"anchored" poems
#*When all of worldly beauty's lost
When form and face have borne the cost
Of life's sojourn upon this earth
A greater glory then springs forth
When vanity is cast aside
With long-dashed dreams and fallen pride
At last a better hope I see
One anchored in eternity
When no one gives a second glance
Or offers promise of romance
I know the One whose love is true
Who looks beyond what most men do
When wit and charm have fled from thought
And company's no longer sought
There's still One friend who longs to hear
My every word, desire and fear
When awkwardness is more the rule
Than competence and being cool
His words I hear so gently spoken,
"Come, poor in spirit and all who are broken."
When those around me criticize
With disapproval in their eyes
He spreads His arms with full embrace
And wears acceptance on His face
When kindred spirit can't be found
And understanding's wayward bound
The One who knows me best will be
Thinking precious thoughts toward me
When foot is slipping, mind astray
From trying to fix things my own way
He rescues me with hourly grace
And sets me in a spacious place
When all my naught attempts at fame
Lie crushed beneath a weight of shame
I seek the fame of Him instead
Who calls my name and lifts my head
When youth and vigor fade away
And triumph seems an ancient day
My strength can rest in One who brings
Fresh power to soar on eagle's wings
When my last breath some day I take
Death's shadowed crossing, hence, to make
Upon Christ's nail-scarred feet I'll fall
To kiss that One who is my ALL*#
Dec 31, 2015
Dec 31, 2015 at 5:56 PM UTC
O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
22.7k
He has taken rake and shovel in hand,
Taking advantage of the light,
Rare in these climes this time of year,
Still welcomed, though rendered severe
By the sun's reluctant trudge above the horizon,
The type which, sauntering through a window pane
(Falling upon a crucifix anchored above a cradle
Or some ancient, gilded frame
Containing a photo of some grandparent's wedding day,
Exploding into full undifferentiated diffusion)
May possess a dram of warmth, albeit resigned, nostalgic
A bittersweet reminder of what has gone by
(And in the shade, the air is filled
With the portentous chill of what lies a few months hence)
But there nonetheless as he tends to those final farewells
From the trees bowing to December's inevitability,
The droppings not the Pollock-esque bursts of October
(Those having been collected and consigned
To the normal corner of the back lot)
But dreary brown-hued things, not welcomed by eye nor heart,
Simply corralled perfunctorily and dismissed.
One could contend that such activity is unnecessary,
The mere vanity of all endeavor,
As the snow will come soon, and steady as well,
Performing the seasonal, cyclical function in its own time,
But he soldiers on nonetheless, a unseen one-act nearly-farce,
Painstakingly raking and bending and scraping
To leave his patch of green uncovered for a little while
Until the locking time comes to seal the earth's secrets once more,
To be revealed to those
Who shall receive the teasing ministrations
Of the fickle, fitful March equinox.
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 1:44 PM UTC
i want to get high in foreign cities
travel to places i have yet to lay my eyes on
pack a bag and take off, my only motive to feel free
i want to kiss lovers on pavement my toes have never touched
beneath trees rooted with legends in their leaves
ensuring everlasting love
and i want to feel light, rather than weighed down
anchored to one small town
i want to drop everything and get away
to places where time is altered
and the stars are always present
whether it be in the night sky or people's eyes
i want to fall in love with strangers, cities, and scenes
i crave so deeply to feel free
to start anew
but at the same time
i want you to come too
s.s
Feb 26, 2018
Feb 26, 2018 at 10:11 PM UTC
Winter is cold-hearted,
Spring is yea and nay,
Autumn is a weathercock
Blown every way:
Summer days for me
When every leaf is on its tree;
When Robin's not a beggar,
And Jenny Wren's a bride,
And larks hang singing, singing, singing,
Over the wheat-fields wide,
And anchored lilies ride,
And the pendulum spider
Swings from side to side,
And blue-black beetles transact business,
And gnats fly in a host,
And furry caterpillars hasten
That no time be lost,
And moths grow fat and thrive,
And ladybirds arrive.
Before green apples blush,
Before green nuts embrown,
Why, one day in the country
Is worth a month in town;
Is worth a day and a year
Of the dusty, musty, lag-last fashion
That days drone elsewhere.
19.4k
I simply love blue.
It's the sea we plunge into.
The constellations absently traced.
Tremors of ice around my waist.
Hushed oblivion anchored in sleep.
Fragile tears we openly weep.
Canvas skies with crystal cotton.
Oceanic tides that calm and soften.
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 1:35 AM UTC
I am but willing prey to the wiles of the full grown moon.
She guards the night sky...
While I patrol these grounds...
Grieving over the seconds that have gone too soon.
I am a vessel... all emptied and barren.
what once was full,
now echoes faint
the glories of yesteryears.
Afloat still, adrift upon the currents... aimless and sullen.
I am a ghost... haunting no one but my own.
Immortalised...
Anchored...
to a body of mist and haze...
Occupying this space where worthy wind had once blown...
I am a beggar offering nothing but my open palms.
Hope etched tight
into my knackered knuckles
and calloused digits.
Please... take them in yours...
soothe them...
grant me your touch, your coveted balm.
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 10:28 AM UTC
Two February’s ago, all I wanted to do was sleep. I was anchored to my bed with the sadness I was letting myself drown in. Now, I daydream about surviving on 3 hours of sleep, I dread going to bed, I keep my eyes open as long as I can. My heart sinks when the sun sets, I crave daylight; I’ve fallen in love with being alive.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 10:25 PM UTC
Ships won’t be anchored forever
Rusted anchor will break free
Its weight will help sink deeper
With a loud clunk, noise will dissipate
The ship will set sail once again
No weight is heavy enough to overcome
Steered away to distant land
Searching for newer shores and destinations
Away from the land of constraint
Ship will sail safely through deeper waters
Navigating through inclement weather
Forces of nature will test its strength
For the ship shall find the happy shores again
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 9:46 AM UTC
My little-lost friend
is that you I see
at times
sleeping on a park bench,
shopping carts
and effects anchored.
Homeless.
With your eyes holding shame,
brown and sad.
I can't help.
But see.
I see you inching,
inching along on the earth,
pitch black and poor,
weathered, severed
and dirtied.
Lost in time.
Mouth open.
Where open hands may be closed.
I do pass by you every morning,
thinking,
thinking of you.
As you drum your thumbs
to your own music,
in your own darkened world.
Where the albatross rest on your drooping shoulders,
as you piggyback what olive branches there are.
I can't help.
But think.
As you sit shrugging
in those same brown pants
and redshirt,
holding weeks of grime
and stench.
No doubt,
holding passerby's
casting eyes, thoughts
and conversation.
Sometimes,
I can't watch.
But hope.
Yes, hope and pray.
As you go looking into the pockets
of thrash,
digging for change,
literally,
hopefully,
three ways to paradise,
please,
yes, sir, please.
And maybe.
Just maybe.
You will find better
and parkgoers can use the bench again.
That would be a nice olive branch,
to give back,
my friend.
Logan Robertson
8/1/2018
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 6:18 PM UTC
Did you just call me ugly?
How blind could you be?
Don't you know that I got God inside of me?
Tell me dear....
So, full of pride and so focused on your youthful looks.
How much makeup?
How much pride?
How many people?
Will be at your side,
When you close your eyes for the last time.
Tried to be **** at times myself.
Those ideas blew up in my face.
Got a lot of regret debts
anchored down in the valleys of the wrinkles on my face.
Did you know I used to have abs?
Not anymore.
One day I heard my stomach having a private conversation,
with gravity.
Gravity said, 'Winning!'
Took my abs away.
Gave me arthritis and a fever in its place.
I **** so much.
I swear someone has a gun to my ***
It is so ****** up,
when the pistol starts to cry and laugh.
I need a walker most of the time.
I guess the only crime I committed was staying alive.
Yeah, I am old.
So, what! I made it this far.
Take your *** on and be thankful for who you are.
You don't know how good you got it.
You can still get around,
Without leaving fun size Hersey bars behind on the ground.
'Hey, old dude, what Hersey bars are you referring to you? The thing I see behind you are chocolate bars,
With corn toppings.
The old man starts to laugh.
The young lady says, 'Do you mean to tell me that you ******* while you were talking to me this whole time?
The young lady began to puke.
'Baby, I didn't **** on myself. My *** did all the work. I haven't been able to control my bladder for a few months now. Here is a tissue for your mouth though?'
'Did you just hand me your depends?' The young lady said.
'Yep! These Depends never judge me and makes me feel very special.'
The young lady walks away, as she continues to puke.
The old guy says, 'She is so slow. I thought that she would have given me my Depends diaper back.
'Uh oh! What am I going to doo-do in now? That girl stole my Depends!
(C) Copyrighted
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 10:06 PM UTC
If we were a tree
I guess I might say,
It's been quite a while
Since we started to sprout
I know we've branched out
But I trace back down
To see the roots have spread
Staying anchored to the ground
The winds may howl,
Thunder may strike
But try as they might
They can't knock us down
As we grow together
Towards the sky, rooted to the earth
This growth it goes to show
The seeds were planted right.
-D.D.
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 12:23 AM UTC
A little aloof I shall stay
Before another tempest hits the bay
Anchoring me down again
Into surplus societal pain
Sharing the ocean can get rough
Absconding high tides is tough
I need to gather myself in vain
Before I crash once again
So I shall breathe, smile and have a good time
And hold on to things that are mine
Whilst I cover up the timeworn stain
And soak my wrath in the rain!
-Zainab Attari
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 3:53 AM UTC
Remember, that chaos first was a primordial deity,
Chaos; the nothingness from which all else sprang
headfirst and heartfelt,
half-naked and handsome,
hook, line and... halibut.
All of this,
every measurable moment,
every particle,
every object set forth in motion
sprang from a void so harmoniously
as if the absence of everything was kissed
sudden
by the presence of something.
Often depicted with wings, a bow, and a quiver of arrows,
Cupid, son of Venus - goddess of love,
son of Mercury - god of trade,
his story,
almost identical in Greek and in Roman
mythology,
his story, about a couple of gods
who seem so inherently human by nature,
jolted by jealousy,
dumbstruck by beauty,
hellbent on immortality,
his story has been hallmarked
as red hot velvet rose petal fine wine
and symmetrical hearts.
Wrapped in tin foil red ribbons
bitter-sweetly sugarcoated
dipped in thin layer of chocolate
taste-tested and lover approved.
Remember that scene in Hook
where Tinkerbell leaves her footprints on Peter's chest,
well that's you and that's me--
touch me where my heart beats
because I don't ever wanna be a lost boy.
I wanna grow up like a good bedtime story
with morals
and purpose,
I wanna have meaning.
You might say that Cupid found himself.
You might say that Psyche found her soul.
You might say that Tinkerbell was just faking it--
with the clapping.
Truth is, we can never know the whole story--
the complete truth.
Problem is, we think we can
and act like we do.
So the only time we mean what we say
is the first time we say it,
every utterance thereafter is just an attempt
at recreating a moment.
I love you
is a paraphrase
that deserves three separate ellipses
because there's a lot left unsaid.
I (distinctively remember shadow-boxing with)
love (against a star-dotted sky anchored to a
moonlight so vibrant it can only be compared to)
you (and your tidal waves).
And that's where I fell
headfirst and handsome.
I (was punched-drunk by a kiss so breathless
that it spiked my dopamine to a volume
that can only be described as) love
(in that every time my neurotransmitters feel) you
(they spin themselves dizzy and dance to your science).
There was a moment in the absence of everything
when I was kissed silent by the presence of something.
Hold me to your breastplate.
I don't ever wanna go back to the void.
02/09/2010
Feb 14, 2012
Feb 14, 2012 at 2:03 PM UTC
Hi! My name is poetic and I'm poetical,
I shine with the pen and I always get lethal.
Don't be stunned when my poetry's jab
Causes plague and blinds you with a flap!
My speech is rooted in truth
And my words are anchored by oath.
The metaphor speaks for itself
And the simile becomes my wealth.
I am a poet,you don't seem to know it!
I don't think twice,I just blow it!
The poem that you've just read today
Was taken raw from the shelf by the way.
I was a broken puzzle
And now with these words as I addazzle,
I can say poetry brought it all together
And made mild conditions of the weather.
Don't hate,I speak my mind,
And regret after the words are combined
To infiltrate your soul and propagate
A well refined feeling of weight!
Half the words I orchestrate the meaning,
The other half I display with grinning.
What matters is that I planted the seed
And you nurture it well as you read!
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 6:27 AM UTC
We've grown and we're growing.
Don't know where we're going.
My feelings are showing.
I'm flying. I'm floating.
The ocean is cold,
And i'm not losing hope.
I'm anchored to you,
Ain't no rocking this boat.
You see it approaching.
I'm watching you notice.
We both saw this coming.
Binocular focus.
Through hot and through cold.
Polar or solar.
Girl I see your beauty.
And I'm the beholder.
<3
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 1:37 PM UTC
#*When all of worldly beauty's lost
When form and face have borne the cost
Of life's sojourn upon this earth
A greater glory then springs forth
When vanity is cast aside
With long-dashed dreams and fallen pride
At last a better hope I see
One anchored in eternity
When no one gives a second glance
Or offers promise of romance
I know the One whose love is true
Who looks beyond what most men do
When wit and charm have fled from thought
And company's no longer sought
There's still One friend who longs to hear
My every word, desire and fear
When awkwardness is more the rule
Than competence and being cool
His words I hear so gently spoken,
"Come, poor in spirit and all who are broken."
When those around me criticize
With disapproval in their eyes
He spreads His arms with full embrace
And wears acceptance on His face
When kindred spirit can't be found
And understanding's wayward bound
The One who knows me best will be
Thinking precious thoughts toward me
When foot is slipping, mind astray
From trying to fix things my own way
He rescues me with hourly grace
And sets me in a spacious place
When all my naught attempts at fame
Lie crushed beneath a weight of shame
I seek the fame of Him instead
Who calls my name and lifts my head
When youth and vigor fade away
And triumph seems an ancient day
My strength can rest in One who brings
Fresh power to soar on eagle's wings
When my last breath some day I take
Death's shadowed crossing, hence, to make
Upon Christ's nail-scarred feet I'll fall
To kiss that One who is my ALL*#
Jul 12, 2017
Jul 12, 2017 at 12:44 PM UTC
She calmly unlocks the front door
as the wind flings the screen
through wild tantrums. She droops down
into her dusted rocker, pushing
with her lavender heels to start the sway.
Her sole taps softly,
as the chair creaks onto fallen lacquer
and the porch plays in discord
through dancing lace.
Interwoven hands lie atop her lap
in a sea of navy with floral ships
at its surface. Silver strands
fall from her clouded bun
and a few locks float past her sunken shoulders.
With jaded eyes she looks at the corner
to a poor table, where a cold candle
peaks among a grassy field of melted wax
riddled with burnt fuses.
And near the candle, a dusted white hat
remains anchored to the wooden surface.
She can still smell the stale cigar smoke
lingering in the room. “He’ll be here soon,”
she thinks as her daze slowly sets in.
The world seems quiet
as she fills her eyes with sleep
and the chair continues its march.
Her hands unlock from their grasp
and the screen door gently knocks.
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 6:19 PM UTC
as a Pisces, I am swimming upstream,
the salmons last run.
fighting, pulling to grip those soft
rocks beneath.
those beasts that keep some stuck.
salmon are based in diversity
needing to have a wide gene
pool, as their kin die quickly
from those rocks.
getting stuck, swimming around and around…
insanity defined,
and time doesn't stop.
so, to the work.
swimming up stream,
dedicated to being a mother.
creator, incubator.
children
stored in the belly of the beast.
preparing to break free,
be set alive, to roam free.
the wombs embrace,
the face of LOVE.
currents of the calls
are so loud, rushing past my gills.
I feel the whooshing sound,
the pressure bearing down, taunting
me out.
calling me out… are you sure,
are you confident?
constant tests to check
and check and check for missteps.
ones that feel out of step.
no more time for those.
the path is clear,
yet
the water is cold,
bearing down on my scales built,
molded for this.
built in this system of birth and death.
choosing each step from above.
below, here I feel at home and
I feel ME breaking out.
she's broken out, there will be clouds,
rain, thunder all the things.
let
it be.
and the beast is free, she
has descended, dug down deep,
anchored, prepared for reception.
just like the trees, they grow so well
with others.
interdependently nourishing the diversity.
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 5:34 AM UTC
Up from the ground did its trunk shoot,
Anchored deep by its twisted roots,
Spreading out its branches went,
Bending down with their leaf and flowered blossom scent.
Its old rugged bark clothed its wood,
There for 250 years the old tree stood,
Near the path walking way,
Where the local people would walk each day.
Down upon the old tree seen,
Against its bark the sunlight would gleam,
Except in its notches and crevice marks,
That covered portions of its bark.
How its branches in the wind did sway,
As some of its blossoms upon the breeze did sail away,
When at that moment heard the tree,
The voice of the wind softly speak.
Have you ever seen such beauty as she?
Whistled the wind to the Cherry Tree,
See the beautiful maiden below…
Wrapped in thou blossoms that you have grown?
Tell me tree… is it not so…
That thou blossom beauty comes and goes?
Yet among you is a blossom I do see,
That loses not its enchanted beauty.
The tree looked upon Libby then said to the air…
Indeed - beautiful is the maiden standing there,
Oh yes… she has bloomed into a special piece,
A truly molded masterpiece.
And it is true… her beauty stays,
Not carried off by you the wind… or damaged by the hot sun rays,
Her beauty that she does maintain,
Is neither damaged by the insects nor washed away by the rain.
How I do wish… said the cherry tree,
That this one blossom would stay with me,
Yet sadly the tree said… “I Know
Like all the other blossoms… this one too must go.”
For a gentle breeze shall come along…
And sweep her off her feet… carrying her along,
For such a beautiful blossom… with a precious heart display,
Is bound to be picked… and carried away.
For beauty such as hers… is rarely seen,
It comes but once in a lifetime… as it always seems to be,
Then the tree asked the wind… “What’s the name of the blossom that grows?
The one that we speak of… that stands below?”
Then the wind gazing down,
At the blossom standing on the ground,
Then said softly to the cherry tree…
“They call this blossom… Liberata Marinilli.”
Jun 18, 2016
Jun 18, 2016 at 9:50 AM UTC
i have one foot in the grave
the other in an abandoned bathtub
i light a cigarette and
stare into the void
buddy holly is rolling lumpy black cigarettes
over the sound of grown men crying
five bunnies crawl out of his eyeglasses and
maggots are anchored to his chin
you cannot disturb the gypsy bathing
in her own river of tears
you cannot break the silent wonder
i have one arm in a sling
the other in a windmill
Jan 10, 2012
Jan 10, 2012 at 7:47 AM UTC
As I scale the slope
I note the melody of the wind
With its sweeping symphonic shifts
My nails grind against granite
Before flaking and falling into the abyss
Yet I persist
Upward along the lone path
Where the air recedes like tides
And frost forms fellowship upon my eyes
Before seeking to turn my sore limbs, frigid
Icily assuring each ache is anchored in anxiety
Which stems from the worn clothes of society
Yet as I climb, the fabric is discarded
Like old styles of yesteryear
Now basking in all my naturalness
I finally summit, my thoughts thankfully descend
My heart lifts up its scepter and then my chin
Beating with Brilliance it grins
Furls up it sleeves and wordlessly begins
The work of healing from within
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 8:28 PM UTC
When roaring sorrow
Uprooted me
I envision a lotus flower, staying gently a float upon the pond.
The sun's soothing, comforting light warmed my heart.
Breathing in.... Breathing, gently out.
Releasing both hands
Clasped in pain.
No need to leave
No need to go
The deep sorrow of my heart beating
Rivers of Love's tears upon the pond.
Yet the sunshine never failed.
I am floating gently - to that perfect spot
Within the pond.
I, Lotus flower
Send my tap root deep down below
Taking root, among the other lotus
Beautiful flowers anchored to the pond's murky floor.
Mar 14, 2019
Mar 14, 2019 at 3:49 PM UTC
The man in galoshes with the world on his back,
strolls along the broken track.
Weather beaten,
Fighting the rain.
It's lashing him.
He's tied to the kerb.
Anchored only by the weighty boots on his feet.
He's out there fair weather or foul.
Desperate to keep his public happy,
With a timely siren,
the arrival of an infants birth.
He is the performer up the garden path.
At least the rain's outside again.
So is he poor sod.
The postman, nearly demi-god,
or nearly dead.
He's tramping through the rain and the snow.
He had to let you know,
you know.
The latest news and hot reviews,
a little bit of useless information.
There's nothing better than a letter,
unless it's from the revenue.
Our fair weather friend he has so many uses.
A warrior, he fights wild dogs.
He's churning up the grass,
his only means of escape.
He's wearing an orange hat,
it's curled up at the edges.
He uses it to fight the rain.
The orange hat so luminous,
he's looking rather fruity.
He's forlorn and in pieces,
because he's getting washed away,
He has one every morning in his place,
each and every day.
Stacks and stacks of bits of paper,
Life and death wrapped up in his sack.
(C) Livvi
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 10:43 AM UTC
Although its tough to admit sometimes,
We're all so heavy,
Filled with remnant memories and sentiment.
Weighed down with emotions and oceans,
Like a lighthouse anchored to its land.
Like a mother to her son.
We're all just scarred animals,
scarred and scared to go into the night alone.
I've been heavy for a for a year or two,
I've been trying to blaze a flare,
be that morning window light for you.
I guess I stopped trying to be anything,
I accepted myself in all my simple complexity.
We all want to be perfect,
but none of us know what the hell we're doing.
And what's wrong with that?
It's all we can do.
Try, experiment, guess and live.
May 26, 2011
May 26, 2011 at 9:29 PM UTC