#atlantis - Hello Poetry

#atlantis

I don't care if Atlantis was real, is real or was a Science Fiction morality tale by Plato; I adore the concept! Undersea exploration done by ships that Verne imagined, and submersible robots he did not even imagine, have given us a much different and even more fascinating conundrum from the one Verne and other Romantic Writers conceived of. Reality has revealed it is not a case of, "are there sunken cities and civilizations?" But instead, "which of the multitudes discovered is the original Atlantis, if any?!" Far below the Islands of Green Earth Neath billowing waves And splashing foam In Lands of green so dark and damp There playful Dolphins roam: Lived Peoples of the Aqua World Where turquoise glints in brilliant hues As common as the ivory towers With Octopussys in their mews Yes! Once lived an ancient Race' Fore Earth and foam both Danced and twist! Now hear this haunting 'frain of Songs From long gone Islands in green mists! Songs of Spirits in the Wind! Smell spices in gone treasure troves! This place beneath the foaming seas Where long dead, Ancient Warriors rove! This few hunt for or seek to find: This place before the Dawns of Time! This place of Corals and drowned Rush The place we call Lost Atlantis. :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-)

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Jan 7

Jan 7, 2026 at 5:41 PM UTC

elizabethhensley

I don't care if Atlantis was real, is real or was a Science Fiction morality tale by Plato; I adore the concept! Undersea exploration done by ships that Verne imagined, and submersible robots he did not even imagine, have given us a much different and even more fascinating conundrum from the one Verne and other Romantic Writers conceived of. Reality has revealed it is not a case of, "are there sunken cities and civilizations?" But instead, "which of the multitudes discovered is the original Atlantis, if any?!" Far below the Islands of Green Earth Neath billowing waves And splashing foam In Lands of green so dark and damp There playful Dolphins roam: Lived Peoples of the Aqua World Where turquoise glints in brilliant hues As common as the ivory towers With Octopussys in their mews Yes! Once lived an ancient Race' Fore Earth and foam both Danced and twist! Now hear this haunting 'frain of Songs From long gone Islands in green mists! Songs of Spirits in the Wind! Smell spices in gone treasure troves! This place beneath the foaming seas Where long dead, Ancient Warriors rove! This few hunt for or seek to find: This place before the Dawns of Time! This place of Corals and drowned Rush The place we call Lost Atlantis. :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-)

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Atlantis A body blessed With perfection and purity. A pond running Down a village stream With grace and beauty. Sunlight drips like honey Through the trees, Into the warming body— Nature’s purest creation. The sun breathes Warmth into the water. Kids swimming In the most loving Bedtime story, Putting their minds To sleep— Just for a second, Entranced By happiness— So much so, It almost feels Like home. An Atlantis That never fell— The only purity Left in the world. Birds awaken, Turning silence into song. Splashing sounds echo. Lotus flowers bloom On the surface, Shedding sweet, scented petals Into the water— Feeling like, There a relic From the lost city of Atlantis— Reminding everyone Of nature’s innocence. The sweet scent Reminds the children Of a mother’s hug. This is our Atlantis— Our purest creation.

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Jul 24, 2025

Jul 24, 2025 at 5:08 PM UTC

Atlantis A body blessed With perfection and purity. A pond running Down a village stream With grace and beauty. Sunlight drips like honey Through the trees, Into the warming body— Nature’s purest creation. The sun breathes Warmth into the water. Kids swimming In the most loving Bedtime story, Putting their minds To sleep— Just for a second, Entranced By happiness— So much so, It almost feels Like home. An Atlantis That never fell— The only purity Left in the world. Birds awaken, Turning silence into song. Splashing sounds echo. Lotus flowers bloom On the surface, Shedding sweet, scented petals Into the water— Feeling like, There a relic From the lost city of Atlantis— Reminding everyone Of nature’s innocence. The sweet scent Reminds the children Of a mother’s hug. This is our Atlantis— Our purest creation.

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'Twas but three years ago I set my pen to sea, a vessel born a fragile craft of ink and fervent flame with compass cast in yearning, not in security The waves lapped soft with secrets, a few saddening, fewer sweet. Each line cast: a current pulling at my feet no charts existed no charts exist for waters this deep nor wide where poets dream, struggle, fight, cry, accept and ancient myths shared from one to the next reside The sky, a parchment vast with thousands of drifting stars drew constellations shaped like hopeful scars i you we, search for love – the poet’s atlantis a realm where whispered truths and passions flow clouds like veils concealed what lay ahead storms were born from longing words went unsaid crucial words I chased reflections that danced on the waves illusions forged in the poet’s unforgiving mind the siren’s song – a melody of doubt – called me close not once, but repeatedly – somewhere I know Janus smiles – called me close then took away my sound took away my hearing, and my voice. and what was it that was so alluring? the shimmer? the glint? the gleam? or just the ghost of a forgotten dream? Ink dripped like rain upon my weathered scroll, a log of my journeys, a testament to my voyages, each line, each stanza, each poem, an ebb of the sea carrying me ever further on my path There, at the ocean’s floor lost in fragments, scattered arrays — a compass broken, fractured remnants one night tides of silence waves of wait the poet’s curse the lover’s fate until a flash, a beacon– love’s distant flame– guided through tempest, called my name. – still it glows a lighthouse, for all ships that pass – not all who wonder sink or drown not all condemned to be a poet, a lover, a feeler, are left to fall fall fall ever lower into the depths of the cold dark deep waters. Beneath the veil of night, a whisper grew a secret kept only silence knew. the heart, a vessel sailing starry seas found shore where love’s soft voice dissolved unease no longer lost amid the waves and foam, the poet’s quest had brought him safely home adorning not treasure, nor gold, nor gems but a reason to put down the pen a reason to discern the clouds from the storm I stepped onto sands warm beneath my feet where time and tides and two hearts met a poet’s journey ended for now, when he causes the ink and parchment to embrace once more it is not for the same cause as once was – to express his discomfort, drifting about on the waters: his only support; a 4 legged stool, built solely to hold his skeleton- but never built to bear the rest – but rather to express the dilation of his pupils as dawn approaches, and the the morning spills like honeyed gold; a whispered warmth the night can’t hold. the ink now flows from calmer, steadier hands the poet, now having resigned himself to the discomfort of the ocean finally lands. – She is my peace her arms my warmth her smile my joy her love, my home. --

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Jun 10, 2025

Jun 10, 2025 at 6:51 AM UTC

'Twas but three years ago I set my pen to sea, a vessel born a fragile craft of ink and fervent flame with compass cast in yearning, not in security The waves lapped soft with secrets, a few saddening, fewer sweet. Each line cast: a current pulling at my feet no charts existed no charts exist for waters this deep nor wide where poets dream, struggle, fight, cry, accept and ancient myths shared from one to the next reside The sky, a parchment vast with thousands of drifting stars drew constellations shaped like hopeful scars i you we, search for love – the poet’s atlantis a realm where whispered truths and passions flow clouds like veils concealed what lay ahead storms were born from longing words went unsaid crucial words I chased reflections that danced on the waves illusions forged in the poet’s unforgiving mind the siren’s song – a melody of doubt – called me close not once, but repeatedly – somewhere I know Janus smiles – called me close then took away my sound took away my hearing, and my voice. and what was it that was so alluring? the shimmer? the glint? the gleam? or just the ghost of a forgotten dream? Ink dripped like rain upon my weathered scroll, a log of my journeys, a testament to my voyages, each line, each stanza, each poem, an ebb of the sea carrying me ever further on my path There, at the ocean’s floor lost in fragments, scattered arrays — a compass broken, fractured remnants one night tides of silence waves of wait the poet’s curse the lover’s fate until a flash, a beacon– love’s distant flame– guided through tempest, called my name. – still it glows a lighthouse, for all ships that pass – not all who wonder sink or drown not all condemned to be a poet, a lover, a feeler, are left to fall fall fall ever lower into the depths of the cold dark deep waters. Beneath the veil of night, a whisper grew a secret kept only silence knew. the heart, a vessel sailing starry seas found shore where love’s soft voice dissolved unease no longer lost amid the waves and foam, the poet’s quest had brought him safely home adorning not treasure, nor gold, nor gems but a reason to put down the pen a reason to discern the clouds from the storm I stepped onto sands warm beneath my feet where time and tides and two hearts met a poet’s journey ended for now, when he causes the ink and parchment to embrace once more it is not for the same cause as once was – to express his discomfort, drifting about on the waters: his only support; a 4 legged stool, built solely to hold his skeleton- but never built to bear the rest – but rather to express the dilation of his pupils as dawn approaches, and the the morning spills like honeyed gold; a whispered warmth the night can’t hold. the ink now flows from calmer, steadier hands the poet, now having resigned himself to the discomfort of the ocean finally lands. – She is my peace her arms my warmth her smile my joy her love, my home. --

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O sea of all time, first cradle of breath and bone, your voice sings through us— a song from when we were scales, gilled and glittering, dancing in your moonlit depths, our bodies silver threads of foam and memory woven with seaweed. We once called you home, our mother and secret bride, salt still on our tongues, our hearts pulled by your rhythm, like tide and moon drawn in that old sacred duet too deep to forget. The tales call us land— but what is earth but a pause from your lullabies? You who swallow ancient wrecks and sing to ruins like a widow who still waits with hair full of pearls, we grieve with you every night as you breathe in waves. Perhaps we all hear your voice when the gulls cry out, or when stars reflect— perhaps our urge to return is your whispered name calling in our blood again from some lost coral palace where we once belonged with tails and sea-song. You mourn, we believe— not just for Atlantis sunk, but the footed ones who once shed their fins for love and never came back. The mermaid who walked away left you with silence and a tide that won't forget the cost of her tears. That is why you storm. That is why you rage and crash, hurling broken shells— because love left and betrayed, and never returned. That is why you kiss the shore, with such aching force, hoping it remembers you each time it dries you. Yet, you calm again, blue mirror of lost desire, as if you forgive just long enough to reflect the lovers who walk hand in hand, barefoot and warm, their shadows merging as if love was made for waves and skin was just foam. You loved and lost us— and now you call with soft songs, seducing the shore, longing for feet to return to scaled purity. But we, traitors to our gills, have learned to walk far— so we visit now and then, but we do not stay. Still, I know your heart. I too am like your heartbreak— loving what I lost, carving a shell with her name, listening for her in the echo of the conch, where her voice might live, and the sea might hold her breath the way I once did. I love Yongsun so— her name rings in every wave, in each crest of blue, she’s the salt that seasons me, preserving my soul. The great black pearl of the deep, shard of Atlantis, no tide could ever contain her boundless bright light. She is Poseidon's jealous hymn to what he loves, a siren with wings, and I am but a sea-song, humming to her feet— hoping she returns again and walks by my side, where sea meets the mortal earth, where hearts taste of brine. Let the sea weep, love. Let it cry for all we lost, for all that we are— but know this: when I see you, I see ocean fire. I see the endless abyss, and I do not fear— for my love runs deep as tides, and you are my sea.

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May 2, 2025

May 2, 2025 at 11:08 AM UTC

The sea that weeps for love

O sea of all time, first cradle of breath and bone, your voice sings through us— a song from when we were scales, gilled and glittering, dancing in your moonlit depths, our bodies silver threads of foam and memory woven with seaweed. We once called you home, our mother and secret bride, salt still on our tongues, our hearts pulled by your rhythm, like tide and moon drawn in that old sacred duet too deep to forget. The tales call us land— but what is earth but a pause from your lullabies? You who swallow ancient wrecks and sing to ruins like a widow who still waits with hair full of pearls, we grieve with you every night as you breathe in waves. Perhaps we all hear your voice when the gulls cry out, or when stars reflect— perhaps our urge to return is your whispered name calling in our blood again from some lost coral palace where we once belonged with tails and sea-song. You mourn, we believe— not just for Atlantis sunk, but the footed ones who once shed their fins for love and never came back. The mermaid who walked away left you with silence and a tide that won't forget the cost of her tears. That is why you storm. That is why you rage and crash, hurling broken shells— because love left and betrayed, and never returned. That is why you kiss the shore, with such aching force, hoping it remembers you each time it dries you. Yet, you calm again, blue mirror of lost desire, as if you forgive just long enough to reflect the lovers who walk hand in hand, barefoot and warm, their shadows merging as if love was made for waves and skin was just foam. You loved and lost us— and now you call with soft songs, seducing the shore, longing for feet to return to scaled purity. But we, traitors to our gills, have learned to walk far— so we visit now and then, but we do not stay. Still, I know your heart. I too am like your heartbreak— loving what I lost, carving a shell with her name, listening for her in the echo of the conch, where her voice might live, and the sea might hold her breath the way I once did. I love Yongsun so— her name rings in every wave, in each crest of blue, she’s the salt that seasons me, preserving my soul. The great black pearl of the deep, shard of Atlantis, no tide could ever contain her boundless bright light. She is Poseidon's jealous hymn to what he loves, a siren with wings, and I am but a sea-song, humming to her feet— hoping she returns again and walks by my side, where sea meets the mortal earth, where hearts taste of brine. Let the sea weep, love. Let it cry for all we lost, for all that we are— but know this: when I see you, I see ocean fire. I see the endless abyss, and I do not fear— for my love runs deep as tides, and you are my sea.

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She was both finite and boundless, a cosmic enigma wrapped in human skin. The words echoed within her—a celestial mantra. Half-human, half-stardust. And as she danced upon the threshold, the universe leaned in to listen. Lola, the wanderer of cosmic threads, stepped through the veil of time, her heart a pulsing star. The secret laboratory's humming machinery had whispered promises of forgotten realms, and now, here she stood—amidst the ruins of a city lost to memory. Atlantis, the name echoed in her mind like a half-remembered dream. Its pyramids, not of stone but of light, pierced the cerulean sky. Crystal temples, their facets catching the sun's kiss, stood as guardians of ancient knowledge. And the people—oh, the people—they moved with grace, their forms aglow, their eyes reflecting eons of wisdom. Lola's golden aura resonated with theirs. She felt the pull of destiny, like a thread tugging her toward a forgotten purpose. Was she a seeker or a savior? Perhaps both. The streets flowed like rivers, and she followed their currents. Telepathic whispers brushed her consciousness—a symphony of thoughts, hopes, and memories. They spoke of unity, of a shared consciousness that transcended flesh and bone. Here, the veil between worlds was gossamer-thin, and Lola danced upon its fragile strands. She approached the meditators—a circle of souls anchored to the earth, yet reaching for the stars. Their eyes, ancient and kind, met hers. No words were needed; their minds entwined like ivy on a trellis. "Welcome, Lola," the collective voice murmured. "We have been expecting you." Lola's breath caught. How did they know her name? Had she journeyed here before, in another life, when the stars aligned differently? She sank into the circle, her knees bending as if in reverence. "Who are you?" she whispered, her thoughts a ripple in their cosmic pond. "We are the keepers of forgotten tales," they replied. "The architects of dreams. We remember when the world was young, and the sun kissed our brows. We remember when Atlantis thrived, and its light pulsed through every atom." Lola closed her eyes, surrendering to their communion. She glimpsed visions—the city's zenith, its downfall, and the cataclysm that swallowed it whole. But there was hope, too—a seed of ascension buried deep within the collective soul. "Tell me," Lola breathed, "how can I prevent your fall? How can I weave a different fate?" Their laughter was like stardust. "Child of many lives, you cannot alter the past. But you can shape the future. Atlantis lives within you—in your curiosity, your longing. Let its light guide your choices." And so, Lola sat, her mind a prism refracting possibilities. She learned their secrets—the art of thought-shaping, the dance of dimensions. She glimpsed the blueprint of a world where pyramids soared, and hearts beat in harmony. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting Atlantis in hues of amethyst, Lola stood. Her golden aura pulsed brighter. She would return to her laboratory, her quantum device, but she would carry this city within her—a beacon of forgotten majesty. "Remember," they whispered, "the bending knee—the surrender to wonder. It is the key to ascension." And with that, Lola stepped back through time, her heart echoing the collective hymn of a city reborn.

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Dec 26, 2024

Dec 26, 2024 at 7:35 AM UTC

*Lola's paradox*

She was both finite and boundless, a cosmic enigma wrapped in human skin. The words echoed within her—a celestial mantra. Half-human, half-stardust. And as she danced upon the threshold, the universe leaned in to listen. Lola, the wanderer of cosmic threads, stepped through the veil of time, her heart a pulsing star. The secret laboratory's humming machinery had whispered promises of forgotten realms, and now, here she stood—amidst the ruins of a city lost to memory. Atlantis, the name echoed in her mind like a half-remembered dream. Its pyramids, not of stone but of light, pierced the cerulean sky. Crystal temples, their facets catching the sun's kiss, stood as guardians of ancient knowledge. And the people—oh, the people—they moved with grace, their forms aglow, their eyes reflecting eons of wisdom. Lola's golden aura resonated with theirs. She felt the pull of destiny, like a thread tugging her toward a forgotten purpose. Was she a seeker or a savior? Perhaps both. The streets flowed like rivers, and she followed their currents. Telepathic whispers brushed her consciousness—a symphony of thoughts, hopes, and memories. They spoke of unity, of a shared consciousness that transcended flesh and bone. Here, the veil between worlds was gossamer-thin, and Lola danced upon its fragile strands. She approached the meditators—a circle of souls anchored to the earth, yet reaching for the stars. Their eyes, ancient and kind, met hers. No words were needed; their minds entwined like ivy on a trellis. "Welcome, Lola," the collective voice murmured. "We have been expecting you." Lola's breath caught. How did they know her name? Had she journeyed here before, in another life, when the stars aligned differently? She sank into the circle, her knees bending as if in reverence. "Who are you?" she whispered, her thoughts a ripple in their cosmic pond. "We are the keepers of forgotten tales," they replied. "The architects of dreams. We remember when the world was young, and the sun kissed our brows. We remember when Atlantis thrived, and its light pulsed through every atom." Lola closed her eyes, surrendering to their communion. She glimpsed visions—the city's zenith, its downfall, and the cataclysm that swallowed it whole. But there was hope, too—a seed of ascension buried deep within the collective soul. "Tell me," Lola breathed, "how can I prevent your fall? How can I weave a different fate?" Their laughter was like stardust. "Child of many lives, you cannot alter the past. But you can shape the future. Atlantis lives within you—in your curiosity, your longing. Let its light guide your choices." And so, Lola sat, her mind a prism refracting possibilities. She learned their secrets—the art of thought-shaping, the dance of dimensions. She glimpsed the blueprint of a world where pyramids soared, and hearts beat in harmony. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting Atlantis in hues of amethyst, Lola stood. Her golden aura pulsed brighter. She would return to her laboratory, her quantum device, but she would carry this city within her—a beacon of forgotten majesty. "Remember," they whispered, "the bending knee—the surrender to wonder. It is the key to ascension." And with that, Lola stepped back through time, her heart echoing the collective hymn of a city reborn.

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Monday mornings are always easy. Monday mornings bring a breeze South Of The East, North Of The West. Its caressing the exposed skin of my flaky neck like the lead cannon from Atlantis, Flying for the grasp Of the cactus from San Pedro That provides mescaline to the tribes Nearby, that pray to its being as The Messenger From The West. Beyond the horizon, Like the jack rabbit, eroding, with a tube Sock in the vestibule over The Dungeon That Sings, Sideway neighbors to the uvula. If seen that way. Beyond, the continual rings of Agorapho- bia, Challenging anxious mind, With ideas Of how it be the, not the seal in yestereen's heels. Monday mornings Are always easy.

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Jun 30, 2022

Jun 30, 2022 at 5:00 PM UTC

A Book for Isabel

Monday mornings are always easy. Monday mornings bring a breeze South Of The East, North Of The West. Its caressing the exposed skin of my flaky neck like the lead cannon from Atlantis, Flying for the grasp Of the cactus from San Pedro That provides mescaline to the tribes Nearby, that pray to its being as The Messenger From The West. Beyond the horizon, Like the jack rabbit, eroding, with a tube Sock in the vestibule over The Dungeon That Sings, Sideway neighbors to the uvula. If seen that way. Beyond, the continual rings of Agorapho- bia, Challenging anxious mind, With ideas Of how it be the, not the seal in yestereen's heels. Monday mornings Are always easy.

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Take me with you to your Atlantis Where hues of blue glisten in noons For eternity we embrace in its promise Are days of sober in crystallic bliss Are nights of glacial comfort under mystic lunes Take me with you to your Atlantis Wash me into a tender kiss Too soft to be witnessed but the full moons For eternity we embrace in its promise Beyond boundaries of mortality at this ocean, through the skies and dunes Take me with you to your Atlantis Volumes and arks fill up the abyss with painted tales of Atlantic ruins For eternity we embrace in its promise When love dreamily left only to reminisce as the ink of Plato seeped in tunes Take me with you to your Atlantis For eternity we embrace in its promise

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Apr 18, 2022

Apr 18, 2022 at 2:54 PM UTC

Take me with you to your Atlantis

Take me with you to your Atlantis Where hues of blue glisten in noons For eternity we embrace in its promise Are days of sober in crystallic bliss Are nights of glacial comfort under mystic lunes Take me with you to your Atlantis Wash me into a tender kiss Too soft to be witnessed but the full moons For eternity we embrace in its promise Beyond boundaries of mortality at this ocean, through the skies and dunes Take me with you to your Atlantis Volumes and arks fill up the abyss with painted tales of Atlantic ruins For eternity we embrace in its promise When love dreamily left only to reminisce as the ink of Plato seeped in tunes Take me with you to your Atlantis For eternity we embrace in its promise

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this body will never know that the sea surface could also be gentle and kind. it will only know the sea's hunger for things it could claim. but then again,maybe, this body was not built for such gentleness and kindness. this body was made to sink. it knows that sunken cities dont kiss the ocean floor in a haste. it knows because it has been doing it for years, - slow,passionate. all those towering dreams it spent on building some unpaved asphalt roads, some rooms full of strangers, some quiet places, some homes made with strength, some little cosmos patches. All drowning and sinking. Just because i was too afraid to swim. //but maybe atlantis is a home for lost,hopeless people like me.

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Aug 15, 2020

Aug 15, 2020 at 6:21 PM UTC

this body will never know that the sea surface could also be gentle and kind. it will only know the sea's hunger for things it could claim. but then again,maybe, this body was not built for such gentleness and kindness. this body was made to sink. it knows that sunken cities dont kiss the ocean floor in a haste. it knows because it has been doing it for years, - slow,passionate. all those towering dreams it spent on building some unpaved asphalt roads, some rooms full of strangers, some quiet places, some homes made with strength, some little cosmos patches. All drowning and sinking. Just because i was too afraid to swim. //but maybe atlantis is a home for lost,hopeless people like me.

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Not just another dead word from a book But a magical word...straight out of childhood Gathered from a fascination with looking at maps and Atlas books And globes of the World All the different countries in all their different colors With all their fantastic sounding names All spread out in wonderful greens pinks and oranges, yellows reds and purples And then... that wonderful blue sweep of the Pacific...the Pacific ocean. Through the eyes of a young small child The wondrous...sweet Blue Pacific ocean So vast and so full of romance With its mermaids, its whales and its dolphins Coconuts and palm trees and treasured islands Its flying fish and grizzled pirates, Its blue skies forever smiling overhead The surf rolling up onto its sun kissed beaches. .....There long ago I glimpsed the lovely blue of her blouse And the wonderful patterns on it As she lifted me up and spun me around Just like being up on the swing boats, And she laughed with her laughing smiling face And her laughing smiling eyes And I laughed too, out loud and unashamed This was how it should always be And I didn't want it to end Wanted it to go on forever, It brought me a Bluey Bliss And suddenly all this world it was a magic place. She was like Life or Love itself Wanting to embrace you and kiss you And sweep you off your feet Life, it held so much promise and beauty So much wonder and mystery Yea! all was magic in those Summer months The coloured pictures in our comic books The kicking football on the lovely green lawns, The fluttering and flapping of the clothes on the clothes line Were like the sails of a Great Ship... Sweet dreams and sunbeams as we ran out to meet the tide. And still she calls to me today, wild blue ocean How I love... like that sweet feeling of blue The sight of her on a globe or Atlas still And that name like some ancient spell It sends me up into the sky Delights, makes me feel so peaceful The sweet blue Pacific ocean You can...can almost taste it. Sweet intimations of a world that came before, A world underneath...that still lies there...somewhere Whispering like some sweet lost Atlantis Forever calling you back, calling you back home. I'm afraid I can't be more specific About the wonderful, the beautiful ...The Blue Pacific.

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Apr 25, 2020

Apr 25, 2020 at 10:55 AM UTC

The Blue Pacific

Not just another dead word from a book But a magical word...straight out of childhood Gathered from a fascination with looking at maps and Atlas books And globes of the World All the different countries in all their different colors With all their fantastic sounding names All spread out in wonderful greens pinks and oranges, yellows reds and purples And then... that wonderful blue sweep of the Pacific...the Pacific ocean. Through the eyes of a young small child The wondrous...sweet Blue Pacific ocean So vast and so full of romance With its mermaids, its whales and its dolphins Coconuts and palm trees and treasured islands Its flying fish and grizzled pirates, Its blue skies forever smiling overhead The surf rolling up onto its sun kissed beaches. .....There long ago I glimpsed the lovely blue of her blouse And the wonderful patterns on it As she lifted me up and spun me around Just like being up on the swing boats, And she laughed with her laughing smiling face And her laughing smiling eyes And I laughed too, out loud and unashamed This was how it should always be And I didn't want it to end Wanted it to go on forever, It brought me a Bluey Bliss And suddenly all this world it was a magic place. She was like Life or Love itself Wanting to embrace you and kiss you And sweep you off your feet Life, it held so much promise and beauty So much wonder and mystery Yea! all was magic in those Summer months The coloured pictures in our comic books The kicking football on the lovely green lawns, The fluttering and flapping of the clothes on the clothes line Were like the sails of a Great Ship... Sweet dreams and sunbeams as we ran out to meet the tide. And still she calls to me today, wild blue ocean How I love... like that sweet feeling of blue The sight of her on a globe or Atlas still And that name like some ancient spell It sends me up into the sky Delights, makes me feel so peaceful The sweet blue Pacific ocean You can...can almost taste it. Sweet intimations of a world that came before, A world underneath...that still lies there...somewhere Whispering like some sweet lost Atlantis Forever calling you back, calling you back home. I'm afraid I can't be more specific About the wonderful, the beautiful ...The Blue Pacific.

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The unknown and ambiguity is where I will sail even if they don't dare I sailed slowly, but I sailed forward and onward Storms and waves, I've found my dear Atlantis Where the depths is immeasurable but calm I have no regrets, I've waited for you And now, if I am going to drown I will not hesitate anymore For below and down under In chaos and silence I found her

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Nov 17, 2019

Nov 17, 2019 at 1:19 PM UTC

I am the captain of a sinking ship

The unknown and ambiguity is where I will sail even if they don't dare I sailed slowly, but I sailed forward and onward Storms and waves, I've found my dear Atlantis Where the depths is immeasurable but calm I have no regrets, I've waited for you And now, if I am going to drown I will not hesitate anymore For below and down under In chaos and silence I found her

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Break me into chasm then let the love pour in— flower into deep well— stem the umbilicus of what you could say you knew of me— the privilege of living inside your own head— and me, something made of sand, a wink— something of one of many lives ago, though how well you knew me— as did he— how well they saw me— and maybe no one did. We were lovers in a past life. And now I am obscure as lost Atlantis, origin of the fairy tale— fragile as gossamer and the Holy Grail.

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Oct 30, 2019

Oct 30, 2019 at 7:49 PM UTC

Break me into chasm then let the love pour in— flower into deep well— stem the umbilicus of what you could say you knew of me— the privilege of living inside your own head— and me, something made of sand, a wink— something of one of many lives ago, though how well you knew me— as did he— how well they saw me— and maybe no one did. We were lovers in a past life. And now I am obscure as lost Atlantis, origin of the fairy tale— fragile as gossamer and the Holy Grail.

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When the sun hits You shine with a stronger light in your eyes then the stars in the sky More than a well within you You're an uncharted body of water That none have yet to discover I've never learned to swim without eventually causing myself to drown But when I'm this close to you I'm not afraid to flow with your current One day I hope to get to the depths where no one's eyes have been I want to become king of Atlantis I want to understand how to live with the sea and understand it's needs I want to be quite like Poseidon let go and breathe You're like no person above You are the ocean

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Jul 13, 2019

Jul 13, 2019 at 2:02 PM UTC

To my Japanese Denim

When the sun hits You shine with a stronger light in your eyes then the stars in the sky More than a well within you You're an uncharted body of water That none have yet to discover I've never learned to swim without eventually causing myself to drown But when I'm this close to you I'm not afraid to flow with your current One day I hope to get to the depths where no one's eyes have been I want to become king of Atlantis I want to understand how to live with the sea and understand it's needs I want to be quite like Poseidon let go and breathe You're like no person above You are the ocean

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Still Here in Atlantis, Mother of pearls. Iridescent; being pregnant with light, A world rebuilding - waiting to hold you. Resurfacing: Sea the sun, Finding Home.

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Jul 5, 2019

Jul 5, 2019 at 5:05 AM UTC

diana-bosa-engler

Still Here in Atlantis, Mother of pearls. Iridescent; being pregnant with light, A world rebuilding - waiting to hold you. Resurfacing: Sea the sun, Finding Home.

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Atlantis rises Under the water a city floats. Invisible walls protect the people from the ocean. Above the waves, nobody knows of the city below. The worshipers lay flowers before their Gods to show their devotion. For centuries this city has stood against the wave of incoming tides. For generations its people have tried, To find a way to live above and not just accept being uprooted; But there are those would claim to rule, So Atlantis must remain secluded. The Atlantian’s feel trapped inside their sphere. They want to find land; they want a new home and a new frontier, But this city is the hand they have been dealt. Even in this united community, there are those who cannot be helped. They plot and scheme and think of change, But they cannot wait to see that day; For they are impatient, So they act on instinct. Not willing to discuss, they move with mistrust And without a sound, they blink… They disappear and gather in secret to speak. Security seek them, but the protectors are weak. The time has come to leave this place! At night they leap into action, a war on the base. Guns are waved, orders are shouted; Shock and awe are a necessity, as to not be doubted. Stolen ships of exploration; Part of the human spirit has been taken. But the community comes together to unite around those who remain. They still think about those who decided to leave, But the minutes soon turn into days. Soon those who left are all but forgotten; Life moves on without a mention of them. All that which they stole has been replaced. Years later a city rises from beneath the waves, To appear before the world; a mystery unravels. The people who never existed have found a way to travel. How did they survive beneath the sea all these days? With magic and machinery, they found a way. A future voice; an alien being. Time travel; all knowledge available to be seen. As the city grows to reach the land, The ocean is its arm; the city is its hands And as the hand rises, the people multiply. The city continues to grow until it reaches the sky. Now the ocean is unseen, the land is no longer green. Everywhere the people look, they only see concrete. The view disappears; Sky scraper towers. Humans have advanced through the years, But gone are all the flowers… (C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.

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May 23, 2019

May 23, 2019 at 7:20 AM UTC

Atlantis rises Under the water a city floats. Invisible walls protect the people from the ocean. Above the waves, nobody knows of the city below. The worshipers lay flowers before their Gods to show their devotion. For centuries this city has stood against the wave of incoming tides. For generations its people have tried, To find a way to live above and not just accept being uprooted; But there are those would claim to rule, So Atlantis must remain secluded. The Atlantian’s feel trapped inside their sphere. They want to find land; they want a new home and a new frontier, But this city is the hand they have been dealt. Even in this united community, there are those who cannot be helped. They plot and scheme and think of change, But they cannot wait to see that day; For they are impatient, So they act on instinct. Not willing to discuss, they move with mistrust And without a sound, they blink… They disappear and gather in secret to speak. Security seek them, but the protectors are weak. The time has come to leave this place! At night they leap into action, a war on the base. Guns are waved, orders are shouted; Shock and awe are a necessity, as to not be doubted. Stolen ships of exploration; Part of the human spirit has been taken. But the community comes together to unite around those who remain. They still think about those who decided to leave, But the minutes soon turn into days. Soon those who left are all but forgotten; Life moves on without a mention of them. All that which they stole has been replaced. Years later a city rises from beneath the waves, To appear before the world; a mystery unravels. The people who never existed have found a way to travel. How did they survive beneath the sea all these days? With magic and machinery, they found a way. A future voice; an alien being. Time travel; all knowledge available to be seen. As the city grows to reach the land, The ocean is its arm; the city is its hands And as the hand rises, the people multiply. The city continues to grow until it reaches the sky. Now the ocean is unseen, the land is no longer green. Everywhere the people look, they only see concrete. The view disappears; Sky scraper towers. Humans have advanced through the years, But gone are all the flowers… (C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.

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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}

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Jan 1, 2019

Jan 1, 2019 at 9:11 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}

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# The room in starlight bathed My body unscathed Swimming indoors sheets are shores Wash over me like the tide for I don't sleep at night Swimming indoors where it always pours Moon reflection on my cushion Swimming indoors following ancient lores Diving deep to find an Atlantis on my mind Swimming indoors til reaching the dream's source #

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Sep 9, 2018

Sep 9, 2018 at 9:18 PM UTC

# The room in starlight bathed My body unscathed Swimming indoors sheets are shores Wash over me like the tide for I don't sleep at night Swimming indoors where it always pours Moon reflection on my cushion Swimming indoors following ancient lores Diving deep to find an Atlantis on my mind Swimming indoors til reaching the dream's source #

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Skipping stones Messages For heart beats Their hearts Are reaching out For more Than just a shadow Lovely These trees Wave forever Gently In the breeze The Fire Shall capture The Water And induce Certain labor So we shall Contemplate On these Mysteries We Will endure Until The Beginnings Without An end.

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Jun 2, 2018

Jun 2, 2018 at 9:52 PM UTC

Skipping stones Messages For heart beats Their hearts Are reaching out For more Than just a shadow Lovely These trees Wave forever Gently In the breeze The Fire Shall capture The Water And induce Certain labor So we shall Contemplate On these Mysteries We Will endure Until The Beginnings Without An end.

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The moon rose up, the sky is naked, His world is empty, the stars are faded, He never gives up, completing his deed, He’s looking for lost city, indeed. He passed through deserts and storms, Best friends were whiskies and rums, Heart was destined to cold rooms, That left him with aches and bruise. Great walls on horizon, surrounded with high waterfalls, Place reminds of paradise with its colorful butterflies, He found his Atlantis, the mission is done, The aches are healed, the pain is gone. He woke up to see the blue sky, Endlessly watch birds fly, Eyes are open, where are the walls? Where are birds and waterfalls? Infinite desert is the only option, This adventure was a blissful fiction, Forget lost city, build your Atlantis, Build your city of delighted fantasies.

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Apr 18, 2018

Apr 18, 2018 at 8:26 AM UTC

The moon rose up, the sky is naked, His world is empty, the stars are faded, He never gives up, completing his deed, He’s looking for lost city, indeed. He passed through deserts and storms, Best friends were whiskies and rums, Heart was destined to cold rooms, That left him with aches and bruise. Great walls on horizon, surrounded with high waterfalls, Place reminds of paradise with its colorful butterflies, He found his Atlantis, the mission is done, The aches are healed, the pain is gone. He woke up to see the blue sky, Endlessly watch birds fly, Eyes are open, where are the walls? Where are birds and waterfalls? Infinite desert is the only option, This adventure was a blissful fiction, Forget lost city, build your Atlantis, Build your city of delighted fantasies.

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WE are like a pair of Dictionary Lost lexicographer, Asked all words, adept at interpreting the Atlantis, carefully describe the ***** dog and Almighty God. For a word, we have a long debate, You want to just forget the word. While I want that word we describe it, as clearly as possible.

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Jul 14, 2017

Jul 14, 2017 at 11:23 AM UTC

Dictionary of Lost

WE are like a pair of Dictionary Lost lexicographer, Asked all words, adept at interpreting the Atlantis, carefully describe the ***** dog and Almighty God. For a word, we have a long debate, You want to just forget the word. While I want that word we describe it, as clearly as possible.

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The tides of time flow beneath my feet Rippling and flowing uncertainty I am fish in the waters of constant change Unpredictable ain't it strange Will I be eaten by my disability? Devoured by the shark like features of my own mind? The stormy waves inside my heart Will not just depart The sea the tides of time Hide my lost treasure sinking in the deep forever Atlantis a lost city in a watery graveyard Rusting away rotten ships Drowning wreckage of lost sailors the waves hold a watery vigil a siren like fate waits For me with a lover who could save me or cast me into the murky depths Maybe the seas of time are all our tears combined throughout time inside are all our aspirations we cast our nets for and still we cry more than we catch So the seas are maintained For us to sail on...

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Feb 13, 2017

Feb 13, 2017 at 2:53 PM UTC

The sea of time

The tides of time flow beneath my feet Rippling and flowing uncertainty I am fish in the waters of constant change Unpredictable ain't it strange Will I be eaten by my disability? Devoured by the shark like features of my own mind? The stormy waves inside my heart Will not just depart The sea the tides of time Hide my lost treasure sinking in the deep forever Atlantis a lost city in a watery graveyard Rusting away rotten ships Drowning wreckage of lost sailors the waves hold a watery vigil a siren like fate waits For me with a lover who could save me or cast me into the murky depths Maybe the seas of time are all our tears combined throughout time inside are all our aspirations we cast our nets for and still we cry more than we catch So the seas are maintained For us to sail on...

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You are the moon that is moored in the sky And the moonshine that shimmers against Atlantis' cloak So vivid, yet so pale And I begin to wonder if you're alright Up there, all alone atop the world. Is it better to be carefully propped on a celestial pedestal for all men to indulge, Or to be chaotically plunged Into a sea of solitude and peace? You are much wiser and older, my dear; Is it true that Beauty lies In the eye Of the beholder?

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Sep 10, 2016

Sep 10, 2016 at 7:04 PM UTC

You are the moon that is moored in the sky And the moonshine that shimmers against Atlantis' cloak So vivid, yet so pale And I begin to wonder if you're alright Up there, all alone atop the world. Is it better to be carefully propped on a celestial pedestal for all men to indulge, Or to be chaotically plunged Into a sea of solitude and peace? You are much wiser and older, my dear; Is it true that Beauty lies In the eye Of the beholder?

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