Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
it's getting bad again
i barely made it through
the last storm
the rough sea
drowning in my own mind
but I had to survive
by some instinct
so I clung to the mast
and sailed on
but i do not know
how far i can last
until i
sink
i can't sail forever
Dante Rocío Aug 26
Though another day passes,
once having arrived,
cinnamon sunny
with a misguided preaching
from a catholic church,

I recall our gorgeous
misty evening
right by the waves
from yesterday
and its one peculiar
moment:
my dad pointed to
a far away regatta
sailing in
a distance
whilst standing to my
right and asked
me not quoting

“Do you know why
I wanted to go
to the sea?
The vastness of that body,
no endings in infinity,
no one to tell me
what to do,
and once you sailed away
from the harbour
it was just
it
living.

Whilst I was on my night shift
at the very front
of the ship
on my ever first voyage
by sea,
heading to
England from Gdynia,
I felt as if I
was the very first
man to discover the oncoming
land,
like Cristopher Columbus
with his dear Santa María
breaking the waves”.

Yes, Dad.
I would add,
settled in my question

“Why do I long somehow
in smaller
or bigger
ways too at
times for that
aforementioned harbour
and otherness with so many
sounds, details,
lights and
dancing dangerous like
knives in a tavern
thrown?
For so similar
yet
so privately schemed
departures I paint?”,

I would answer
without Brain,
even if it would be solely
in perfect, dreamy way
sketched:

“Because there is
some greater and
truer breath
of mine held out
by a foreign hand
or by standing lonely
from the other mirror’s side
in front of some tremendous
waves of Kanagawa,
hugging itself small
yet with fearless Child’s
patience, like
the Young Verter
on his painting.
Some more abstract
and
breathtaking
with charisma image
of me there
stands, flowing
instead of walking,
through called aisles.
Beige coat into the
blue falling.

The No Man’s Skies
and Lands
(or yet
Of Some Men)
to be felt with all
the body and
upraising in all hues
and minute sacrifices
in speechless
wonders,
like lagoon’s turquoise
water that would shine
in a cave’s dark
with krill dancing.”

Some upholdings,
some blind images
and all rest
fresh,
windy,
dark
and light with grey
whose voicing
I cannot make,
not just to keep
it in immaculation
to stay non-maimed.

Tss
Ouch.
The Missing.

El,
ese,
acantilado.
Why do I keep having this dream?
These might be now only flickers
Of a proof to come and test it once for all.
Probably a family inheritance
I get in blood or sight
From Adam
So often yet at times
Dante Rocío Aug 15
I praise Allah and thank Them
in both the physical and existential aspect for every beautifully greyish day
when I feel back in an English harbour from the 17th century,
where birds, ropes, wind,
bells and hammers against
the ships’ casings resound,
half in my vision stuck on reality
and half verily,
or on a faraway heather field,
where my books, thoughts,
words in pictures
and lives of Heart
are as if my own
tremendous in passion atelier
of a scribe
or my other flowers of brown.

I posses adoration in these grays,
blues, whites,
greens and browns of these days, freshnesses and delightments.
Nevertheless I need to meet and comprehend each other
till the end belovingly
with the Sun,
see behind its backstage the lack of imposing Time,
periods or actions, rush.
Sit down once without carnal duties
nor other shenanigans
and witness the whole solar and lunar cycle for the whole 24 hours
and thus see beyond their mechanism
and presence
and thus go
through that next conscience,
through these silver-golden curtains
with navy blue clips.

Isn’t that sitting over,
sitting down face to face
with the Day,
supposed Time, Matter,
instead of constant doing,
having or confusion
of the thoughts
the same as finally looking
straight into the other person’s eyes
to give them our witnessing
of our attention,
a bow,
and at the same time
a proud head raising,
especially for them,
instead of walking around them
and treating as another matter
to be solved?
No rhetorical question.
May I reach as fast as it’s the best
the beloving of wisdom
as a true philosopher
in my identity, not cognitivity.
A small reminiscing and recollection
I made once
of my presence or endurance
in the Sun and the Moon
through moments, my silver casing
of thoughts and Life,
and stories I literally encounter
in the No Man’s Sky
through thrillance,
promise and hope.
دema Aug 11
don't let
the ship sink,

and if
that happens,

don't
leave me,

drown me
in your love.
s a m Aug 9
It was rainy day 
when you found a cause to leave 
by putting me down 
and watching me drift away 
like a sailing paper ship.
POEMS OF THE RAIN, Copyright © 2020
Sam N. de la Rosa
All Rights Reserved.
Betty Aug 3
My heart is figurehead on a ship

Skimming the ocean blue

If you would only call my name

I'll sail right back to you
Short and sweet because I am travelling today
Alex Aug 1
Some can walk through the ocean,
Some can sail boat,
And some would fast enough to swim,
And how envy to see,
How lucky they're...
Cause i can feel the cold in my feet,
I can taste the salt on my throat,
The weight that dragging me in,
And even sinking ship had the chance breathe under,
But i am here....
Drowning all alone...
Bullet Jun 25
The halo of my thought
The beam of my heart
The safety of my soul
Transformation my existence

My favorite object in the universe
Is accompanied by the light of the sun
The sea welcomes both lights as to be one
The ocean dances, waving back to me
The moon holds the essence of me sinking
There are four lights in one passing image
A breathless air of escape is brought here

When the light goes out, I want to be here
When the light goes out, I want the soul of the bulb to change
When the light goes out, I want the sea to blink
When the light goes out, I want the feeling of the sun to welcome the rest of the three

The halo of the beam reflects the safety of the existence in the ships to be exactly like the light housed in...
Dante Rocío Jun 17
It hurts to end a book,
It hurts to end our story.
To know it was just a glimpse,
Soon nothing short of an eternal memory
Embedded, anything but faded

It hurts to leave you by,
To detach myself from you
Knowing my departure’s to be now or never,
For any other encounter shall be a timeless pain.
Knowing already, with you unaware,
Your journey’s destiny,
What came to be, comes and what will come,
Perish or last.

Like a mother, or a father, or a heavenly angel,
I see you grow, I see you change
And dance and play with the dangerous and unknown fate.
Then I can’t help but notice as melancholy,
So great that sorrowful,
Starts simmering in my chest
When I finally come to my senses to, in fact, realise
That with every new difference, every new feeling, thought and day
You drift further and further away
Like the dearest ship you loved with all your might,
With me, surprisingly, sailing away,
With the sense of excitement and fear too,
Together into the Unknown

When we arrive at our last harbour,
Despite our battle with merciless time,
At the last droplets of the quill’s ink staining those rusty pages,
I acknowledge the inevitable finale.
Though my mind stands tall, my heart crumbles
Not wishing to leave,
To untie the bond with the one,
Who loved the same world of dreams,
Audacity and passion,
The one and only who knew and believed in my vision,
Ideals as I
And never returned to the chains on his knees

With sobs racking my body and fiery protests in my stomach
I give you my last kiss, bidding goodbye,
As if death was making us part.
It’s been my greatest honour and pleasure to accompany your every step.
To look back with aching heart on your glorious days,
To see every dark corner of your puzzling past...

To experience this mystery being life as truly one entity.

I mourn over this moment,
Aware of the cruel ticking of the clock that came to an end
And returning no more to us,
As every other return shall leave a bitter taste in the mouth,
Overwhelming with my conscience of your final chapter on every step:
With you already gone
Lingering in the memories of the pages,
Invincible to time yet aware of it no more,
Unaware of any other moment than “now” and “here”

It hurts to close a book.

It hurts to end a story.

Of us ceasing to be,
Of us ceasing to speak.
As no other tale shall replace soon what we bore,
I bid my “Farwell”,
Leaving another piece of my being in you
For an eternity.

With these final breaths I pay my tribute to you,
For what you were, gave, did,
Took, created and left.
To James Fry, a barefoot sailor of the seven seas.
The consort of the oceans and the seas.
The audacious, brave and challenging kid.
The man who was courageous enough to live,
On his own terms, never bent to any mortal,
Never bound to the earth nor dull reality.

Wish you favourable winds in the sails of The Morning Star.
May you end your days with the same greatness you lived and were destined for.
5 di dicembre 2019.
Un omaggio a “La Vera Storia del Capitano Uncino” da Pierdomenico Baccalario.
Le ringrazio moltissimo per questa avventura e per guidarmi verso le lacrime del Cuore. Per le nostre lettere. Per il mio primo poema, questo.
Che bello.
Nylee Jun 15
When you ship
There is someone who sinks down first
.
Next page