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Elizabeth Kelly Nov 2021
It’s the early morning that does it for me

I don’t mean to seek it
But I am sought in these quiet empty-full hours -
All or nothing out-with-the-bath-water seclusion.

(Delusions of liqueur
Every flavor of azure)

Oh god what I would give to extend the great expanse of 4am, ribbon slick and taut as a ******

And me, warm and creative.

It’s the early morning that does it for me

I’m staying up with a song.



Eyes and lips and abandoned ships
Mirages of **** below long, fluted throats
Gliding between notes
and me too

Ready to drown you.

(It’s the early morning that does it for me)

As you give yourself over to the caresses of the mistress
and dream of flying over perfect fields of wheat

and then land

and then wake


disappointed to find
a cold pillow where a head should be asleep

I release my held breath and meet you
Half way

I was singing
I say
And collapse in a heap

Wet hair
Bare feet
It’s dawning and day

Closing my eyes
Sunset at sunrise
Holding onto a secret key

I dream of the sea
A nice dream
Clive Blake Jul 2021
Sea calm,
Crew slept,
Dark side,
Sea kept,
Tide raced,
Waves crept,
Crew woke,
Sails prepped,
Coiled spring,
Waves leapt,
Crew swept,
Left behind,
They wept.

For the sea has no respect
For the nautically inept …
A Cornish poem about the sea.
By Cornish Poet Clive Blake
Erin Suurkoivu Nov 2019
Peel back the layers
of my rural purgatory.

Figure out
the critical junctures
of where I once stood,
with this one,
now on TV, and this one,
surfing in Hawaii.

I was a **** girl, spreading
my legs for sailors, and
getting crucified for it.

I am guilty
of still imagining
our beautiful possibilities.

Death may yet
claim him, and my ****
are still round
and firm.
sunshine Nov 2019
oh but her hallowed voice called me out into the waters
it was where I knew I couldn't stand that I saw him
so I said to my dear sailor, "did you ever hear such a voice?"
her lilac eyes like a jealous sea longing for the return of the Sun
the waves like ropes dragging me further till I see black
he replied with hands of rough,"nay, I see nothing but the stars"
it was then I knew it was a dream; an unsinkable feeling
my sailor's song coming through the fog to the water's edge beside

but he rattled the chains on the deck and hoisted me closer
it was when I heard it again that I dove into the murky waters below
his legs jolting after me while I found myself in her icy embrace
"I've never heard such a song" I replied to the depths
the voice spoke so softly like the grazing seaweed beneath
"come closer and we will show you" they called and so I did
she draped me in pale blue and wrapped her tentacles over me
with the sounds of a thousand crying souls, I became the sea
whenever I find myself
I am without you

Purcy Flaherty Oct 2019
Nature is my mistress, bitter sweet, bitter sweet; the scent of young lilies and regret, for a woman's heart is slender, deep yet dark and tender, and as silent as the body's first caress.

My mother and my farther, and my brothers and my sisters, and my uncles, and my aunts are all quite fair, but something doesn't sit right, it's not quite in the spotlight, I'm looking at a world that isn't square.

The plastic spoon to stir your tea, the carrier bag you got for free,
the slow decline of honey bees, the friend that slept with you and me, the tragedy of fantasy, the whisper carried on the breeze, that traveled the century's with sailors on the seven seas.

Distracted by the rhythmic words, we listen to the humming birds, the nature of your natural eye encircles us like butterflies, the creature has it's mothers eyes, the lure of love flies on the wing, to take the insect and the sting, to follow ends to sticky ends, bitter sweet, bitter sweet; you're so sweet!

I love you honey want you be my girl.
Won't you be my girl for just one night.
song link:
M Solav Jul 2019
We live on the ripples of a beating heart
Sailing wide across a great black sea
Each pulses like falling raindrops
As we drift on the surface of destiny

We know the struggles and the storms to come
Foundations the turmoils of passing winds
Are scattering on our way towards the sun
Were raised by none but the breathe of our will

We become landscapes the further we are drawn
Cold mountains, dense forests, oceans and such,
On our carved existence all promise to be found
As we roam from mood to mood and thought to thought

We understand at last what the touch reconciles
When we start to realize what we had always known
That the world was always ours, and it dawns on our mind
That the rainfall had stopped while we’d landed home
Written in June 2019 - for an exhibition in Peking.

— Copyright © M. Solav —

This work may not be used in entirety or in part without the prior approval of its author. Please contact for usage requests. Thank you.
Karli Z Feb 2019





This poem was written to describe/honor a boat-shaped wooden sculpture on which a town was built.

Here’s humanity chucked on that tub
Figure the fuss in the ship’s hold
Roaming ‘round the deck, helm is hell for holding
How come that outland ship ain’t capsizing?

They ****** up their toll of ****** *****
Thrown out, left behind, they’re coping with that schism
Roving ‘round Ocean blue between two small isthmus
Grinning like they used to ain’t gonna be easy fun.

Here’s humanity beating it to starboard
If they had behaved themselves, possibly
God  almighty wouldn’t have batted an eye
Zealous lots in exile on that ****** city-boat

They built up  walls ‘gainst their bitter heartbreaks
Alleys, their homes and even small gardens
On a boat! Oh my, isn’t that tub gonna sink?
The wind-facing prow is a freakin’ chimera!

Such a craft is like a merry-go-round
You feelin’ sea-sick ? Looks like a hiccup!
It’s not rocket science, maybe a bit pitchin’
Here’s these talented convicts’ last resort!

Translated from the original version in French, July 19, 2018, Oullins. Appoline
Slang was originally written in French. I'll post the latter here for y'all: La compagnie des mat’lots ivres

V’la qu’l’humanité est flanquée sur ce rafiot
J’te dis pas l’ ramdam dans la cave des mat’lots
Ils errent sur le pont, à la barre c’est galère
Comment n’pas faire chavirer ce monde hors-terre ?

Ils en ont ramassé, des sacrés culs d’bouteilles
Chassés, amarres larguées, ils survivent au schisme
Ils errent sur la grand’ bleue entre deux pauvres isthmes
Pour retrouver l’sourire, c’est pas demain la veille.

V’la l’humanité qui fout l’camp à tribord
S’ils s’étaient comportés mieux, comme ça, de prime abord
L’bon Dieu là-haut, n’aurait pas remué l’moindre cil
Forcenés en exil sur un satané bateau-ville !

Ils ont construit des murs contre leurs chagrins amers
Des ruelles, leurs maisons menues et même des jardinets !
Sur un bateau, ma foi ! Ne va-t-il pas couler ?
La proue arbore, face au vent, une figure de chimère !

Cette embarcation-là, c’est comme un tourniquet
T’as pas le pied marin, t’aurais pas le hoquet ?
C’est pas la mer à boire, ça tangue juste un peu
V’la le dernier rempart d’ces bagnards talentueux.

Appoline, 18 Juillet 2018, Oullins
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