
  the echoes lacked contraire
Sea moon shadows dance across
  this isle of despair

Entwined flesh eyes doth ne'er perceive,
  outside the mortal's scope
No sole charter giveth passage
  through salty waves unknown

'Tis what I think to see thee there
  on pedestals of gold
Forevermore you place thyself
  on stalwart shores alone

Unfurl thy sails for distant lands;
  the lighthouse shines once more
Praying to gods that long lost ship
  will find its way to port.
a stately
lacquer danced
there that'd
wax ***
with dire
this backer
but wore
queerish charms
that throes
made alarm
in their
buttons that
drew polish
in wishes
of setting
to ring
in accord
with walnuts
a queerish note
Arcassin B Jan 2018
By Arcassin Burnham


My Eyelids can't hide , from the light , it gives,
instincts don't dry in order , to , survive to live,

babies born while being bathe, all , in sin,
relationships torn to pieces , daddy's gone again,


And i wish I had a pass port to drop from the world in
a space suit guarding my life , just trying to hold on.
Every moment in these tragedies we spend wondering
why the good lord won't come down , you just gotta be strong.


the mistakes we make will always be there , don't you know,
the world can't extinguish , we need , these kids , to grow,

Give them a chance , give them a spotlight to thrive ,on and shine,
with love anything is possible , but with , hate to defend your life,


And i wish I had a pass port to drop from the world in
a space suit guarding my life , just trying to hold on.
Every moment in these tragedies we spend wondering

why the good lord won't come down , you just gotta be strong.
https://arcassin.blogspot.com/2018/01/pass-port-weak-strong-saga.html

©abpoetry2018
Andrei Marin Aug 2016
Boats and ships are sailing in and out, seafarers and merchants; bustling about, the busy port, like a work of art, filled with last kisses, before long months apart.

A place of noises, smells, emotion, comotion...
A place of lies, farewells and goodbyes...

The sea is calling so many away, starting adventures one beautiful day, watching the winds and waves at play.

The port is a sad and happy place, for him: an adventure ready to start,
for her: a sad day, before a long time apart.
This is how I would imagine a harbor/port...
I know it's not the case today, but it's still fun to imagine it like in the old days...
The all embracing
warmth of a coastal night
The heavy humidity
when love is no longer right
The water ripples restlessly
The tired slivered moon
has had enough
Goes on down without a goodnight

The hollow deck makes scuffing sounds
You stop but there are no other sounds
A disturbed bird flies  on by
Squawk ! letting you know
It disapproves of you being nye

An ancient breeze of feelings
ruffles your hair
string up the cares of
the yesterday's dawns
They were red flag warnings
but you sailed on  blissfully

You savor the ropes last release
Taking time to store the lost will
Cast off becomes a minimal thing
as you slip free of your mourning

There is a cast of grey across the sky
Dawn is coming pushing the winds
of freedom across the bay
You drop partial sail and
the ship responds
Making knots out of a knotty situation

You hear the bow slicing water
As you release all the canvass
Slipping past the jetties
on the falling tide
you sigh , a relief , a release
It's just you , the sea , and God
Next page