#atlantic
Atlantic thoughts of fish, schools on schools
what could be better than this, living with no rules
dog days, your cute face, fresh fade, cityscapes
romantic thoughts again, texts on texts
what could be better than this, living the loveliest
warm nights, green lights, divine touch, just rough enough
just how I like
Apr 16, 2022
Apr 16, 2022 at 8:51 PM UTC
Blessed are the poorly, for theirs is the kingdom of mudflats
The dispirited streak turgid waters
sinuously, through unsettled feelings
in the wake of boats shedding
filaments of fuel,
sheen on a turbid infusion
and the cordgrass nods a resilience
or an apathy as the silt settles
on their Piscean gleam
Blessed are the pure in heart for they shall see a salted heaven
Angelic Menhaden of the Atlantic,
are silvery stretches of scale,
dulled in death under a festering sun
and the retreating tide of dying waters
brined in ocean, freshwater spirited
to secret spaces, some dammed crevasse,
now tumultuous fate in a salted heaven
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness for they shall be filled
At the Tabgha of this intertidal palette
Cattails whisper beatitudes
latched onto the tails of wind gusts
and the plovers descended
in a litany of bird song
amassed like the manna
trailing tidal waters
as the sea swallows herself.
Blessed are the herons, the mallards,
the geese. Time is measured
in the passage of fish that
cycle themselves through the innards of birds
Blessed are the meek for they shall inherit the rocks
The meek Menhaden, leaped
onto the rocks that hemmed the inlet,
escaping the hungry habits of herons.
They inherited Earth in agony
pounding a rocky surface,
but the air I swim, had no water.
I prodded these Menhaden of the Rock
to the fringe of retreating tides,
and they leaped to die once more
to breathe water that had no air
Blessed are those that mourn, for they shall be comforted
Blessed is the discomfiture
of my brackish tears
that streak marsh faces
as fish struggle out of dead water.
I take comfort I don't inhabit
tainted places or do I take comfort,
all places are the tint of poison,
the gleam of a genesis of sorrow
Jun 6, 2021
Jun 6, 2021 at 3:36 PM UTC
In an ocean of night, dreaming of a closed dining space / We were snooping in on a harsh conversation of strangers that we knew / Towards dawn you spoke / as real in the dream as an apparition in the real / of Father and Mother / of them cruising off on a road trip / You faltered at a word I recollect but won't spell / It absorbed into whale song ticking to a time piece / itching to signal morning / and I could feel the depth of many fathoms floating over a waking to Spring / like being pressed against a cherry blossom trunk / in a tug of war, a push and pull / Let's go Jungian on this, he is much more pleasant / I did see a bumble bee yesterday, not a golden scarab, although that could have been a circadian premonition / and I woke up to a shower of blossoms //
May 11, 2021
May 11, 2021 at 8:44 AM UTC
There's left no any feeling in the Neighbour park
As my heart is chafed enough to throw Spark
My heart is neither elastic nor fantastic
But for now I desire
If only I were in Atlantic!
Jul 23, 2020
Jul 23, 2020 at 3:54 PM UTC
twelve thousand nautical miles
stretched between two lovers
this is not a bedtime story
once upon a space the heart leaves for a swim
deep into the moonlight
out to the Atlantic
she talks to the distance
weeps for the present
love, why must you dive
the war has begun, the world an assassin
time grows silent, static
my love, do not sink
my lungs, a sultry pair
slow to a tango each time we kiss
cabeceo, extraño el abrazo
breathe out and draw in
slowly, i forget this
do you breathe easy because you're calm
or is it the other way around
the omniscient is sleeping
sailing
away to a dim dream
you are raging quiet
my constant lullaby
nights of warm hazel and almond eyes
take what's rightly yours
everything left of mine
each night my disobeying eyes
melt into linen
unfamiliar
foreign
what is this place
my harbor floats in Paranagua
awaits in a humble cabin
with kind eyes
and steady hands
my love, stay alive
all is fair in love and war
still i don't think i deserve you
due so tender, my hands dance clumsy
take not what's in front of me
tremors pause, and
doubt, a Machiavellian mischief
a patient daytime thief
plunging to the inner depths, a ruse
a strong swimmer like you, rabbi
surely not i
my love, show me the shadows
i will not run
time is not light is not space
so i swim
meet you as the sand drains
May 8, 2020
May 8, 2020 at 10:25 AM UTC
With keenest shine and subtle glance
Such chaos between depth and height
His sheen a reflective mirrors pass
Her shadows crashing with shallow bite
Like light splashed sparingly on a neck
Or an elegant hand outstretched in white
Within watery muse she finds each night
A bit of herself reflected in his Atlantic eyes
Dec 29, 2019
Dec 29, 2019 at 1:20 AM UTC
just tell me what to do,
confess to me your love,
or leave me here,
i promise this won’t be long.
just find out what to do,
tell me what to do,
what gave you the mobility to get over me,
to overcome the distance that once broke our connection apart?
how did you do it?
tell me, or I’m afraid,
I might have to jump off a building,
Cause’ you’re stuck in my brain again,
Yeah, I’m stuck in my brain again.
havoc and incessant quarrels,
bring tears to eyes and knives through hearts.
despite the mess you made with our love,
I’d go through it again if I were to know we would create the product of our love.
you’re the one i choose,
and most importantly,
the one i can never lose,
you’re stuck in my brain again,
yeah, stuck in my brain, again.
wish i could hear your voice,
it used to soothe me when i’d reminisce,
late at night, used to seek comfort in daydreaming,
in those daydreams, you used to confess to me your love through dry humor and long phone calls,
we would recycle the same thoughts to prolong conversations,
and pivot them, when the time grew too long,
all i get nowadays are the reminders that we were far too young to comprehend the concept of love;
we are no longer in love as we once were,
and you don’t feel the same anymore,
which brings me to face what i have avoided all of these years.
i no longer feel sane anymore,
so I lay wide awake,
To get my soul away,
I look for new ways around the thought of you,
I need a great escape or I might jump off a building.
is it wrong to hope that someday love will return to us?
to the one place in the world where it falls and belongs to us.
i’m afraid that if it doesn't,
time and fate will consume us slowly,
right before you declare to me the loss of us,
have you know that you’re the one i run to mid problems and emotions,
your name drives me crazy when i hear it,
still hard wired to the thoughts that make me run to you,
and your smile, don’t even get me started,
however, i acknowledge the deep sorrow and pain you feel for cutting off the supply chain of tangible thoughts that trace through my head and the oxygen that supports the barely moving body of mine,
in an alternate world,
you’re stuck in my brain, again,
yeah, stuck in my brain again.
Nov 10, 2019
Nov 10, 2019 at 3:09 AM UTC
When I look into the sea
The dead of night midst new September
Staring back at me, I find
That I'm not scared
No, I'm terrified
Jun 1, 2019
Jun 1, 2019 at 4:44 PM UTC
I wanted to control the things I couldn’t avoid.
Growing up, disappointment,
and how my heart gets destroyed.
Pieces shattered in my hands as I tried to hold
moments of my life
created uncontrolled.
Curating a mind grown with unchecked panic.
Thoughts clashing around like violent storms from the Atlantic.
Wishing my words came out less frantic
and more romantic.
Jan 11, 2019
Jan 11, 2019 at 10:06 PM UTC
From the moment
the tale of her ruin
made itself known,
mankind has
coveted proof
of her existence.
Many a curious hand
has stalked across
the glossy veins of maps
and the cracked vertebrae of books
enclosing information
most pivotal to
her secret whereabouts
and the tragic evanescence
that initiated her exile.
Many a
sailor
explorer
scientist
poet
have perished among
the gnashing jaws of the sea
in their pursuit of
the glory
her exploitation
would surely bring.
In response to such
grievances--
the reality
of losing oneself
in the midst of
searching for what
has already been lost--
imagination--
the belief in magic,
in the seemingly
unbelievable--
was outlawed
within the
human psyche;
now,
they say she is merely
a madman's legend,
a myth concocted by Plato
so as to warn against
the perils of greed.
But never did they consider
that perhaps she did not
want to be found to begin with,
that her seclusion
has always been a necessity
so as not to repeat
the monstrosities of the past--
so she should not resurface
to satiate their earthly desires
only so she can be drowned anew.
{Atlantic}
Jan 1, 2019
Jan 1, 2019 at 9:11 PM UTC
Kissing your cheeks
Is like kissing the ocean
When speckles of salt
Drip down my lips
My mouth full
Of these waves and whispers
Like I drank the Atlantic
In the smallest of sips
Dec 4, 2018
Dec 4, 2018 at 12:50 AM UTC
The Atlantic howls
Wet and windy
Boughs and branches bending.
The sea a stew
Of white foam
Against the black abyss
Deep in the moving bowels of the ocean
Is a calling.
A restless voice like reeds ripping the wind
Beckoning you to the foreshore
Torn from rest, you are pulled
As the wind places its magnet on the buttons of your nightshirt
Tossing your coat off the hook to clothe you
The tide pulls your feet
Step by quickening step
Towards the sand
Only now can you
Stop to gaze at the clouds
Scudding across the moon
Like flounder across the seabed.
All rages around you
And yet, silence descends
Like the ringing of tinnitus in your ears
And you are told what it is you are called to hear...
Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 1:13 PM UTC
Cold as moonless sun
Close as stars
Far off as city streets
Swept apart by the combing of the beach
Mere steps away
From the sandy sea
Is the salty churning stairwell down
Into the depths
But there no answers are to be found
Just like here
Only sounds
Are the words to me
Nov 10, 2018
Nov 10, 2018 at 6:18 PM UTC
we danced in the streets as the days were long
only recess and reckoning while water crept in
this city of dead, our place, where the stench lives
and bodies float, lying above the crypt's graves
hurricane red absinthe & hand grenades
slugging the gulf like a shooter's brigade
a forecast shifts, flooding any escape
so we fire our motors with boats on em.
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 2:04 AM UTC
school starts soon
smoking joints on the weekday afternoon
in a sidelined shady
freight car, property of
Norfolk Southern
debating if this car will be
northbound or southbound
and ************ our fantasy
where we want to be taken
knowing full well maybe one of us -
(and they all looking at me)
will get out of this car and live to
see foreign places without having to
return in a body bag
we argue lazy who should go get the beer,
collect the quarters and sweaty dollar bills
and **** if I am not reappointed
leader of the beer fetching
besides it’s my
tan lab panting needing water so it’s my
responsibility and the nasty liquor store owner don’t hate me that much as the others so he’ll sell me beer without too much **** talk (some for sure)
asking where I’m laying low on a **** hot day like this one
tell him i’m getting on a train getting out of this two bit town which makes him reminisce and ask which direction
could be northbound could be southbound
hell could be west
but for sure won’t be
going eastbound
cause I seen the Atlantic and didn’t like it
too **** big and too **** cold,
too **** mean
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 1:16 PM UTC
I want to be a materialist as much as I could.
I want to kiss the sun and marry the moon!
I want to invite all the stars, sending them a tweet,
and I’d like them all to join me on Facebook!
I want to carry the Himalayas on my shoulder,
and I’d like to swim across the Atlantic water!
I want to wax lyrical over the waves
and would like to fly with the clouds.
I want to be in the green
and would like to spread across the spring.
I want to paint on the sky
keeping my head held high.
I want to wear the perfect fit ring,
as perfect as the pi-perfect circle,
with no endless nano-decimal hole,
just fine-tuned to my finger hole!
Mar 20, 2017
Mar 20, 2017 at 8:26 PM UTC
yet the
orange pealed
this bubble
that led
Krzyzewski to
an ordeal
where his
sport coat
cried sin
once a
rival then
our fluorescent
clothes made
a maiden
call where
ludicrous had
this run
Mar 24, 2018
Mar 24, 2018 at 4:10 AM UTC
when grainy seas
are wholly shrilly
their fulcrum grants coquille
with hair's tied asunder
till this expedition cloud
will turn her under again
when they'd dock by her mountains
in the rain of yesterday's news
while their heels soon die
in the murky waters nigh
by the sunset or tomorrow
if she'll be with me again
in woebegone togs
Mar 3, 2018
Mar 3, 2018 at 10:15 AM UTC
she's an island;
pale as the ocean mist
veiling the rugged shoreline.
with chubby freckled cheeks
framed by coppery red curls,
lashed up in fishtail braids,
or left loose in the salty breeze,
falling down to her shoulders,
broad and wind-weathered.
her laughter is the crash
of waves on the dock.
or the roar of the eastern winds,
that scour the northern seas.
Jan 17, 2018
Jan 17, 2018 at 10:37 AM UTC
I was thrown from a boat like a prophet,
washed ashore on an Island of Baalbek-sized structures.
In the Atlantic, under the ‘i’ and ‘c’,
thirty-three north, thirty-three west, degrees.
Ancient mariners must have missed it,
concentric waterways and land bridges, cut by a channel to the sea.
Occasional women gathering and cutting cane,
dirges being sung by a certain, Sarah.
Farther up around the outer ring,
a Bay horse, trapped in a tidal pit.
Just enough seaweed at high tide,
eyes white from living in the dark.
A strange place,
I find myself the only man,
another Adams or Crusoe.
I will free the Bay tomorrow, and head inland.
Nov 10, 2017
Nov 10, 2017 at 12:47 AM UTC
in a frantic mode
did come the Atlantic swirl
reeking havoc's toll
Sep 15, 2017
Sep 15, 2017 at 8:04 AM UTC
With gaps between each other, so slim that only essentials
Pass through unquestioned, dunes develop before the shoreline.
Scenic transformations containing apparitions of Gaia. An
Unaccompanied portrait. Ultraviolet, not claret or tangerine,
Actively grays the skeleton beneath salinized feet. All sizes and shapes
Continue on, north or south. Sometimes pausing in place to
View courting gulls, klee-ew klee-ew, initiating aeronautic affairs.
Ballets of gusting lust; then continue on, north, or south.
Our feet pay no mind to the calcified construction; we know
Without knowledge how delicate it remains. Seasons whisper
Motherly instincts, natural as Picasso's Spanish brush, tangibly
Colorful. Cerulean and further from known sensual perception, the Distant shoreline witnesses tides climb and fall with the moon. Carrying Foreign bodies, forgotten treasures, and newer apparitions, She stood
Naked between pillars of limestone and ash. Unwavering in her gaze,
Seductive with her emerging gait. Certain on death; certain on life.
Birthed Atlantic body, unabashedly **** and rightfully so. She held life, She held death, above the frothing coast, beneath the graying skeleton of Unquestioning gaps. Her eyes remained agreeably blue, contrasted by the Objective red, dripping from her left and right. Remaining motionless, her Outstretched hands offered the reddest rose with thorns and cleanest Blade of stainless steel, sharpened with her kiss. She had no words or
Need to use them. I reached for her ****** rose and sniffed its tempting
Scent, leaving our fates in her hand. Certain with life; certain with death.
Our fortunes sealed, her life or mine, gulls klee-ewed with defining Knowledge. They know her Atlantic, the tide, the current, the cresting Waves. She does not answer for her actions or apologize for what she is. She remains unpredictable and weaponized. I have scars as proof.
Beneath the greyest skeleton, aside the ****** shore, lies knowledge of
Delicate ends. Where lusting gusts blow apparitions and courting calls.
North or South, we continue on above the dunes. Splintering planks
Kiss our salinized souls, reminding us of our mother's whisper,
"these bones do not crack with ease".
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 7:50 PM UTC
My whole life I've gone
without seeing the Ocean,
and then
I met you.
Looking in your eyes
was like discovering
The Atlantic Ocean.
Who would've known
the waves would lead
me to you.
(-DF-09/27/16-)
Sep 30, 2016
Sep 30, 2016 at 4:38 PM UTC