Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
When juiced a spore sized embryo, early in utero; fetus
   evinces atavistic miniaturization,
   where nascent differentiation wrought
physical resemblance to - seek reachers,
   sans Tarzan and Jane forebears,
   or exemplification of religious embodiments writ upon taut
lee helical real to reel strung nano deoxyribonucleic acid,
   where dome min ant
   ander recessive traits pop sic cull, and/or mom genes sought
took comb hing gull, where foxy fiery hander chrome hat tick
   microscopic threads ineluctably
   hired bot to weave warp and woof for naught
heard interpretive soundcloud issue onomatopoetic beat,
   whether as:
   the Marseillaise, muezzin, or reveille blown in the wind
   by alimentary mechanic, *** killed in all manner of ought  
   tow mobile craftsmanship, which possibly inflated and made pregnant,
   when one seem n
thrashes within timed zona pellucida drawbridge,
   hooping an ova to snag,
   though odds stacked against the most basic cell fish competition fought
in the **** z of evolutionary biology informing **** sapiens
   one errant or defiant game gamete perhaps hinting a gamine
tubby wonderfully woven with wisps viz The Idler Wheel Is Wiser
   than the Driver of the ***** and Whipping Cords Will Serve You
   More than Ropes Will Ever Do a ha at last that renegade oocyte
   nabbed, analogously the Michael Phelps re: among the flagellated
   madding crowdsource qua squirming *****-faction caught
thence the commencement when trappings for a newborn bought
   years later reviewing prenatal sonograms with grown son or daughter
   pointing out how he/she editorialized, epitomized, and exemplified
   in miniature (no bigger than any letter of the alphabet),
   and closely resembled many creatures extant throughout the briny deep
   such as an amphibian, reptile or Argonaut.
Hal Loyd Denton Apr 2012
The Sea wept

Sea billows rose and fell from inner turmoil and out of the briny deep came the goddess herself she
Came out of the break waters strolled upon the shore and in mid stride she began to change into an

Island maiden she wore sea shells down low on her hips they made a wondrous skirt for a top she had
Turquoise Linen created from blossoms that were gathered from the Banyan tree which also seems out

Of place with its roots so high above ground she had such a stance of nobility it appeared as if the Island
Was bowing in her presence perhaps it was her eyes were watery soft they seemed to change colors

Like the waves do when they curl and the sunlight floods them her arms were like the flowing branches
That gave a distinctive glow that spoke a whispered welcome and her hands were delicate as all sea

Shore flowers combined her movements were like the swaying palms she spoke and mystery like a
Sea cave with water rushing in it was voluminous it was enriching you felt great swells enveloping you

Like the sea **** with under water currents at play she was a dream like version of Pele the goddess of
Fire they had met at the water’s edge when Pele was causing the lava to flow as vents steam and ash

Was awash the island seemed to have started burning at its edge and was moving inward it was a bit of
Amusing distraction for them both and it did contrast their personalities one with the heart aflame and

The other a heart of deepest blue waters that have enthralled and captured the minds of many sea
Faring person’s duty would only allow them the briefest respite one temperate the other the waves

Wooed her from far and near and should could do no other than answer their call tonight it was on this
Unfamiliar escarpment she made the perfect picture her postured back framed by this high cliff with her

Facing the sea her soul surged to the surface with the amusing love filled look that filled her face as she
Looked ever homeward into mysteries only she could divulge but today was her time of stress some
How some where someone had wounded the seas crust and the other wise contained oil that was

As an inner ointment and salve that could be depended on with wisest understanding it would release
The thinnest lines to increase the seas life and otherwise continue its hidden life to creatures that were

Foreign and restricted to land mass it held a special interest undoubtedly it was there interference was
At fault she listened to the voices of this tribe but could come to no solid conclusion as to what in

Particular had occurred but by going ashore she gained new perspective she gave herself to unfamiliar
Rhythms wasn’t this hard surface the continuation of all harmony that as a whole had endured these

Seeming eons of time she finally agreed this was just a ripple in an otherwise calm universe so she
Gave way to her hunger to return to the sea and all of its pleasure and comforts she knew her news was

Good and all would rejoice as they heard it no longer would the sea weep out of character but be the
Unending story of renewal with a fixed unstoppable future as it has always been
Hal Loyd Denton Dec 2012
Sea billows rose and fell from inner turmoil and out of the briny deep came the goddess herself she
Came out of the break waters strolled upon the shore and in mid stride she began to change into an
Island maiden she wore sea shells down low on her hips they made a wondrous skirt for a top she had
Turquoise Linen created from blossoms that were gathered from the Banyan tree which also seems out
Of place with its roots so high above ground she had such a stance of nobility it appeared as if the Island
Was bowing in her presence perhaps it was her eyes they were watery soft they seemed to change colors
Like the waves do when they curl and the sunlight floods them her arms were like the flowing branches
That gave a distinctive glow that spoke a whispered welcome and her hands were delicate as all sea
Shore flowers combined her movements were like the swaying palms she spoke and mystery like a
Sea cave with water rushing in it was voluminous it was enriching you felt great swells enveloping you
Like the sea **** with under water currents at play she was a dream like version of Pele the goddess of
Fire they had met at the water’s edge when Pele was causing the lava to flow as vents steam and ash
Was awash the island seemed to have started burning at its edge and was moving inward it was a bit of
Amusing distraction for them both and it did contrast their personalities one with the heart aflame and
The other a heart of deepest blue waters that have enthralled and captured the minds of many sea
Faring person’s duty would only allow them the briefest respite one temperate the other the waves
Wooed her from far and near and she could do no other than answer their call tonight it was on this
Unfamiliar escarpment she made the perfect picture her postured back framed by this high cliff with her
Facing the sea her soul surged to the surface with the amusing love filled look that filled her face as she
Looked ever homeward into mysteries only she could divulge but today was her time of stress some
How some where someone had wounded the seas crust and the other wise contained oil that was
As an inner ointment and salve that could be depended on with wisest understanding it would release
The thinnest lines to increase the seas life and otherwise continue its hidden life to creatures that were
Foreign and restricted to land mass it held a special interest undoubtedly it was there interference that was
At fault she listened to the voices of this tribe but could come to no solid conclusion as to what in
Particular had occurred but by going ashore she gained new perspective she gave herself to unfamiliar
Rhythms wasn’t this hard surface the continuation of all harmony that as a whole had endured these
Seeming eons of time she finally agreed this was just a ripple in an otherwise calm universe so she
Gave way to her hunger to return to the sea and all of its pleasure and comforts she knew her news was
Good and all would rejoice as they heard it no longer would the sea weep out of character but be the
Unending story of renewal with a fixed unstoppable future as it has always been
Not unlike the monster for which it was named,
With debaucherous whims that divide foreign lands;
Here at the briny, gilded portal to our home now stands
A hollow woman with a torch, whose warmth
Has become faded and disheartening, and her name
Mother of Philistines. From her once guiding hand
Emerges world-wide distaste; deranged eyes ransack
The smog-filled harbor that dystopias fame.
“Keep, other lands, your progressive pomp!” shrieks she
With welded lips. “Take our tired, our poor,
Our huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of our teeming shore.
Take these, the homeless, tempest-tost from me,
Lift your lamp as a guide and take them all!”
An adaptation of "A New Colossus" by Emma Lazarus, the poem inscribed at the base of America's Statue of Liberty.
Fay Slimm May 2017
When I, led sleepless through uneasy dark
sigh lonely for thee.
When moon rides high its wide curved arc
and cold falls crisp on flower and tree.
When sun bids farewell to skyline's blue
and a mist covers first starlight with dew
how I sigh for thee.

When I, dreaming walk lone ocean waves
again sigh for thee.
When wind rides high the sea's briny lace
and a moon turns pale its filters on me.
When Neptune roams his wild-water hall
and foaming white horses rise only to fall
how I sigh for thee.

When I, wakened bone-tired before dawn
sigh weary for thee.
When sun rides high as day becomes worn
and noon lies basking over calmed sea.
When distance between us taxes this heart
and needed commitment keeps love apart
how I sigh for thee.
machina miller Feb 2016
LIX
a giant orange rolls over the horizon
propped up by the skeleton of a titan
dripping citrus flesh o'er the land

as it's adversary ascends the briny depths
a colossal sushi roll, avocado and yam tempura
the battle of the senses begins

the apocalypse never looked so delicious
I first tried an oyster at a seafood bar in Melbourne,
and it jarred in that far-away place.
Oysters, so intimate, were meant to find me at home,
And they did.
In the crowds of Borough Market,
A barnacled Titan plunged his pickled hand into ice-water,
And presented me with a real beauty;
Lustrous, mother of pearl shell,  
And at the centre,
A sea-fairy, glittering,
Living, existing for consumption.
A tickle of tabasco, and down he went,
An ocean in my mouth.
I could have been a mermaid
at Neptune’s banquet;
So briny and life-giving,
My mollusc revelation.

An image for you;
A man and a woman, very much in love
Feast on two dozen at an oyster and porter house,
also at the market.
Glowing in the light of a dripping white candle,
They sit at the corner of the counter,
A perfect white wine clinking in their glasses.
Two years ago, an anniversary oyster-fest,
Look how happy we are…
This is the best table in the house.
Now, if we returned,
We might complain about people pushing past,
And the arrogant city-types, drunk and dropping crab shells,
But…That night, it was just us, though busy, it might have been deserted,
Our eyes and the slide of the oysters down our eager throats
Made promises, later to be kept.
Eve Mar 10
god, i feel so unpretty
out of everyone's league
twenty-thousand pressing on top of me.

perhaps they are all too intimidated
by the siren who sinks, ill-fated
cursed by fatal beauty that leaves them fixated.

yet none brave the dive
seeing what may reside
in the depths of the briny tide
of my soul.
another ocean related poem :p
0o Oct 2015
I felt a nagging in my beat-up brain, a whisper in my eye,
Became a drifter on a Metro train, a blister or a sigh,
Half a world away, yet still felt lost inside my head,
I’d been awake for days and you were sleeping in his bed,
All alone with strangers, midnight exhaled from cheap guitar,
The rhythm of my heart perfected on the cold wood of the bar,
Wrapped safely in the darkness that I caught but couldn’t chase,
As I searched for your lips on every lonely stranger’s face,
Forget the gutter rainbows, neon lights, the way you said “LA,”
That was another life, another night, a world I couldn’t stay,
So I’ll walk it off or walk away, pretend that makes me free,
Determined not to be the ghost you said you always saw in me,
Remember the end before eternity, the pride before the fall?
I told you everyone was broken, and you pinned it to your wall,
You said there was no glory in the selfish way I sacrifice my health,
I saw only beauty in the world, but couldn’t find it in myself,
As I retrace the Seine, that briny line, in boredom or denial,
With misdirection perfected and well-worn just like a smile,
Spent the night dissecting every word, was I the story or the eye?
Was I the thought or the reminder, was I the secret or the lie?
By the time the sunlight found me, I was faithless, I was flawed,
Lost in the shadows that surround me, I was heartsick, I was awed,
Sipping cold caffeine in Café Du Nord, I rest my weary feet,
If I’m truly lost with or without you, the latter can’t compete.
Daniel Tucker Aug 2017
You don't give a glass of water
  To a drowning man
And you don't throw a thirsty man  
  Into the deep blue sea

Yet I drank deep of that glass
  Though my lungs were full of water
And thanked you for the refreshing swim
  As I gulped the briny down.
© 2017 Daniel Tucker

just fill-in-the-blanks ------ ------ ------

"Ok, thank you. Now just stand there while i move this nice showcase of our Royal Dalton outside. Good bull. Now slowly turn around  (crash) ... thats ok, I'll clean it up later. What's that? Oh, it's just stuff to eat and drink out of ... bone china is just made of old bones anyhow; don't worry about it...
phil roberts Jul 2015
I came out of the north-west
Staggering from the storm
The surgeons had repaired my body
And my mind hung by one hinge
So I headed for the coast of Wales
To assume the healing rhythm of the sea
And breathe the briny air
Where no-one knew me
Nor called my worn out name
Sweet freedom in isolation

And so, in smiling solitude
I walked and smoked too much
Staring at the moody ocean
As we all inevitably do
As though it holds answers
And indeed it does
The answer is "being"

One hot but breezy day
I followed the coast from north to south
Not too far but far enough
Until I came upon a harbour
Tiny and insignificant
But a harbour nonetheless
With a clutch of small boats
Bobbing and swaying lazily
On the backwater slack water tide
And somewhere close by
A nautical bell tolled the rhythm
Of an endless heedless movement
And an oddly comfortable melancholy
Rocked me in it's arms
Lost and found
Beginning and end

In as much as everything matters
Though nothing matters much
This place was nothing to me
No more than countless others
But that harbour bell
So patient and so constant
Touched something deeper than knowledge
Perhaps it was the state of my health
Or the glowing heat of the day
But some vulnerable receptor
Vibrated to that gentle toll
I've been in many places in my life
And seen wondrous famous sights
All seared into my minds eye
But their memories will last no longer
Than the haunting harbour bell

                                                By Phil Roberts
(Descendant of the Eight Small Furies)

Cold frigged and wet but not icy and not yet. Two laborers at docks
find camaraderie in talks, tho’ their neighbors bustle by as they unload shipping stocks,  

For the kinsfolk miss a nothing a light mist of breath when huffing.  
The women like to pout as the crassy men do shout, shine on awhile whistling, Inn-keepers at shops coo their bristling and Old Wicca ones seen hissing from low, low talk in whisperings,

Although the morning bright the seas are high and not retreating, weather cool and fleeting, the peoples sounds a blend of bleating, as wily sheep would gather to speak about a matter for it is not the people’s spoke of that draws faint sorts of blather.

On this day...rains are much to rather, feigning raspy talons cloaked in chatter and from stores to shores to boat, seas, lakes, lochs, bridges over moat, not as to say they gloat, or ramble to invoke which fear of and from it stoke the gossip on one surly bloke…

For on this day everyone is talking in this seaside town in Eire. A hero undone by gossip but none can be called a liar. For about whom and what of -a man of such great fire.

Celebrity renown, born and raised but not settled down. Within its boundaries a-proper but of such character to copper, to change tasty meat to fat and bone, awe in disposition down to tone, mind boggling this gent whose life god gave as a gift of own.

In a perplexity of fright, brought tragedy each night and none could get away, from the obvious decay, due brutal awful fray, to make a beast from a shining dove, what the hell was God thinking of?

The crisper ears do so hear though not quite enough to whet, the imaginings to happenings they speak about just yet.  So hastily move spies, as I tell you of the sighs, the indignity and pride, swallowed with a town’s growing angry tide,

Upon this night so they see a man, creep who once the pride of Dan, loved more above all here in Tan, his birthplace this old briny-land but lately fondness on the wan, oh here he comes to close in again, to wane and wax vaudevillian, end up by dark a plain villain, as his face turns a shade of vermilion, electric ghost of Kirlian, eclectic host of deviling and calculated mind disheveling,

Pumped of mead or whiskey arguments are risky. Against his manner and girth, intoxicated nature -or mental worth. Sheer size attests his power, muck and mirth to fallen valor, the change is said to wow us, proven brute against all prowess, as such preferred and fight and such to nightly fright,

Béarthr is this man of once, of promises found to be just fronts, hanging around a town's high perch…though seen at the bar as sulk and lurch, or testy to some called a sailor who know not the fear of old dear Balor?

Sullen rent asunder, quick to wit when buntered, try with fists this skunkard; you brought low as a punter, hail to hell with such a drunkard! To stand and watch in awe, as blood and cracks and calls with cries and screams at falls, at doors torn from building halls, no end or stop to pause, sheer terror fighting brawls with fists he lays the laws, a violent testament to theater,

The burly beast named Béarthr!

Eight levels down to hell with him, each evening a town made grim but not tonight and nevermore, a double barrel out missing door, a silence from frosty place our cavern and dead beast felled on floor of tavern!  

If you find yourself frisky one night and driving through our Tan. If you’ve got salt are brisk for fight and hold your weight in sand…
…then make your way to such a place, renowned for such a meter,

You’ll find a name above the door;

O’ Ochtar beag the Béarthr!
Old English-style rhyme. Béarthr is Gallic and pronounced, "Be-ate-tor."
Marge Redelicia Jun 2014
Summer!
The weather is as warm as our embraces
And the sky is as bright
As our tomorrows,
Finally...

It's time to drive to the coast and
Bury our dark worries in white sand
And let our
Smiles mirror the million sparkles
That erupt as we splash
In the briny beach.
And then
Let's get ourselves chocolate tans
with a tint of oranges and strawberries.
Oh,
And sticky kisses
From too much creamy avocado ice creams.

But we won't let the fun falter
Even if we huddle inside
Because we'll finally have time
To read
Adventure novels instead of textbooks
And write
Poems instead of essays on
Metaphysics. We can now
Stay up and
Watch the stars fade into the sunrise while
Sharing ghost stories and secrets
Instead of homework answers.

Summer!
Let out a sigh of relief and then
Take in a gasp of excitement.
Finally!
Actually my summer started in February and it will still end on August. 2 more months to go. Honestly, I'm really excited to go to college already.
Debra A Baugh Jun 2012
ummm!! I'm gonna take his
blindfold off for him to savor
me with his gaze, eyes roam
touchin' me in silent awe; finger
tastin', the unthinkable, straddlin',
squeezin', teasin' and grazin' nips
leavin' wet trails of pleasure upon
briny masculinity; listenin' to his
heart race, ignites lustful tremors

stroked insanity, slippery slit teases;
thoughts throb, as thickness swells,
swollen senses breathe deeply of
soaked scents; flickin' bud betwixt
achin' petals...****! Oooo!...yes!!
soft, ebony fingers assault and swirl
elicitin' moans and sighs, takin' nips
betwixt teeth again as fingers enter
swollen honeycomb; overflowin' in
sweetness

sweat rolls off our body, bitin' nips
eruptin' sparks of long awaited aches,
dominance partakes its desire, slitherin'
along bouquet thighs, blossomed scents
flow; emanating moans givin' reason to
beg; biting silk sheets, tonguin' his treat
actin' like a freak, lovin' me cheek to
cheek; playin' me like a symphony
strummin' thighs, releasing melodious
sighs, sensual cries in sultry lullabies
in trebled tempo's in and out of wet
tightness, as I blindfold him; complyin'
with his ****** whims...takin' me again and again
Jim Sularz Jul 2012
© 2010 (Jim Sularz)

Heave **! Aweigh, the ship’s anchor,
lads, climb-up, the tall ship’s masts!
Unfurl the sails white billowed,
all pray, the stiff trade winds blast!

Men briny from white-capped oceans,
Terra Firma’s, a distant quest.
Feel the salt spray, stinging the faces,
of the ship’s crew, tossed fore and aft.

We’re compelled to sail the oceans an’ seas,
with a plumb compass an’ a ration’s tack.
Tattoos an’ a gypsy squeeze-box melody,
the gale blows on our ruddy backs.

All hands scramble, to assemble on deck,
for the Captain rings-hard a muster.
Churning waves in our rudder’s wake,
luminous, with a strange glowing luster.

Land **! A calm, deep harbor,
a smoke filled pub an’ a bonny lass.
But the sea’s, our only steadfast lover,
an’ she beckons, to call us back.

We stand proud to call ourselves - mariners,
Men without fear, we tame the high seas.
Bright stars as our comforting beacons,
fair weather with God’s given speed.

By moon beams an’ dawn’s faint daylight,
we’ll turn our ship’s namesake back.
Heave **! Aweigh, the ship’s anchor,
Lads, climb-up, the tall ship’s masts!
One of my historical poems.   I love the sea.  I served on the USS Enterprise (CVA-65) during the Vietnam War.   Unfortunately, I was a part of a dreadful war against an enemy that was purely created in the minds of paranoid politicians in Washington DC.   Putting that aside, sailing the open seas is quite an experience.   I wanted to write a poem about days when ships were made of wood, and men were made of steel.      I hope you enjoy it!     Jim Sularz
CK Baker Mar 2017
there’s a barnacle scar
deeply ingrained
on the basalt stack
at mark thirty two
whispering summer winds
scented oil
cotton and roe
drift
as waves brush
and shape
the sandstone shore

the briny air
and lost erratic
set a tone to this
pollyanna portrait
it's andrews undulations
and gifted benches
its concessions
and traces of the barry burn
its sculpted driftwood
and sanko lines
make this picture
almost perfect

children play
as venom spews
from the caterwaul pair
those odd looking mates
casting smiles
with arrested despair
settling shots
swiping bugs
dipping and darting
as photo men
and muscles
and long neck seabirds
make their turn

the hunched hoody
and his sorted sidekick
get their fill
(of moss and rubble ~ chubby and kelp)
nice to meet your acquaintance
the pho man would say
an odd drop
and ironic turn
from those horrific corners
of timeless desperation
down by cannon bridge

harbor seals
and carriage horse
are fronted by
raven shade
jolly tides pause
in quiet bays
(with curious looters
and *** pickers)
sand merchants
and field totems
all streamed by the light

cirrus strands
blanket the
outer edge
hovering craft
and shimmering willows
bolt the evening frame
blood orange
and tethered
with a filtered glare
bottle-nose dolphins
and seabirds
(and shifting tides)
are all settling in
for the long night stay
Sameer Denzi Dec 2014
Have you not seen...

The twinkling stars like glittering gems
Guiding voyagers, inspiring philosophers
The sublime horizon at dawn and dusk
Blackish blue, Pink and tangerine hues
The majestic mountains like titans stand
With crowns of white, an awesome sight
The mighty river, the great life giver
Meandering her way to a briny abyss
The endless ocean; its blue horizons
Of abundant bounty; of great voyages
The blooming meadows where cattle graze
Where maidens play; where poets gaze


Do these wonders not make you ponder -
Can such beauty exist, without an Artist?
Can a poem ever exist, without a poet?
RJW Jun 2016
submerge the surface of your soul around my ankles
gingerly then violently raging against the shore
sable night coastline
soaking into the vast stretch of finely crumbled sun stars
leaving your residue of pearled-breath on
the unspoken words of a hundred poets
mixing the briny depths into metaphors
the lock-lipped horizon
keeping secrets only He knows the answers to
obsoletes of one place
originals of the other
Peace is hard to come by when the world is in chaos and so is your mind - but God resides in the quiet moments. The midnight sea always reminds me of this.
Ottar May 2013
This is for you, it is the slate blue sky before sunset,
I have no one else to give it to,
But it is not really mine, to give to you just yet.

This for you, a sky full of stars, and moon over the briny ocean toss,
If you were not, the aim and focus of my affectations,
Here lie with me softly on the solid rock with the bed of moss.

This is for you, I need you more,  than you need me,
Je t'adore, une fois pour toutes,
I imagine more, about you then, the time I spend with us, see?
Wanderer Aug 2014
Sand dunes edge an indigo horizon
Their creamy shades highlighted
By silver moon
Briny water laps gently at ticklish toes
I breathe you in, great mother
Your looted depths, the womb
We all sprang from
My gaze seeks light across the miles
Hopeful that distant shores are also straining
To find my prism shining in the dark
Chilled arms raise up to hug a body
Too long gone without the warmth of touch
I shiver, grinding sand beneath my feet
Perhaps if I stand long enough, dig deep enough
Stone will form, encasing me whole
The only remnants of life
A single tear
Shed in mourning for a lost embrace
noruwei Apr 2013
it's true
they did love you once.
feared you too, but
maybe that's the same thing,
gave you
roast pigs and animal pelts
and you didn't even have to ask.
a pretty good arrangement.

now
i'm the only one that sticks around
and even then only
when i'm bored.
i'm taunting and i'm cruel and you, love,
are not a great conversationalist
but
it evens out.

so i get to
take jabs at you
til you're frothing at the mouth,
like seafoam, briny
shaking valleys and hills with
your anger. and i can't help but laugh
at you. you,
with your dusty ruby eyes
(that lie now in a museum
somewhere
because the white men walked into your temples and plucked them right out -)
and your stone paws,
roughly hewn, mossy,
ugly.
we laugh and laugh
about what you lost
between galileo and darwin and euler,
so many years and the
backs of men.
npwm 5
I.

Ye winds, ye unseen currents of the air,
  Softly ye played a few brief hours ago;
Ye bore the murmuring bee; ye tossed the hair
  O'er maiden cheeks, that took a fresher glow;
Ye rolled the round white cloud through depths of blue;
Ye shook from shaded flowers the lingering dew;
Before you the catalpa's blossoms flew,
  Light blossoms, dropping on the grass like snow.

II.

How are ye changed! Ye take the cataract's sound;
  Ye take the whirlpool's fury and its might;
The mountain shudders as ye sweep the ground;
  The valley woods lie prone beneath your flight.
The clouds before you shoot like eagles past;
The homes of men are rocking in your blast;
Ye lift the roofs like autumn leaves, and cast,
  Skyward, the whirling fragments out of sight.

III.

The weary fowls of heaven make wing in vain,
  To escape your wrath; ye seize and dash them dead.
Against the earth ye drive the roaring rain;
  The harvest-field becomes a river's bed;
And torrents tumble from the hills around,
Plains turn to lakes, and villages are drowned,
And wailing voices, midst the tempest's sound,
  Rise, as the rushing waters swell and spread.

IV.

Ye dart upon the deep, and straight is heard
  A wilder roar, and men grow pale, and pray;
Ye fling its floods around you, as a bird
  Flings o'er his shivering plumes the fountain's spray.
See! to the breaking mast the sailor clings;
Ye scoop the ocean to its briny springs,
And take the mountain billow on your wings,
  And pile the wreck of navies round the bay.

V.

Why rage ye thus?--no strife for liberty
  Has made you mad; no tyrant, strong through fear,
Has chained your pinions till ye wrenched them free,
  And rushed into the unmeasured atmosphere;
For ye were born in freedom where ye blow;
Free o'er the mighty deep to come and go;
Earth's solemn woods were yours, her wastes of snow,
  Her isles where summer blossoms all the year.

VI.

O ye wild winds! a mightier Power than yours
  In chains upon the shore of Europe lies;
The sceptred throng, whose fetters he endures,
  Watch his mute throes with terror in their eyes:
And armed warriors all around him stand,
And, as he struggles, tighten every band,
And lift the heavy spear, with threatening hand,
  To pierce the victim, should he strive to rise.

VII.

Yet oh, when that wronged Spirit of our race
  Shall break, as soon he must, his long-worn chains,
And leap in freedom from his prison-place,
  Lord of his ancient hills and fruitful plains,
Let him not rise, like these mad winds of air,
To waste the loveliness that time could spare,
To fill the earth with wo, and blot her fair
  Unconscious breast with blood from human veins.

VIII.

But may he like the spring-time come abroad,
  Who crumbles winter's gyves with gentle might,
When in the genial breeze, the breath of God,
  Come spouting up the unsealed springs to light;
Flowers start from their dark prisons at his feet,
The woods, long dumb, awake to hymnings sweet,
And morn and eve, whose glimmerings almost meet,
  Crowd back to narrow bounds the ancient night.
Funny how someone can
Sunder a heart of thine
And thou still dost adore them
With all thy riven smithereens!

My love, please come to me,
In my life thou dost linger;
Like as salt of a briny sea
Or like as the star's luster.

So long have I endured
A heart sundered by love
Though wherever  I wander
Thy sweet love I dost crave.

Oh! My love, come back to me
So we may pick these riven pieces
That like sea waters scattered be
And I'll shower thee with kisses.

Nevermore shall we ever sunder
For my love will be thy love
Sparking like heaven's thunder,
As thy  love will be my love.

Blissfully we'll dwell ever after
Like twinkling stars of the galaxy
With our enchanted passion
Effulgently lingering in perpetuity.



Kikodinho Edward Alexandros,
Los Angeles, California.
11/19/2018.
Unto she who will never read it.

#Love
#Nostalgia
#Infinite Love
#Galaxy
#Stars

A modified version of one of my older poem penned in the wee hours of a dead July of 2015.
This year I have decided to focus on developing a sense of gratitude. The world is full of real bad stuff happening to too many people and its easy to let the darkness of our times cast long shadows of resentment, anger and ill will over our outlook on life. So today as I travel to a relatives home to gather for our national day of thankfulness I choose to leave resentments at home and cultivate a sense of gratitude.

I'm grateful for my eyes. My sight allows me to perceive the million graces The Almighty abundantly confers upon the inhabitants of the good earth each and every day. My eyes help me to discover the pressing needs of others and respond to it. My eyes help me to discern light from darkness, distinguish the forest from the trees and eschew pedestrian views to behold a beautiful vista. My eyes are a pathway to my soul moving me to contemplate the good, forsake the bad and move against evil in service to truth.

I'm grateful for my ears. The grace of hearing permits me to listen. My ears alert me to the cries of my brothers and sisters and enables me to understand our shared human condition. My ears tune my spirit to the chords of exquisite music and the natural symphonies of Mother Earth's angelic chorus of singing birds, heaving oceans, the majestic pause of silent mountains and the fleeting rush of the swelling wind are all divine voices singing the joyful hymns of life.

I'm thankful for my sense of smell. Graciously my nose breathes in the inviting aroma of a lovingly prepared home cooked meal, the wholesome scent of baking bread wafting from the door of the corner bakery, a briny snort from the boundless sea, the rich compost of the deep woods after a soft summer rain, the bouquet of an infants hair and the perfume of a lovers embrace.

I give thanks for my ability to touch. Hands engaged in productive work and gainful employment is a blessing absent from too many Thanksgiving Day tables this year. We yearn to connect and the sense of touch invites our ability to feel. Feeling is the father of empathy and the mother of compassion. Caring for our animal friends we live in communion with all sentient beings. As we touch one another and allow others to touch us; the hardest of hearts is softened, the most grievous wounds are healed to liberate the sensual yearnings dwelling in the deepest recesses of ourselves. Feeling allows us to become fully present, fully aware and fully alive in the celebration of what it means to be fully human.

I'm thankful for my sense of taste. As Sinatra croons "from the brim to the dregs" the wine of our lives may not all taste good but it all flows clear and true. Sample, savor and learn. Taste and see the glories of the Lord's banquet so abundantly placed before us. The bitter herbs, the sweet cakes, the leisure repast, the fortifying meal and unrequited hunger is the daily bread of being human. Pause to consider those that are lining up for the tenth Thanksgiving Day meal in Afghanistan and Iraq and pray that the awful rations of war fed to our young soldiers be supplanted with the good manna of peace.

Perhaps we loose our sense of gratitude because expectations of ourselves and others always seems to come up short of the mark. Imperfection is our most endearing quality. It informs our ability to forgive transgressions, form bonds of friendship and unconditionally love each other. I remain grateful for the sense of my imperfection as I overlook your imperfections and remain ever hopeful that you will learn to love me for mine.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Music Selection: Jean Ritchie, Shady Grove

Oakland
11/25/10
jbm
David Moss Dec 2014
I took ten random words from a dictionary and used each of them in a line, in the direct order I chose them. All the words acquired, start with a capital letter. I want to hear others attempts! Give it a try, and list your title in the comments! :) Enjoy!*



an Agricultural paradise, we control mother nature's life

Overmaster's of her laws, her reigns we hold precise

our Alimentative elixirs? From her womb we choose to thieve

her Hems we tear and take our share

a Ghostly life to lead

her Briny tears an ocean

she's still Endearing and motherly

yet we treat her like a ***** Bathhouse

pure Artificial stupidity

i truly pray for her Ascension from humanity.
I want to hear others attempts! Give it a try, and list your title in the comments! :)
Hal Loyd Denton Aug 2013
Sea billows rose and fell from inner turmoil and out of the briny deep came the goddess herself she
Came out of the break waters strolled upon the shore and in mid stride she began to change into an
Island maiden she wore sea shells down low on her hips they made a wondrous skirt for a top she had
Turquoise Linen created from blossoms that were gathered from the Banyan tree which also seems out
Of place with its roots so high above ground she had such a stance of nobility it appeared as if the Island
Was bowing in her presence perhaps it was her eyes they were watery soft they seemed to change colors
Like the waves do when they curl and the sunlight floods them her arms were like the flowing branches
That gave a distinctive glow that spoke a whispered welcome and her hands were delicate as all sea
Shore flowers combined her movements were like the swaying palms she spoke and mystery like a
Sea cave with water rushing in it was voluminous it was enriching you felt great swells enveloping you
Like the sea **** with under water currents at play she was a dream like version of Pele the goddess of
Fire they had met at the water’s edge when Pele was causing the lava to flow as vents steam and ash
Was awash the island seemed to have started burning at its edge and was moving inward it was a bit of
Amusing distraction for them both and it did contrast their personalities one with the heart aflame and
The other a heart of deepest blue waters that have enthralled and captured the minds of many sea
Faring person’s duty would only allow them the briefest respite one temperate the other the waves
Wooed her from far and near and she could do no other than answer their call tonight it was on this
Unfamiliar escarpment she made the perfect picture her postured back framed by this high cliff with her
Facing the sea her soul surged to the surface with the amusing love filled look that filled her face as she
Looked ever homeward into mysteries only she could divulge but today was her time of stress some
How some where someone had wounded the seas crust and the other wise contained oil that was
As an inner ointment and salve that could be depended on with wisest understanding it would release
The thinnest lines to increase the seas life and otherwise continue its hidden life to creatures that were
Foreign and restricted to land mass it held a special interest undoubtedly it was there interference that was
At fault she listened to the voices of this tribe but could come to no solid conclusion as to what in
Particular had occurred but by going ashore she gained new perspective she gave herself to unfamiliar
Rhythms wasn’t this hard surface the continuation of all harmony that as a whole had endured these
Seeming eons of time she finally agreed this was just a ripple in an otherwise calm universe so she
Gave way to her hunger to return to the sea and all of its pleasure and comforts she knew her news was
Good and all would rejoice as they heard it no longer would the sea weep out of character but be the
Unending story of renewal with a fixed unstoppable future as it has always been
i have drank the milk of the ocean
i inhaled it’s briny breath
i have sunk below the surface
i wandered through its depths

swept away by the undertow
to live amongst the deep
pulled to bioluminescence
where the weird will always creep

i know now the treasures untold
i know its deep dark secrets
for i keep my own away from light
as i live down deep beneath it
Abby Jan 2014
Take me up to Maine, up to Nanny and Grandpa's house.  Take me out to their dock at the bottom of their sloping back yard with its perfectly manicured glass, down the aluminum walkway that's too steep for Grandpa to walk down anymore at high tide.  Take me to the dark-stained, thickly varnished wooden planks that we fished off of at dawn and went boating from at lunch and here we dangled our toes in the salty ocean before dinner.  Take me there to die.
                But not yet.
Wait till the summer, when monarch butterflies alight upon the hollow railings that you always tell me not to hang off of.  Wait till the end of June, when the heat of summer is such that garden snakes sun themselves on the rocks that lazy waves sidle up to in the gentlest of breezes.
                And when we get there, wait for me to be ready.
Let me undress and show you the bones that will, by then, stick out from me at every angle.  Let me show you the lines that you thought were from the cats in the fading light of a Thursday sunset (because Thursday is my night) and let me show you that you were wrong about me.
                  Tie a heave chain 'round my waist.  I promise that I will be thin so it doesn't take much length, and you'll want to cinch it tight like the belt you say I wear wrong so it doesn't slip off.  Weigh me down with the skillets that are never clean enough.  Padlock to the metal links the books that were my escape till you took them; I won't care now if they get ruined.
                 There we will stand, eye to eye, as orange sunlight contrasts with the elegant starlight as the night is revealed to us.
I will set my glasses down far away from the water's edge lest they fall off and be lost forever in the tangles of seaweed swaying softly beneath our feet.  Then, for the last time, pick me up.  You will see, then, how I've faded to nothing against your ever-critical gaze.  For the last time throw me off the dock and for the first time I do not struggle to stay dry.
                   The night I made this jump thirty-seven times on a dare and a whim, the arctic water never ceased to sting as bare skin met briny sea.  On this one occasion, this one last occasion, I will feel instead the welcoming warmth of summer that is my last season, taking me in with a comforting finality.
Collect my clothes; in a heap too untidy for you to look at will be a grimy green t-shirt and dusty old shorts.  Take my glasses too, and go home.
I'll be fine.
Seán Mac Falls Mar 2015
The heron spreads his wings and preys.
His stony stand a beachhead sloughing
The salt sea, a sepulchered wading.

Leaven the broken bred, unshell
The teeming waters, a fisher of mermen
Unlordly low this lying father,
His wings are palms,

His rock a mount, his wings a bay,
And deafness, tears in the outer shores
And exaulted seas the forgiven waves,

Swells the briny blood and kelp.
Vains are streaming to the fisher king,
Lordy he lands the lying father
His wings are psalms.

A tiny flood that arcs the sky
Marks lord in miniature, a King
Fisher flies, His wings are
The waters calmed.

The otters bask and preen, mermen
Jostle in the laddered rays of the sun
They mark their surf, insouciant play,

Wavering the fisher of men, he sways,
Simply they circle in song singing hours,
Dancing as do the murmuring waves,
Their strokes are psalms.
The moon forsakes the sky above
In it's place an empty grave
The orphaned stars now hide from view
Like all the gifts I never gave

The ocean trembles to the shore
Whispers lightly to the sands
Of life and death and seven seas
And it's own blood stained hands

No one has ever felt like you
Beyond a dream I couldn't find
Swallowed by the briny depths
I gladly lost my mind

My final breath has long since passed
Pain of flesh subsides
I follow you through bliss into
The lonely silent tides

The only thing love has given me...
Is a name for my misery...

A star thats long since dead and gone
A heartbeat in the womb
What's never been and ceased to be
A long forgotten tomb

A raven flying through the night
A fire that never dries
The teardrops ragged symphony
Glass breaking in your eyes
Glass breaking in your eyes...

The only thing love has given me...
A name for my misery...
Meagan Moore Jan 2014
Unfurling ancient drift
current sifted
sand grit mantling
diaspora effulgent
thumb humbly probing
tossed carapace niche

briny patina
shifting into fingerprint

I – request approach to thine
sodden curve
licking my thumb,
I'm enchanted with your gilt
Josh May 2013
Through choking depths of unseen sights
Turns a fabled fish mid swim
And he feasts on any beast he likes
Does the mighty briny king
Forgotten to the world of men
Just a story on the lips
Of fishing folk that love to send
A shiver through the ships.
Eves Affliction Mar 2019
His briny heart leapt at her sight.
The girl who was the sea.
Sunshine weaved into her hair,
Tail long, blue & scaly.
She threw a garland of shells,
Round his neck when he approached,
Her sailor had returned,
For their plan to elope.
He held a ring of pearls,
He found for her in oysters.
Placed it on her finger.
They kissed in the ocean moisture.
They spent the night together.
I’m sure the rest you know,
They were from different worlds,
So soon, she had to go.
Now if ever you’re at the sea &
Spot a man starring longingly to the water,
Just know that it is he,
Waiting for Poseidon’s daughter.

— The End —