Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
"berth" poems
In the cold grey light of the sixth of June, in the year of forty-four, The Empire Larch sailed out from Poole to join with thousands more. The largest fleet the world had seen, we sailed in close array, And we set our course for Normandy at the dawning of the day. There was not one man in all our crew but knew what lay in store, For we had waited for that day through five long years of war. We knew that many would not return, yet all our hearts were true, For we were bound for Normandy, where we had a job to do. Now the Empire Larch was a deep-sea tug with a crew of thirty-three, And I was just the galley-boy on my first trip to sea. I little thought when I left home of the dreadful sights I'd see, But I came to manhood on the day that I first saw Normandy. At the Beach of Gold off Arromanches, 'neath the rockets' deadly glare, We towed our blockships into place and we built a harbour there. 'Mid shot and shell we built it well, as history does agree, While brave men died in the swirling tide on the shores of Normandy. Like the Rodney and the Nelson, there were ships of great renown, But rescue tugs all did their share as many a ship went down. We ran our pontoons to the shore within the Mulberry's lee, And we made safe berth for the tanks and guns that would set all Europe free. For every hero's name that's known, a thousand died as well. On stakes and wire their bodies hung, rocked in the ocean swell; And many a mother wept that day for the sons they loved so well, Men who cracked a joke and cadged a smoke as they stormed the gates of hell. As the years pass by, I can still recall the men I saw that day Who died upon that blood-soaked sand where now sweet children play; And those of you who were unborn, who've lived in liberty, Remember those who made it so on the shores of Normandy. ________________________________________
0
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 3:07 PM UTC
Shores of Normandy by Jim Radford
In the cold grey light of the sixth of June, in the year of forty-four, The Empire Larch sailed out from Poole to join with thousands more. The largest fleet the world had seen, we sailed in close array, And we set our course for Normandy at the dawning of the day. There was not one man in all our crew but knew what lay in store, For we had waited for that day through five long years of war. We knew that many would not return, yet all our hearts were true, For we were bound for Normandy, where we had a job to do. Now the Empire Larch was a deep-sea tug with a crew of thirty-three, And I was just the galley-boy on my first trip to sea. I little thought when I left home of the dreadful sights I'd see, But I came to manhood on the day that I first saw Normandy. At the Beach of Gold off Arromanches, 'neath the rockets' deadly glare, We towed our blockships into place and we built a harbour there. 'Mid shot and shell we built it well, as history does agree, While brave men died in the swirling tide on the shores of Normandy. Like the Rodney and the Nelson, there were ships of great renown, But rescue tugs all did their share as many a ship went down. We ran our pontoons to the shore within the Mulberry's lee, And we made safe berth for the tanks and guns that would set all Europe free. For every hero's name that's known, a thousand died as well. On stakes and wire their bodies hung, rocked in the ocean swell; And many a mother wept that day for the sons they loved so well, Men who cracked a joke and cadged a smoke as they stormed the gates of hell. As the years pass by, I can still recall the men I saw that day Who died upon that blood-soaked sand where now sweet children play; And those of you who were unborn, who've lived in liberty, Remember those who made it so on the shores of Normandy. ________________________________________
Continue reading...
29
I love my country: India , but I hate many of its rulers, as they speak for the poor and act for tycoons bellicose, and- Diversity sighs in armed Unity; The selfish corrupted in unity March ahead on graves crafty. I love my country: India , but August fifteenth : with freedom, opened all devilish forces out of Hell to fell all virtues. Grim faced Buddha smiles Like a nuclear Phantom ,his tears drip on tomb of Peace. No white dove sits on dome It bleeds in the lap of Buddha. If birth is the cause of gloom. who stops one from bloom? Dearth of berth clamour for Death of birth at the womb. I love my country: India , but Souls are free on lovely Earth Lay bodies strain to survive. A nominal word equanimity Gushes in landslide infirmity. Service becomes self –service, In black ink sleeps Socialism. Fear Neurosis like King Kamsa Keeps Liberty behind the bars. Healthy, wealthy Bharat Matha Groans in labour room for Santi. Note: 1). August fifteenth= 15 August 1947 when India became free from Briton. 2).Buddha=Gutham Buddha(Prince Sidhardha) who established Buddhism.3).Kamsa= The mythological character , uncle of Lord Krishna who chained even his sister Devaki out of the fear psychosis. 4),Bharat Matha= Indians consider Bharat/India as their Mother(Matha)-so it is Mother land not Fatherland for them .Santi/Shanti=a Sanskrit word used in Vedas and Upanishads of India which means Peace or Islam.
0
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 10:08 AM UTC
I love my country: India, but
Here, where the lonely hooting owl Sends forth his midnight moans, Fierce wolves shall o’er my carcase growl, Or buzzards pick my bones. No fellow-man shall learn my fate, Or where my ashes lie; Unless by beasts drawn round their bait, Or by the ravens’ cry. Yes! I’ve resolved the deed to do, And this the place to do it: This heart I’ll rush a dagger through, Though I in hell should rue it! Hell! What is hell to one like me Who pleasures never know; By friends consigned to misery, By hope deserted too? To ease me of this power to think, That through my ***** raves, I’ll headlong leap from hell’s high brink, And wallow in its waves. Though devils yell, and burning chains May waken long regret; Their frightful screams, and piercing pains, Will help me to forget. Yes! I’m prepared, through endless night, To take that fiery berth! Think not with tales of hell to fright Me, who am damn’d on earth! Sweet steel! come forth from our your sheath, And glist’ning, speak your powers; Rip up the organs of my breath, And draw my blood in showers! I strike! It quivers in that heart Which drives me to this end; I draw and kiss the ****** dart, My last—my only friend!
0
9k
The Suicide’s Soliloquy
A new babe on the way, Does she arrive today? The stork is on standby, Is she coming down the slide? A star in heaven's berth, Winging her way to Earth, Now an atomic cluster, Has she got a dust buster? Her future unplanned, Soon in Earthling's band, When is she coming down the slide? Right now, the stork is on standby!
0
May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 11:14 PM UTC
STORK ON STANDBY (For my expected great-niece.)
Pearl Avenue runs past the high-school lot, Bends with the trolley tracks, and stops, cut off Before it has a chance to go two blocks, At Colonel McComsky Plaza. Berth's Garage Is on the corner facing west, and there, Most days, you'll find Flick Webb, who helps Berth out. Flick stands tall among the idiot pumps- Five on a side, the old bubble-head style, Their rubber elbows hanging loose and low. One's nostrils are two S's, and his eyes An E and O. And one is squat, without A head at all-more of a football type. Once Flick played for the high-school team, the Wizards. He was good: in fact, the best. In '46 He bucketed three hundred ninety points, A county record still. The ball loved Flick. I saw him rack up thirty-eight or forty In one home game. His hands were like wild birds. He never learned a trade, he just sells gas, Checks oil, and changes flats. Once in a while, As a gag, he dribbles an inner tube, But most of us remember anyway. His hands are fine and nervous on the lug wrench. It makes no difference to the lug wrench, though. Off work, he hangs around Mae's Luncheonette. Grease-gray and kind of coiled, he plays pinball, Smokes those thin cigars, nurses lemon phosphates. Flick seldom says a word to Mae, just nods Beyond her face toward bright applauding tiers Of Necco Wafers, Nibs, and Juju Beads.
0
8.4k
Ex-Basketball Player
No one else, but a poet...can bring colors to scenes...with verses, in crass or subtle tones......gather words together in lines, uncertain in their ebbing and flowing... the results create surprise in many hues that could make one cry, grimace......frown......or smile readers are led to far, or near destinations...to the cool, sweet air and peaceful atmosphere of paradise, or, to unlit corners...uncharted waters, or deep into an abyss...or, a black hole, an unknown corner, where moribund souls are biding their time, maybe, they could now define by themselves, purgatory and hell, understand those sunken souls who have lost all...except their arms, and begging eyes... then, through appropriate words, a poet paints a laborious path, or a stairway...so an enlightened reader may climb back to safe, calm waters... a poet makes the mind see a human heart, beating in many rhythms...throbbing, .......aflame with longing and desire, bursting from ecstatic, sublime moments, then, later on, shift to grayish thoughts that cut deep....tormenting...crashing, ............gnashing the heart... a poet paints a soul walking on cloud nine, later, to dip feet in celebrative pools. sometimes, a poet would rather not, yet, an inner force prevails, thereby paints a drooping soul...dying, in total surrender, ready to fall..............but, again, with a barrel of lively-colored words, a poet takes this despondent soul to berth, with soothing verses, bring it to a rebirth... every human being is worth an effort ..............even those that have fallen .........................are worth savin' ..... a poet's palette is uniquely enriched with colorful experiences, a poet paints life in its truest colors, ..........could be dark...or bright .....nothing more......nothing less... Sally © Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan January 29, 2017
0
Jun 3, 2018
Jun 3, 2018 at 6:13 AM UTC
Painter
No one else, but a poet...can bring colors to scenes...with verses, in crass or subtle tones......gather words together in lines, uncertain in their ebbing and flowing... the results create surprise in many hues that could make one cry, grimace......frown......or smile readers are led to far, or near destinations...to the cool, sweet air and peaceful atmosphere of paradise, or, to unlit corners...uncharted waters, or deep into an abyss...or, a black hole, an unknown corner, where moribund souls are biding their time, maybe, they could now define by themselves, purgatory and hell, understand those sunken souls who have lost all...except their arms, and begging eyes... then, through appropriate words, a poet paints a laborious path, or a stairway...so an enlightened reader may climb back to safe, calm waters... a poet makes the mind see a human heart, beating in many rhythms...throbbing, .......aflame with longing and desire, bursting from ecstatic, sublime moments, then, later on, shift to grayish thoughts that cut deep....tormenting...crashing, ............gnashing the heart... a poet paints a soul walking on cloud nine, later, to dip feet in celebrative pools. sometimes, a poet would rather not, yet, an inner force prevails, thereby paints a drooping soul...dying, in total surrender, ready to fall..............but, again, with a barrel of lively-colored words, a poet takes this despondent soul to berth, with soothing verses, bring it to a rebirth... every human being is worth an effort ..............even those that have fallen .........................are worth savin' ..... a poet's palette is uniquely enriched with colorful experiences, a poet paints life in its truest colors, ..........could be dark...or bright .....nothing more......nothing less... Sally © Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan January 29, 2017
Continue reading...
48
The platforms are full of passengers The fruits, coffees and tea stalls The train runs on the track with heels Like the whops of horses Passengers enter the train in a hurry And leave without any worry Someone sleeps in the berth and snores Some other sits and reads the news The gluttonous eater eats the eats The vendor sells nuts and peas and cries like the buzzing bees the T.C comes, wakes up and asks for the ticket and bribes for berths the beggar begs for alms singing hymns some play cards making unbearable noises the child weeps ,cries and moans the thief enters the coaches and tries to steal the bags the passengers make friends with ease but it will very soon cease life like railway travel is a passing shower it doesn’t last forever It lasts only till the destination comes The passenger takes the bag and leaves
0
Dec 27, 2010
Dec 27, 2010 at 6:16 AM UTC
THE TYPICAL INDIAN RAILWAY JOURNEY
Time is all that sets us free To all the wonders, that can be humanly perceived Time is all that binds us To mundane, almost emotionless routines we have conceived. Time is the ticking of the clock That gnaws at us; leaving no immediate mark Time is the face that has come to mock It creeps on regardless; you notice it turn light to dark. Time is the invisible candle that everyone innately holds It gets lit from the moment we open our eyes Time is not the wick that gives berth to flame Rather it is the waxes that burn and then vaporise. Time can and will never stop Moments go by with the blink of the eyes Time..., it does not favour It isn't biased, it doesn't get swayed by truths or lies. Time is the entity that governs almost all It will tell when it deems it's right From seedling to tree, hatchling to flight A weakness to strength, the frail to might. Time is the quest That we have strived to conquer Time is all of us We have secretly craved for life much longer. Time would only permit All that I could pen in time Time will always suggest to omit So I could capture it all in rhyme.
0
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 9:55 PM UTC
Time
MARS The Shaman and the Planet Mars, Gazing in wonder amid the stars, Arms raised in worship, The Universe the Navajo church, Ancient marvels to behold, The human race timeless and old, From Mars to Earth, Did spaceships give berth? Ramses' face on Mars, Pondering Ptolemies from afar, The Shaman honour singing, Future and past aligning, Gazing in wonder amid the stars, The Shaman and Planet Mars.
0
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 3:35 AM UTC
MARS
Now as the train bears west, Its rhythm rocks the earth, And from my Pullman berth I stare into the night While others take their rest. Bridges of iron lace, A suddenness of trees, A lap of mountain mist All cross my line of sight, Then a bleak wasted place, And a lake below my knees. Full on my neck I feel The straining at a curve; My muscles move with steel, I wake in every nerve. I watch a beacon swing From dark to blazing bright; We thunder through ravines And gullies washed with light. Beyond the mountain pass Mist deepens on the pane; We rush into a rain That rattles double glass. Wheels shake the roadbed stone, The pistons **** and shove, I stay up half the night To see the land I love.
0
3.1k
Night Journey
~ *i have never particularly cared for him or for his style of play.  there is a fine line between knowledge of one’s talents and arrogance and i have always thought Kobe walked on the downhill side of that line, when doing so was unnecessary.  of course it did not help that a Lakers / Blazers rivalry cost the Blazers at least one NBA Finals berth… most of us are, after all, most likely to gravitate toward our hometown team.   but on seeing this post from Kobe in the Player’s Tribune, i found that i simply must acknowledge the classiness of his retirement penning... instead of a letter, the guy writes a poem.  how can i not embrace this?* ~ BY KOBE BRYANT LOS ANGELES LAKERS Dear Basketball, From the moment I started rolling my dad’s tube socks And shooting imaginary Game-winning shots In the Great Western Forum I knew one thing was real: I fell in love with you. A love so deep I gave you my all — From my mind & body To my spirit & soul. As a six-year-old boy Deeply in love with you I never saw the end of the tunnel. I only saw myself Running out of one. And so I ran. I ran up and down every court After every loose ball for you. You asked for my hustle I gave you my heart Because it came with so much more. I played through the sweat and hurt Not because challenge called me But because YOU called me. I did everything for YOU Because that’s what you do When someone makes you feel as Alive as you’ve made me feel. You gave a six-year-old boy his Laker dream And I’ll always love you for it. But I can’t love you obsessively for much longer. This season is all I have left to give. My heart can take the pounding My mind can handle the grind But my body knows it’s time to say goodbye. And that’s OK. I’m ready to let you go. I want you to know now So we both can savor every moment we have left together. The good and the bad. We have given each other All that we have. And we both know, no matter what I do next I’ll always be that kid With the rolled up socks Garbage can in the corner :05 seconds on the clock Ball in my hands. 5 … 4 … 3 … 2 … 1 Love you always, Kobe
0
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 4:19 PM UTC
Dear Basketball
~ *i have never particularly cared for him or for his style of play.  there is a fine line between knowledge of one’s talents and arrogance and i have always thought Kobe walked on the downhill side of that line, when doing so was unnecessary.  of course it did not help that a Lakers / Blazers rivalry cost the Blazers at least one NBA Finals berth… most of us are, after all, most likely to gravitate toward our hometown team.   but on seeing this post from Kobe in the Player’s Tribune, i found that i simply must acknowledge the classiness of his retirement penning... instead of a letter, the guy writes a poem.  how can i not embrace this?* ~ BY KOBE BRYANT LOS ANGELES LAKERS Dear Basketball, From the moment I started rolling my dad’s tube socks And shooting imaginary Game-winning shots In the Great Western Forum I knew one thing was real: I fell in love with you. A love so deep I gave you my all — From my mind & body To my spirit & soul. As a six-year-old boy Deeply in love with you I never saw the end of the tunnel. I only saw myself Running out of one. And so I ran. I ran up and down every court After every loose ball for you. You asked for my hustle I gave you my heart Because it came with so much more. I played through the sweat and hurt Not because challenge called me But because YOU called me. I did everything for YOU Because that’s what you do When someone makes you feel as Alive as you’ve made me feel. You gave a six-year-old boy his Laker dream And I’ll always love you for it. But I can’t love you obsessively for much longer. This season is all I have left to give. My heart can take the pounding My mind can handle the grind But my body knows it’s time to say goodbye. And that’s OK. I’m ready to let you go. I want you to know now So we both can savor every moment we have left together. The good and the bad. We have given each other All that we have. And we both know, no matter what I do next I’ll always be that kid With the rolled up socks Garbage can in the corner :05 seconds on the clock Ball in my hands. 5 … 4 … 3 … 2 … 1 Love you always, Kobe
Continue reading...
59
The illuminati , a secret society Gain wealth, power and notoriety Sold soul to the devil for promised riches Many well known, his ******* Overtime, accidental glitches Secret is out due to young generation The up and coming population To catch the famous throwing up signs Subliminal message, invades our minds Television, campaigns...there's all kinds The power in the hands, you will never believe Throughout past ages the sickness breeds Many preach peace from the devils dark side Lennon, Dr. King, Malcolm all died Are Gods followers keen to the onset tide? With greed an power the dark one temps the meek Those that turn, are submissive and weak A few famous names in powerful places Obama, kennedys ....won there races Washington, Lincoln....two old faces All above, in this secret society Makes you ponder their priority One famous man that held great power Warned of illuminati ...Dwight D Eisenhower If you hate rap music you should give it a listen Little Wayne, JZ - surprised what your missin The Commander and Chief is given wide berth This society is strong on this earth If you think I'm crazy, which you surely will Google it....Youtube it......you'll get your fill
0
Sep 9, 2013
Sep 9, 2013 at 6:35 PM UTC
Secret Society
Pestered and pursued by unknown foes A topsyturvy land where snakes can have horns and cows can have fangs. Night'mares' where the day's stallions make mountains out of molehills A chance to witness greek mythology-like creatures for real For dreamland tis a place for the unreal and surreal. Those hair-raising scary scary dreams beset with horrified silent screams! We do try to interrupt nightmares, pinching ourselves With relief wake up to see there aren't any horrid elves. We also try to interpret dreams filled with mystery But gifted dream interpreters like prophet Joseph Are now part of biblical human history All in all, dreamland's fascination for extra-ordinary exaggeration and tall-tale imagination Where myth and legend come to life An amalgam of fiction or real strife Where assorted monsters of the mind reign supreme in that REM sleep of our kind. Yet on the other hand the wishful, wistful sweet sweet dreams where fantasies form mirages bordered by fanciful seams. Where castles in the air that humans build, float gently down to earth only to shoot back up unto nowhere from the awakened one's berth. In dreamland a pauper girl can be a princess or fairy fair for daydreams extend into the night and linger on there. A quote I took to heart and it to console all and sundry 'that if your sweet dreams don't come true, don't you fret for atleast your nightmares didn't come true either, so just heave a sigh, by and by. Every night let us all just fly away and escape And lo behold the extraordinary world of Dreamscape
0
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 7:02 AM UTC
Mankind in dreamland
Pestered and pursued by unknown foes A topsyturvy land where snakes can have horns and cows can have fangs. Night'mares' where the day's stallions make mountains out of molehills A chance to witness greek mythology-like creatures for real For dreamland tis a place for the unreal and surreal. Those hair-raising scary scary dreams beset with horrified silent screams! We do try to interrupt nightmares, pinching ourselves With relief wake up to see there aren't any horrid elves. We also try to interpret dreams filled with mystery But gifted dream interpreters like prophet Joseph Are now part of biblical human history All in all, dreamland's fascination for extra-ordinary exaggeration and tall-tale imagination Where myth and legend come to life An amalgam of fiction or real strife Where assorted monsters of the mind reign supreme in that REM sleep of our kind. Yet on the other hand the wishful, wistful sweet sweet dreams where fantasies form mirages bordered by fanciful seams. Where castles in the air that humans build, float gently down to earth only to shoot back up unto nowhere from the awakened one's berth. In dreamland a pauper girl can be a princess or fairy fair for daydreams extend into the night and linger on there. A quote I took to heart and it to console all and sundry 'that if your sweet dreams don't come true, don't you fret for atleast your nightmares didn't come true either, so just heave a sigh, by and by. Every night let us all just fly away and escape And lo behold the extraordinary world of Dreamscape
Continue reading...
35
Mon coeur...my heart Is where I start A journey as long as present and past Over metaphorical oceans, oh so vast Tranquil seas of turquoise blue and emerald green Oasis to seas which for a time were violent and mean Mon coeur...my heart Would not be torn apart A berth in a favorite Mediterranean port Provided safe harbor of a sort Reminding mon coeur...my heart It had yet to reach the start An unexpected voyage to an uncharted sea Would lead me to believe there was something more for me A voyage that made up for the many years of frustration That always led to perpetual exasperation Mon Coeur...my heart Had at last reached the start An open sea to travel Honest words that never felt the gavel A closeness An openness Both of which had not been felt Both of which made my heart melt Impeccable conversation Invigorating recreation She had to be made for me We fit together so perfectly My best friend...ma chere My Elmo to her Carebear Sunny days Stormy days Through those we made our way And together forever we would stay The journey over an endless placid sea Was not meant to forever be Shoal in the night 7th of June if I remember right Mon coeur...my heart Was finally torn apart I know that all happens for a reason And some are only with us for a season But little does that help All I can muster is the weakest yelp For what I lost in the end Was my best friend
0
Sep 5, 2012
Sep 5, 2012 at 12:26 AM UTC
The Shoal (Mon Coeur)
Air is getting thicker, not with oxygen ya know People dying quicker, going with the global flow Oceans full of carbon tubes, global warming the norm Political tools, and ***** fueling a worldly storm Wars raging rampant, blood, at every door Famine abundant, no food, for the poor If there were an open berth, for Mars would I be bound So, if you're also leaving earth, in that line, I can be found
0
Oct 27, 2016
Oct 27, 2016 at 7:52 AM UTC
Not on Earth
A hot toddy…a hot bath Is the way she drew me home To the steamy waters of love All covered with foam My Nymph of Nysa in white garments as tight as skin Revealed piercing and protruding ******* within With these bedazzled ******* all a glow She led me to her fountains below “Lay in my waters so I may bestow Oil to your muscles from crown to toe” Though weary from tumultuous day Healing hands restored strength vigor to play “Are you able Captain to fill my folds So I may howl like the Sirens of old?” Rising like Poseidon out of the surf I placed her on my four columned berth Opening wide her ivory legs she called for my girth “Come, My Captain unload your treasures and bring forth great mirth” A hot toddy…a hot bath Is the way she drew me home To the steamy waters of love All covered with foam
0
Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 9:54 PM UTC
*** A Hot Toddy...A Hot Bath
As I sat on the backseat of your sister's car, I knew. I knew then that it would be the last Of the unknown that I Have cherished and loathed For the longest time. As I closed my eyes I Wondered then, Which one of them was going to fill me in On what has been going on on The other side After all these years? Father, you left me when I was five But I couldn't do anything. You seemed to forget that you had a daughter But I couldn't do anything. I searched for you through Friendster through Facebook even MySpace But you wouldn't do anything. I couldn't do anything. As I sat on the backseat of your sister's car About to meet you finally after all these long years I couldn't do anything. Had you rejected me It would have been better I could have gone crazy and screamed and thrashed and left But you didn't do that sort of thing. You hugged me Along with everyone in the family Even GrandMama cried as she hugged me Twas as if the hugs could make up for the years That went on by Without you. I did not grow up on hugs and Kisses. I seemed content in the berth of personal space ****** upon me at birth. But then Each and everyone of you was a Hugger. And I couldn't do anything. I am not an angry mass of hate And malevolence. Gone were the days when I had wished for your demise. If anything, I feared that I wasn't strong enough For this. But I couldn't do anything.
0
Jul 12, 2011
Jul 12, 2011 at 4:23 AM UTC
Hugs and Kisses
A folkie once admirable imperviously her in jeans with an idea of a woman hanging out in upside with bathing suit and berth in endocrine glands would endorse subsistence with such a spree indeed.
0
Sep 19, 2016
Sep 19, 2016 at 1:11 PM UTC
A Shoplifting
Amidst the fallen stone green-grown And through the crumbling arch, The sunken mere of yesteryear Has mirrored this scene in March The sky meeting land in glory grand Sparks fly where heaven meets earth; The sea rolls in from where it’s been And ships rise from their berth The pearl of the moon rises soon Lifted in the bowl of the sky; Its size greater, every crater Gleams brightly, the heavenly eye Forgotten, as a rule, mirrored in the pool The largest moon earth will see The castle yard by cent’ries scarred Lies the only witness to the scene.
0
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 12:30 PM UTC
Supermoon
My ship is safe in harbour but that's not what it's for. I never journey from there and see what's out in the world. I sail around the harbour and see all there is to see. What stops me going further is fear inside of me. Fear of an open ocean and the storms that rage out there. All I need is a pilot to steer me on my course. So sail your ships around me and protect me out at sea. Then join me in my harbour and safely berth with me.
0
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 11:29 AM UTC
Harbour
The rooster does crow at the break of dawn but five to seven a.m. is the hours of the dog "Time to wake up" Cheerful beyond belief face in mine dripping licking tongue tail wacking the dresser in perfect time. Hot breath not yours not mine but you know whose. Through the fog of the mind knowing it won't stop until food is served. I am never that cheerful at sunrise. Seven to five the birds and rats are in their time. Squirrels chipmunks deer everybody working their *** off to survive. I gotta go to work Calling in sick every day But one foot in front of the other And I am on my way. The crows line up on the garbage man's run The ducks laugh at every move you make but you take it in stride. The cows lay down to take a nap. But not I. At about five The bear comes sauntering down the street tossing garbage cans this way and that. The best part of work is the drive home. Neighbors come out of their houses to watch him. Power and hunger a dangerous combination But in a rare moment of neighborly cheer even a cocktail was had. He was big he was strong We gave him a wide berth but owwed and awed him along his way like watching fire works. Five to eight The hours of the skunk and you get very cranky through the PTSD of a mean and angry father and tires on the driveway. As darkness totally sets in the racoons come out making mischief on the roof batty as the bats that flee into my room. Those racoons the more you try to chase them away the more they come over to see what your doing. You look at me and wonder who I am Sometimes you snuggle up While the night birds sing. Three to five D.H. Lawrence called the hours of the wolf when madness and suicide remorse and dread reign Blood pressure at its lowest Heart rate at its slowest Breath down Body temperature as cold as the ground. Remember to not take very seriously what ever you think until with relief the sun begins to rise and doggy smooches awaken your time. ..
0
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 12:13 PM UTC
Animal Spirits/Animal Hours/A very incomplete reflection
The rooster does crow at the break of dawn but five to seven a.m. is the hours of the dog "Time to wake up" Cheerful beyond belief face in mine dripping licking tongue tail wacking the dresser in perfect time. Hot breath not yours not mine but you know whose. Through the fog of the mind knowing it won't stop until food is served. I am never that cheerful at sunrise. Seven to five the birds and rats are in their time. Squirrels chipmunks deer everybody working their *** off to survive. I gotta go to work Calling in sick every day But one foot in front of the other And I am on my way. The crows line up on the garbage man's run The ducks laugh at every move you make but you take it in stride. The cows lay down to take a nap. But not I. At about five The bear comes sauntering down the street tossing garbage cans this way and that. The best part of work is the drive home. Neighbors come out of their houses to watch him. Power and hunger a dangerous combination But in a rare moment of neighborly cheer even a cocktail was had. He was big he was strong We gave him a wide berth but owwed and awed him along his way like watching fire works. Five to eight The hours of the skunk and you get very cranky through the PTSD of a mean and angry father and tires on the driveway. As darkness totally sets in the racoons come out making mischief on the roof batty as the bats that flee into my room. Those racoons the more you try to chase them away the more they come over to see what your doing. You look at me and wonder who I am Sometimes you snuggle up While the night birds sing. Three to five D.H. Lawrence called the hours of the wolf when madness and suicide remorse and dread reign Blood pressure at its lowest Heart rate at its slowest Breath down Body temperature as cold as the ground. Remember to not take very seriously what ever you think until with relief the sun begins to rise and doggy smooches awaken your time. ..
Continue reading...
83
For the Dragon hissed as the Dragon died, Apollo’s kiss as the night subsides, Python’s bliss as naiad’s cried, And the wailing woe’s on a weathering tide, Water-wall from Kētos scream, tsunami crash, swallow everything, Rolling clouds and the pouring rain and the serpent dying writhing in pain, And the Dragon hissed and the Dragon died, Apollo kissed away the night time sky, And the Python’s bliss as his naiad’s cry, The Sun awoke at the wheel-house berth, armor gold, chest-plate of Earth, And valiance choked, squeezed by Ladon’s girth, As the serpent swelled with the stormy seas, To collapse great hero upon his knees, Apollo, Cadmus and Hercules. Reborn by fire, Father-Lion’s roar, returned each night to even-up the score, And the Dragon hissed and the Dragon died, Apollo’s kiss ward off night time skies, Oh the wailing woe of ominous tides, The scythe or club, boulder at night, rocks from heaven and the perilous fight, Black-oil venom, heart of a beast, starry night’s runner split from the east, Noxious breathe, flame-seared teeth, smell of death from a ****** feast, Speared at the neck, pinning head to earth, then celebrated as a day of birth, The serpent on his shoulder, or dangling from the tree, Arising from the waters, from the depths beneath, Cast out under a mountain, yes underneath, then wear his skin and sow his teeth! And the Dragon hissed and the Dragon died, Apollo’s kiss as the fight subsides, And Python’s bliss as his muses wailed, between the horns where Argo sailed, Call it a man or Charybdis, Scylla, rock, a multi-headed beast, Or just two horns with a middle disk and Apollo’s fire, Sun’s dawning kiss, And the Dragon hissed as the Dragon dies, And Apollo’s kiss create the day time skies, And the Python’s bliss at his naiad’s cries, And the Dragon hissed and the Dragon died!
0
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 12:56 PM UTC
Pythian Ode
For the Dragon hissed as the Dragon died, Apollo’s kiss as the night subsides, Python’s bliss as naiad’s cried, And the wailing woe’s on a weathering tide, Water-wall from Kētos scream, tsunami crash, swallow everything, Rolling clouds and the pouring rain and the serpent dying writhing in pain, And the Dragon hissed and the Dragon died, Apollo kissed away the night time sky, And the Python’s bliss as his naiad’s cry, The Sun awoke at the wheel-house berth, armor gold, chest-plate of Earth, And valiance choked, squeezed by Ladon’s girth, As the serpent swelled with the stormy seas, To collapse great hero upon his knees, Apollo, Cadmus and Hercules. Reborn by fire, Father-Lion’s roar, returned each night to even-up the score, And the Dragon hissed and the Dragon died, Apollo’s kiss ward off night time skies, Oh the wailing woe of ominous tides, The scythe or club, boulder at night, rocks from heaven and the perilous fight, Black-oil venom, heart of a beast, starry night’s runner split from the east, Noxious breathe, flame-seared teeth, smell of death from a ****** feast, Speared at the neck, pinning head to earth, then celebrated as a day of birth, The serpent on his shoulder, or dangling from the tree, Arising from the waters, from the depths beneath, Cast out under a mountain, yes underneath, then wear his skin and sow his teeth! And the Dragon hissed and the Dragon died, Apollo’s kiss as the fight subsides, And Python’s bliss as his muses wailed, between the horns where Argo sailed, Call it a man or Charybdis, Scylla, rock, a multi-headed beast, Or just two horns with a middle disk and Apollo’s fire, Sun’s dawning kiss, And the Dragon hissed as the Dragon dies, And Apollo’s kiss create the day time skies, And the Python’s bliss at his naiad’s cries, And the Dragon hissed and the Dragon died!
Continue reading...
34
Titanic ****** berth, she stands, Maiden stream deflowering the sunlight. Immense furore along the dock. Streamers, banners, brass bands. Herald the beginning of the end. Magnificent and stately, There she stands, a glory to behold. Pomp and splendour,   Wealth with greed, All set to sail the seven seas. A dream of life, A life of dreams Splendour of their own, Scrambling ice mountains, glisten Shining a fateful allure to a frozen death A stern captain, Calm, dignified, Guides the ship of dreams unto her nightmare, “Astern”, he cries, unheard through muffled joy…. Crunching, crashing, listing, A myriad of smashing crystal, Destined for the deep, Air thick with screams of terror, Young, old, rich, poor, All scared. Mortified corpses float, Water littered with deceased, While the living dead look on. Hope’s dashed, Time dies silently. Carpathian angel, Saviour of souls, God spoke, Their souls were saved! Livvi  Kent  2012 [email protected]
0
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 12:18 PM UTC
Titanic!
To some twas a majestic force, Mysterious and beautiful, Courageous and never full From a vast, adventurous feast. It roamed – a horn upon a horse, A gallop one could never cull, It thought itself invincible, Yet to some it was a beast. Its orchestra – a masterpiece Assembled from around the Earth, But labouring perfections birth Was a harpist’s absent beat. The pains of searching now could cease As landing upon emerald berth, The unicorn unearthed its serf As sublimity filled that seat. The harpist liked her homely scene, Despite its audience so small. She’d rather stay than leave it all And face the unicorns stampede. And so she suffered wrath obscene: She was forced to attend the ball, Waiting centuries for the call To leave an orchestra based on greed. In present day the harp is home, Back to where it is meant to be, Beauty played independently, But the unicorn does not mourn, For now both creatures often roam To a ball outside of history And play a peaceful melody: “The Harpist and the Unicorn.”
0
Feb 16, 2011
Feb 16, 2011 at 10:34 AM UTC
The Harpist and the Unicorn
An angel chief--the precentor of heaven's Unequalled choir--silvery and dulcet was his Voice afore the throne of God and his fold; Lovely and fair his appearance was to behold. Hearken to him as he the King's celestial Hymns leads that give adoration to his especial Majesty, making melody along with the angels Whole, while praising Jehovah in awe dwells. But how soon would this angel change and be Clothed no more in chaste grace and glory,   Rather in pride and pity! I'm more than ye all Who in paradise live. I'm the foremost of all Beings. Who're archangels Michael and Gabriel Compare to me, Lucifer, the only greatest earl? I the highest and the best-- sovereign being-- That towers above Christ the Son begotten; I'll even God usurp! I'm the most powerful Here; the morn star that's blindly beautiful! Haughtiness so into him entered as cupidity into Judas. And began he to say things profane to God his Creator, the Maker of all. And thus War there was between the defector's caucus And the Lord's host. Michael, who's the principal Of warfare wherefore Lucifer--the evil cardinal-- Engaged. How fierce beyond a running pen Was that battle unspeakble in God's holy haven Seen betwixt the faithful and the rebel! Yet good unflinching conquered the uprising evil And cast Satan straightaway down unto the earth With one-third of the angels from heaven's berth.
0
May 28, 2012
May 28, 2012 at 6:33 AM UTC
Grace to Grass: Lucifer's Fall