#islands
Staring down at ice breaks
Cars crawling across island town
Like snails without silver tails
Water blue hues, motionless docks
Racing gray clouds eye heights
Mud trees unbelievably round
I said fear wouldn't get me
To a local north living proof
Glass floors, untold seen beliefs
Lager's either helped me or...
Mar 16
Mar 16, 2026 at 12:11 PM UTC
Canary Islands are quite
A view and the
Palm trees sway and bend
Ocean breezes send
Sandy shores so white
Stars shining in the night
And canary Islands are
The place to be as the
Warm sun shines brightly
On me and the
Waves that gently crash
Sunlight in a flash and
Peaceful calm and free
And the canary Islands
Are wild and glee.
Dec 10, 2025
Dec 10, 2025 at 9:06 AM UTC
Cursed? Condemned?
To wander the Earth for eternity?
Aeneas, or Cain as some call him,
Was a person of renown - a leader and scholar.
Part of the crew of Odysseus,
He was called to the ship
But neglected to board it.
The name of the isle of flowers?
The Garden of Eden.
It's caretaker? Cybele.
Before the isle
Aeneas, like others,
Were offered the Trials.
This was to visit all the places
Currently & properly "gardened."
Reward for completion of the Trials
Was longevity, strength, et cetera.
Gnomen & Seers had procured,
Through generations of Trial & error,
A potent cataplasm
Which they learned to mutate/grow
Into a selected fruit.
Like an apple.
The Garden of Eden
Was a place of experimentation,
Much in the same vein as the Tower of Babel.
Where the Tower of Babel was focused
On the development and perfection of communication;
In things like language, oration, poetry, literature, et cetera
The Garden of Eden was focused
On experimentation with different forms of chemicals.
Chemicals, of course, coming in many forms;
Plants, minerals, other natural phenomena, substances & combinations, et cetera.
Part of this was experimentation with psychotropics,
Attempting to develop natural immunities
To such things like alcohol and cannabis.
Aeneas & Cybele,
Driven mad by drugs & mental-illness,
Left the isle.
For Aeneas was a rule-breaker
And confided in Cybele all that he understood and knew
About the Trials.
Aeneas had one trial left,
The Maze.
The Maze was enormous.
Upon its walls
All of human history was carved,
The entirety of that which was experienced by us.
All that had been relayed by various Gnomen & Seers
Through generation after generation.
Carved in ways that could be universally understood,
At least by those living within those ancient societies.
The red thread?
A guide to weapons, combat, subjugation/domination, et cetera.
This area of the Maze
Also housed a weapons cache
In the event the Maze was threatened or attacked.
Who informed Aeneas of the red thread?
Cybele.
Who informed Cybele?
Scylla.
You see, as previously mentioned,
Part of the Trials was to visit
All these areas which had been "gardened."
Auxiliary to this
Was to visit all those
Who had been deemed unworthy or had failed the Trials,
Like Scylla had been before meeting Cybele.
Living cautionary tales,
"Condemned" not to "wander"
But to live out their natural existences
On isles which were gardened for beings
Like predators and plant life which was vicious.
It was Scylla who "blew" Odysseus & his crew off course,
Knowing of Cybele & Eden.
Cybele who later drugged the "Minotaur."
Jul 10, 2025
Jul 10, 2025 at 12:37 PM UTC
When you play Magic; The Gathering,
You gotta understand what color you are inside,
That way you can play your color better.
You could be white like the plains,
Focused on order and loyalty,
Keeping a tight fist on your life.
You could be black like a swamp,
Willing to give anything,
To obtain everything.
You could be blue like an island,
Logical and cold,
Doing the hard job of saying no.
You could be red like a mountain,
Fiery and bold,
Ready to rage out on your enimies.
You could be green like a forest,
Big and boisterous,
Here for the friends and things.
Feb 15, 2025
Feb 15, 2025 at 8:04 PM UTC
My love has been slipping beyond my grasp, as if it's the faintest light in a lone island I reach in between the gaps of my fingers. In this mere happenstance, you are my greatest expedition that would be written in pages; A conquest that no one could ever have, I was a ticking bomb waiting for the fall of promises that were long drowned at the sea I called "you", a silent yet vengeful endless depth, I named it as my territory, a catastrophic dream, in an afternoon storm.
May 2, 2024
May 2, 2024 at 11:41 AM UTC
Stop.
Don't puff.
See the ocean?
Run and go.
Want to make a new friend?
Put down your phone.
Or do as you please,
but please don't smoke cigarettes in Siargao.
Don't make an irony of your stay
and a fool of yourself here.
Don't disrespect her sweet air,
don't bastardize her fresh breeze.
See the ocean?
Run and go.
Make a friend.
Do what you please.
Breathe in the sweet air.
Feel the kiss of the fresh breeze.
Don't smoke cigarettes in Siargao.
Nov 26, 2023
Nov 26, 2023 at 9:24 PM UTC
-
i hope we do not
(as a species)
"evolve"
into islands of
six foot radius circles
adrift upon oceans of
Social Media,
as Billionaires scoop up
space with the vacuum
of our losses
and then water ski across
surfaces of what once was
our own footsteps.
They Know—
we can not afford
to dog-paddle
our way across
their private
pool
by our wealth
alone...
s jones
2021
.
Jan 4, 2021
Jan 4, 2021 at 7:06 AM UTC
Mare Clausum
by Michael R. Burch
These are the narrows of my soul—
dark waters pierced by eerie, haunting screams.
And these uncharted islands bleakly home
wild nightmares and deep, strange, forbidding dreams.
Please don’t think to find pearls’ pale, unearthly glow
within its shoals, nor corals in its reefs.
For, though you seek to salvage Love, I know
that vessel lists, and night brings no relief.
Pause here, and look, and know that all is lost;
then turn, and go; let salt consume, and rust.
This sea is not for sailors, but the ******
who lingered long past morning, till they learned
why it is named:
Mare Clausum.
Originally published by Penny Dreadful. Keywords/Tags: mare, clausum, closed, sea, narrows, shoals, reefs, uncharted, islands, wreckage, shipwreck, damage, dark, tides, waters, surf, stranded, Robinson Crusoe
Apr 8, 2020
Apr 8, 2020 at 1:01 AM UTC
the wind brushing the mountain tops
the waves crashing into land
the soil saturated with sweet raindrops
and now I finally understand
islands in the vast ocean
dressed in mysterious clouds
always alive, constant motion
and now I say it out loud
this place feels like home
my soul and mind belong
a nordic paradise in every chromosome
sound of nature, its theme song
forever i will be
longing to awake
on these islands of my dreams
a precious keepsake
Apr 4, 2020
Apr 4, 2020 at 3:50 PM UTC
I'm the man of the island,
Eight floating pieces of land and Pico,
Which is the most beautiful island of all.
In Pico you can climb the mountain.
The tallest mountain in Portugal,
From the top you can see how much beauty Azores has.
And the beauty is all of us,
Without the others,
We wouldn't be called Azores,
Thats why we are Azoreans.
Feb 10, 2020
Feb 10, 2020 at 8:03 PM UTC
On islands of the tropics sweetly sets
over poignant scented bistros and tide
on a rich apricot, painted canvas
a gentle warmth for winter's hostile chide
As bare footed limps deep into the sand
To chirps, to giggles; crashing surf so glad
Briskly washing away all memory
of the wintered homage of Avon's bard
A pale mat lays hush, as red kites ascend
to prey in vast fields of his frigid shire
From a window's sill, his eyes thus pretend
A sonnet on the seaside's to retire
Seldom he escapes winter's icy grip
Shakespeare seaside sonnet: a mental trip
Nov 12, 2019
Nov 12, 2019 at 3:32 PM UTC
Mirrors and islands
Mirrors and islands
are all that I see
And the static fills my mind
eats it up like silence
It hums a constant note
glaring in and out
audible, barely
deafening.
The static fills my mind
and devours everything beneath it
Oct 27, 2019
Oct 27, 2019 at 11:10 PM UTC
I catch myself pondering,
Time and time again,
To what draws me here,
When others refrain,
'There's nothing there', they say,
'No money, No future'
Yet for me to live anywhere else,
Would seem like torture,
Waking to the sounds of the hens,
Each morning without fail,
Watching the boats in the harbour,
Before they set sail,
The silhouette of a coconut tree,
Against a magenta sunset,
Living on these enchanted islands,
Is something I could never regret,
For if I am dreaming,
Wake me, I request you do not,
For each moment spent here,
Is truly a gift, never forgot.
Sep 7, 2019
Sep 7, 2019 at 3:32 PM UTC
PRELUDE - THE SEE THROUGH HOUSE
a child sings from an open window
a sweet song serenades an angry sky
escorting the sun home soft and mellow
so many years have now drifted by
visiting my old home here on Vatersay
Western Isles have their own genetic blends
I made the wee trip over from Castlebay
all that was left to see - two gable ends!
As my eye resists a lonely tear
I walk alone for a while on the sand
memories hark back to yesteryear
my Parents couldn't tame an untamed land
unrelenting hardships too much to take
the summer rain and then the winter snow
remnants of a failed dream in my wake
endless crashing tides screamed we had to go
but now I've lost myself in time's assuage
smoke billows forth from a happy fire
forgetting the gales and their howling rage
just the birds and lambs of nature's choir
but then the Cuckoo sang a confused song
Oyster Catchers didn't know which way to fly
no more childrens laughter all day long
Father leans on his staff and starts to cry
I visit my childhood home this one last time
bookending my days, a kind of crescendo
a strange thing I know but surely not a crime
for an Old Lady to sing from an open window.
PART - THE FIRST
New Scotland, old Scotland it was all the same
the clearances were a distant memory
and the two thousand mile journey that took weeks.
They settled on Nova Scotia's East coast
time and circumstances made them one flesh
as they embarked on love's difficult journey
they were blessed with a sweet child, Ishbael
they both loved her tho no longer each other
at night Ishbael would sing out the open window
she would sing to the moon, she would sing to the stars
she imagined that she was a ballet dancer
and dreamed of being such when she grew up
Mother eeked out a living from the tired land
Father spent most of his time on the fractious sea
She stood motionless at the front door each night
He checked the lobster creels under a salty spray
the spode China would be laid out on the table
strategically placed on the driftwood surface
cups stained brown with tea, coffee and nicotine
and on the outside with smudges of lipstick
it was the most treasured family heirloom
it was somehow smuggled across in the boat
it was passed on to them as a wedding gift
it was the only item of value they ever had
night after night Mother watches the sea
in the distant field, Sheep murmur like Bees
the bog cotton waves like a myriad hankies
as sunlight dissolves under cumulous cloud,
his bent over figure would surely soon appear
whistling a sea shanty walking up the track
but like a novel, his script came to an end
the storm weathered body was never found
outside on the lonely pebbled shore a Curlew sang
the net curtains rose and fell to it's bleak strains
wind rattled the windows like the beating of fence posts
they drank hot milk from Spode china for the final time
their family had creaked under the stresses and strains
that night a tall poplar tree crashed through the roof
storms wrecked their home like they wrecked their marriage
a perfect marriage of howling wind and frigid air
a lifetime of memories carried toward the sea
yet that old enemy was soon to be their friend
like a crush that would simply not go away.
Veiled by wrinkles Mother responds to the calling.
Larks cavort up and down in their unyielding plot
while they are bound for a far and distant land
the land was in their blood the blood was in their kin
the Isle of Vatersay, they were going home.
PART - THE SECOND
Old Scotland, new Scotland it was all the same
but she could not ignore the similarities
she looked across the ocean, it was all the same
two thousand miles of Atlantic anger
wind driven waves like a Tiger on a lead
but the tide died, the sea had peace like a child's hair
this reminded her of her kind Step Father
he would lean on his staff and cry when things went wrong
a storm took this house too, only they were not in it!
They settled across the water in Castlebay.
Time was unveiled as she relived her childhood,
withered fence posts and rusty wire that kept the joy in
brushing aside the nettles the hearth warmed her heart
window fames were as firm as ber Father's hand shake
she carefully scraped away the moss of time,
darkening seas awakened to her silvery voice.
She scurried along the beach with a youthful gait
reminiscent of her ballet dancing days
then the tide of her heart rose like a mountain within
down in the marram grass, she stared in sheer disbelief
her body all a quiver she picked up the fragments
with cupped hands tears were mingled with Spode china
she raised her eyes heavenward and screamed...
"nach eil sin italicired"
which when translated means 'how wonderful is that!'
tears rolled uncontrolably down her face
she stood still shaking the fragments in her hands
it made a lovely tinkling sound like cow bells,
two thousand miles of Atlantic anger
had softened the edges and smoothed over her memories.
She looked fervently at the long deserted croft
the wind erased her footprints in the sands of time
and then the sun went down.
EPILOGUE - THE END
when your poems fail to rhyme
when your watch runs out of time
when you feel your fate was sealed
we were on the same level playing field
when clouds slowly start to fill your sky
when the ocean gives it's final cry
life's pathways they did wind and wend
we were all equal in tbe end
we all had good times and hope'd they'd last
but time went on rolling on by far too fast
that lady in the window she's still singing
not about 'the end' but a new beginning.
Dec 7, 2018
Dec 7, 2018 at 3:00 PM UTC
The *** Gardeners there were twelve in all. Hurrah! Hurrah!
everyone a Hero and answered the call. Hurrah! Celagh!
they were going out to war to fight the ***
soon be back as Heroes when the work is done
so get the Cheer Leaders ready...
the *** Gardeners are coming home
poison gas threatened from afar. Hurrah! Hurrah!
Soon be back as Heroes and first at the bar. Hurrah! Celagh!
they climbed over the top of the fields of fire
and complex networks of barbed wire
so get the fireworks ready
the *** Gardeners are coming home
deadlocked enemies on the Western line. Hurrah! Hurrah!
their bodies were earth their hands were slime. Hurrah! Celagh!
they didn't have time to take a breath
out of duty to the King they laughed at death
so get the flagpoles ready
the *** Gardeners are coming home
specialist bombers of an infantry platoon. Hurrah! Hurrah!
our Heroes longed to be home so soon. Hurrah! Celagh!
overhead shellfire scared them out their wits
dropped in their trench and blew them all to bits
so get the coffins ready...
the *** Gardeners are coming home.
Nov 8, 2018
Nov 8, 2018 at 12:41 PM UTC
There are clouds of sound and noise
That utter thoughts in a muffled voice,
Gestures of hands simply won’t cast out
Cloudy skies in days of doubt.
Like strangers lost in a crowd
Whose cries are buried by the loud,
The loud din of helpless wanderers
Whose presence disrupts and disturbs.
All strangers left on their own,
Islands floating out in the fog;
Orphans with cruel fates to bemoan;
Fates that are swept under the rug.
And who's looking with interest, who reaches down with an arm,
Never so eager to help, neither too late nor too soon?
Who would make this world perhaps a little more warm
And freshen the skies of our cloudy afternoon?
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 2:18 AM UTC
Nassau
Warm smiles under rusted hulls,
mailboats smoking,
lobster red cruise ship tourists,
back to the islands they go
Highborn Cay
White cloth walled gazebos,
bikinis and tan.
Loungers on pearl beaches,
lovers, the sea and sand
Compass Cay
A pirates place.
Rustic docks in crystal blue.
A meeting place, restless souls
Pathways and secrets on a tropical island.
Oh, frolicking sharks? In cuddle piles.
Staniel Cay
Rural and lovely,
Pink and blue shops, take your pick.
Haggling fishermen in front of a quaint little pub.
far from home, further from troubles.
Locals tell me god blesses me a lot.
The church has the best plot of land.
Mar 13, 2018
Mar 13, 2018 at 8:06 PM UTC
Crystalline waters enclose the rocks
Which ancient sailors swore to be,
The remnants of genesis leftovers
Of creation ****** deep, in the heart
Of the Mediterranean sea. Stones
Of philosophers mystic alchemy,
Metamorphosing mercury into precious metals,
Silver and gold, thoughts and ideas.
Blissful grounds of Magnum Opuses
In search of enlightenment where arid soils,
Nurture the trees symbolising peace
Delivering fruits treasuring divine,
A golden juice, a gift from Athena, goddess
Of wisdom gently slithering In Greek veins,
Inebriating essence with innate, gratitude
Towards nature and pride for roots profoundly,
Entrenched in concepts of liberty equality
Justice for all human beings, are equal by nature
Social animals responsible for,
Governing themselves within a civil society
Of free individuals. A land encompassing
A thousand islands, perpetual movement
Of tectonic plates under a blistering sun,
Caressing mountains a tireless breeze, whirls
The little white flowers off olive trees,
Now embodying the pervasive spirits of past
Conquerors standing on millenary blood-bathed
Territories ruled, yet by the twelve Olympians
A mythology while history is written
And narrates, the story of the men who fought
For pride and glory earthly vices
And out of Love.
Jan 6, 2018
Jan 6, 2018 at 9:02 AM UTC
Here i wrote us a song:
Sheep and shepherd, make me a dove,
I want to play chords with the island waves,
Foster the people and give the children love,
Give me beats that never sour,
Wings that never rest,
And forever bloom a peaceful flower.
Sep 25, 2017
Sep 25, 2017 at 4:58 PM UTC
Poetic minds are islands often found
In common reaches of the status quo
And in remote and deeper waters
Of vox humana in muted undertow.
Jun 17, 2017
Jun 17, 2017 at 11:57 AM UTC
I'm back home, on my mountain by the sea.
I close my eyes
I can hear the boat engines, the children laughing.
Water is splashing, the seagulls are screaming.
I feel the sun burning on my face,
and the wind cooling it off.
I open my eyes
I see all the tiny islands and the boats that looks like toys.
They're almost in a straignt line, heading for the horizon.
The sun hitting the water surface makes it look like a glittering sea.
It blinds me.
Everything does.
The beauty of my hometown.
I stand up and feel the salty wind grabbing my hair.
I breathe the fresh air,
I breathe the laughter, the peace, the ocean.
I am alive.
Jun 6, 2017
Jun 6, 2017 at 6:05 AM UTC
Traveling here
Traveling there
I will travel anywhere
To be with you
To be by your side
I’m way over here
And you’re way over there
But together to be
Could be anywhere
Where do you want to go
Hawaii, Cuba, the Caribbean or Fiji
Or perhaps elsewhere
Alaska, Rome, Mexico or Tahiti
Still there are others
Different places to travel
With you by my side
The adventures will unravel
You by my side
I can hardly wait
What trouble we’ll cause
Oh the times will be great
Patience is a virtue
They all say eagerly
If only they knew
How I’ll hold you so dearly
The time will come
Though none soon enough
The guitars we will strum
Distance no longer tough
The songs we will sing
Filling the air with joy
On your finger a ring
Mine forever to annoy
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 12:08 PM UTC
Tiny, shredded
Paper hearts
And flimsy
Cardboard
Feelings
Bitter aftertastes
On tongues,
Licked wounds
That are not
Healing.
Souls
Like quiet,
Vacant rooms
And minds
Screaming in
Silence
Aching chests
That long for love
Stranded on
Lonely islands.
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 2:18 PM UTC