"disembarking" poems
Now I reached the lands again,
Still dazzled and confused I was,
From the encounter with an Angel,
Oh how she had filled my twilight,
Unable to forget her divinely touch.
Magical touch had enchanted me,
Able to recall it from the voyage,
I stumbled when disembarking,
Oh it was the first time for me,
My thoughts would last along.
After so many days at the sea,
I planned of bathing properly,
Her illusion tricked me thereto,
Oh how her traces remained on,
Facing mirror, I stood perplexed.
Still unable to accept the reality,
I longed for that night to repeat,
Heart beats Angel in each beat,
Life staged a drama too crazy,
Unwilling to take the reality.
My body carries the vestiges,
I turn crazier with each bath,
Her lips' traces keep appearing,
Driving me mad is her memory,
God! Bring her to life once more.
I had my powers as a commodore,
I sent for the captain of my ship,
"What bothers you, commodore,"
And so he asked of me kindly,
Then I told him of her traces.
Smiling he told me yet again,
"I had told you to get married,"
I agreed this time and nodded,
"Alright, search for me a bride,"
Going outside, he smiled plainly.
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 2:27 AM UTC
Bag-drop. Check-in.
Hyphenated. Two syllables.
Security. A fat Scottish man,
A gentle caress of the inner thigh.
I retch violently.
Boarding, disembarking.
All I want in life is the back door.
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 1:43 AM UTC
**And the Lord spoke in dreams serene
to he, a righteous man within his years,
of mankind's folly, of wickedness,
the Earth to flood with Heaven's tears.
'From the face of the Earth I will cleanse
fowl of the air with feathered wing,
only two from each kind will I spare
neither man nor beast or creeping thing'.
'An Ark to build is My intent
of Gopher wood, three decks high,
many years will thou toil and sweat
but labours fruits will keep thee dry'.
'For thou art blessed, a blameless man
and secure shall be with thy kin
and with sustenance, I will provide for all
upon this Ark, you will abide within'.
Then at God's command, throughout the land
to each and every creature,
two of each, male n' female both to save
... to propagate their future.
So from every forest, from every field
from every byre, to every beach
bird and bat upon the wing, all that crawl
or walk, procure, just two, two of each.
Then on marched they, tooth by hide
ever forward, onward bound
fur and feather side by side
to board the Ark, upon the ground.
Of the days when Noah walked with God
thirty score were his measure in years
and through forty days and forty nights
the deluge prevailed, for those pioneers.
For the fountains of the deep were opened
and the windows of Heaven gaped wide
upon the face of the Earth, the rains fell
and the oceans they blossomed, world wide.
Upon the face of the waters, the Ark rose
until the highest peak with waters advanced
for the days in number, one hundred and fifty
drifting upon that mighty expanse.
Then the 'Lord God' remembered Noah
and caused the great winds to blow
wiping the tears of Heaven away
and closed tight, the deep fountains below.
Then the Ark upon Ararat stumbled
as the mighty waters, slowly withdrew
with the rains restraint, the waters abate
and the crests of the mountains, they grew.
And Noah sends forth both raven and dove
the ravens complaint was to fly 'to and fro'
but, with olive leaf, the dove returns
then flies again thrice, by dawns early glow.
Thirty score plus one, his years then tally
when the waters were dried from upon the Earth,
then Noah walks forth with beasts disembarking
for this was the dawn of the worlds rebirth.
Then God blessed, and bestows man with dominion
over every beast of the ground
over every creature that flounders
over all the birds that abound.
And His covenant with humanity, established
the rainbow, His contract to see
never to cause, such a deluge for man
for that was our Lord's guarantee.**
... ... ...
451
Jul 9, 2011
Jul 9, 2011 at 11:14 PM UTC
I am a traveler commuting on life's rails,
going station to station.
Disembarking at different destinations,
each time spent differently.
The car can be claustrophobic with passengers,
suffocating me in anxiety.
Other times, just a few of familiar faces,
friends, families, locals, daily riders.
Some talking, of life, nonsense, all or nothing,
each making their way.
There are times of light, above ground and of sun,
the rest tunneled, falsely lit, dark.
The sights of open land, buildings, and of the day,
the faces of love, hurt, hurried and grind.
Day in Day out this cycle goes on,
different,yet the same.
I am part of this mass exodus to get somewhere,
yet my commute is my own.
At times I arrive with many at the platform
bustling towards their tasks.
Trains for life come and go, expresses to locals,
roaring with noise, movements, purpose.
However, there are times i am the only one there,
Occasional train, in silence, alone.
Those are the days that my commute seems fruitless,
leaving me to wonder,
Have I just been passing it all by?
© J.L.Gonzalez75 09/2016
* this is a rough edit... am not a poet, but just write.
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 7:28 PM UTC
Spiral of fate foreseen
A Vegas winning sure thing
A journey to realms beyond
Where those already gone
Traveled before I
With letters sent home
still left unseen
Wait, I'm not ready!
Is there another?
This train came too soon!
Excuse me,
I'll wait for the slow train!
Can I exchange my ticket?
For a later departure?
Perhaps tomorrow?
Of course tomorrow,
Can never be!
Round trip ticket please!
I wish to not be gone long!
I must return, otherwise,
who will care for the wee ones!
Wait, I still must pack!
All my silver and gold
Can I bring?
Is First Class an option?
A sleeper car?
Bring any friends?
My loved ones
should meet me
after reaching the end!
Must I board,
This train?
An evil angel at the controls
in the locomotive's cab
steam billowing all around
conductor in a ghastly robe
bearing the cutting scythe
leaning out the door
shouting out
to the platform crowd
"All aboard!"
"All aboard!"
this train
always runs on time
and no one ever
gets left behind
except perhaps a few
entering heaven alive
first stop is Sh'eol
all disembarking to wait
then chugging on to the
station with pearly gates
those remaining aboard
catching a glimpse
then fast downhill all the way
to the end of the line
the last stop of Abaddon
© 2017 Jim Davis
Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 10:00 AM UTC
Lydia's father said
she could go with you
to Waterloo railway station
mind the roads though
he said(in his
sober moments
he could be quite
considerate)
and not too near
the edge
of the platform
can't have you
falling in front
of a train
so you took a bus
to Waterloo station
both sitting at the rear
of the bus
on the side seats
having paid
the conductor the fare
and sitting there
watching
the passing views
she in her pale
blue dress
her dark straight hair
pale features
thin arms and legs
you thinking
of the steam engines
the power
and the puff of smoke
grey white
and she thinking
of her big sister
coming home
in the early hours
puking in the bog
her mother giving one
hell of a loud scream
of abuse
and her father saying
O give the girl a chance
and Lydia turning over
in the double bed
dreading her sister's
arrival stinking of sick
hanging off
the side of the bed
with a bucket beside
throwing up
what was once inside
the bus arrived
and you got off
and you said
hang on to my hand
we'll cross together
and so she held
your hand
her thin bony fingers
wrapped about yours
her hand cold
thin nails chewed
got to keep an eye
on you
your old man said
you said
and you crossed
running to avoid
the rushing traffic
and once across
she said
that man next to me
on the bus
put his hand
on my thigh quickly
but then we got off
and I didn't know
what to say
she added
you should have told me
you said
she looked anxious
and bit her lip
no matter now
too late
but if you see him again
tell me
and we'll get
the ******
you said
she nodded
and so you walked
into the station
past crowds of people
and porters
pushing trolleys
of luggage or mail
by the tall copper
with hands behind
his back
and on to the platform
and took a seat together
to watch trains
and hear the sounds
and smell the acrid
smoke and engines
come and leave
sense the overpowering
sounds of released steam
and whistles blown
and flags waved
and passengers
boardings
and disembarking
and you taking
a side view of her
sitting there
anxiety
in the features
of her face
her hair straight
and well brushed
she unaware
you gazed
and took it all in
and she thinking
of her sister's moans
and occasional vomiting
and she hardly sleeping
and now here
watching trains
you beside her
in your short
sleeved jumper
and cowboy shirt
and jeans
and sniffing in
the smell of smoke
and steam
and listening
to the engines
start up
and sense
the thrill of power
in the huff and puff
and she for once
happy just being there
far from her sister's snores
and her brother's tease
here to be
with you and be
as she please.
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 10:11 AM UTC
you made quite an impression on me
old man. Something about the dichotomy
of your mangled mechanical motion
and the cobble stone streets of Portland
-and every other city constructed with a bipedal complex-
made about as much sense to me as a lilac shooting
upwards through the parched desert earth. From the other
side of the street I saw your ***** calloused
hands grasping the wheels of your entrapment.
Hands for horses crooked legs for reigns,
your mind harbors the immutable knowledge that your
wheeled prison can't be escaped. But then, for a moment, it happens:
With a desire for movement unparalleled by even the most
diligent of wayfarers you break free from
the confines of immobility.
you are a great steamboat disembarking
from a familiar port, traversing the
***** rivers of black tar and cement,
fires stoked by the thoughts of what was and is no more,
drifting along to the tempo of a softly beating heart and
the feel of a woman's touch....
it pounds and you listen
and you and her are wrapped
tightly under sheets of linen again,
legs intertwined, arms embracing
the undulating curvatures
of a supple young body
and she says she loves you
and you say its requited
and she says we can make it
and you begin to run your
clean youthful fingers through her hair
and then boom,
your ship runs aground
and you once again become enslaved
to your affliction. Upon the curb
you sit old man, stagnant,
face in your ***** hands
thinking of where
you've been
and where you will never go.
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 6:53 PM UTC
Disembodied;
Flesh gains solidity.
Concrete pours into my pose.
Disembarking the ecdysiast
Seething eyes,
Insight projected.
Traveling through tunnel vision.
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 7:03 PM UTC
When over the rail bridge
on the sky autumn blue
clouds floated in cotton pieces
I longed for home.
The port light tower
and the masts of anchored ships
made me keen to reach home
like a sailor long on the sea
disembarking with dreamy eyes
thinking if at all is one home
a tender lip awaiting his sunburned cheek
or if he would retrace to the waves
and someone waiting was only in his head.
I was at Remount Road an old station
with home not really that far
and disproportionately small to my yearning.
I was making a brisk walk
and when at the door
fell into a reverie of
rail bridge
anchored ships on the port
white on the autumn blue
and the small station
Remount Road.
Aug 16, 2016
Aug 16, 2016 at 7:22 AM UTC
A cemetery with a name only known as “Lost Soul”
Sue who no one really knew
Assumptions but nothing really thought through
Sue was often considered to be a Witch
It was spells enchanted into a wave of hands like a switch
Evil that was always on Sue’s mind
Darkness with no lighted moon in having people think in being blind
But within their own subconscious being sublime
It was in the Old Craven’s house
There was nothing moving, but some lonely mouse
This was the house where Sue dwelled
But as the hour glass turns, it was her wizardry being the tell
Sue was in no way related to previous owners of the house
But some considered her to be a spouse
Spouse or not but mysterious indeed
But please allow me to continue to proceed
Sue lived in the Craven’s house all alone
Why she did in the house wasn’t really known
It wasn’t until a fierce stormy night where spirits were seen disembarking from the Craven’s house
The lightening provided the video screen, and the thunder of evil in what it all could mean
Loud moans and a witch’s ***
Eerie emotions that would be definitely hitting the spot
Sue was pursuing she was a witch
But having no music not needing any pitch
Spells that would tell forgetfulness like a drift of a well
A night of breathless life
Mythical or fiction
The fact remains this was a condition
The unspoken word that was never ever told
Her powers were like a curse from hell
To many doubters, it was a thought of oh well
It was Sue’s forces combatting the evil from within
It was a moment of revenge
But it was no tricks being treats
It was becoming a night that won’t be entirely complete
Heaven holding the answer and hell being the firer ashes
Sue raised her hands to fight the Heavenly skies
But her fate that wasn’t really thinking wise
A lightening bolt having full charge
Sue was struck and died instantly
She was later placed in a grave only known as Sue
The evil was finally over
But did it really come to an end
Hidden spirits vow to come back on the hour of when
Sue’s grave reads, “ Hell has become my home, but I will return to once again roam”
Hell opened her gates, and sue became the fate
But the hour had come, but was it too late
Sue’s last name having no word
You now know and have heard
Utterance having a patient silence
Light guided by the moon, and darkness remembered as only a forever gloom.
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 7:58 PM UTC
On the train, the "Caretaker of ******* Masses"
Taking classes on fascist *****
hiding my eyes behind rose-colored glasses
I am in transit:
On the rails between Wayne and the Western Passes
the shellgrasses on the plains
on either side of the train surpasses
the wane of the forest in the distance.
A florist in the aisle peddles her wares
The poorest seated triple-file give her longing glares
"Will you buy some roses today?"
She holds no roses, only hay
Fingers on the arm of the chair
wafting in the smell of her hair-
You there?
Come, my dear, if you dare
quietly, how will you fare
if you hear the words I have for your ears?
She passes, another transaction
supersedes this attraction:
No reaction? No pause.
Even in asking my question withdraws
to the rear compartment.
This line is miles through benign black pines
and white cliffs, stained by time
Every hour she hovers near, marked by the whine
of passersby lamenting their confines-
Every hour fails to entwine us,
so I sit alone with wine and swine.
The conductor tells me we've arrived
but I consider it survived
I've died and revived by the short hand
in anything but repose.
Disembarking, she brushes my sleeve,
then through the crowd on the platform leaves.
Never to receive my rose.
Apr 3, 2010
Apr 3, 2010 at 5:03 PM UTC
I am disembarking from here,
I have moored my boat here for too long,
I have made to many friends,
I have made more enemies than not,
I have destroyed the place of where I live,
I have wiped it clean of its tolerance,
I burned it to the ground not by my own cause but by talking to each side.
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 2:14 PM UTC
It's OK to be WOKE.
It's not right to be WRONG.
Appropriate intersectionality!
Occupy cis-gender privilege!
Believe unbelievers!
Wake the wokeness in women!
Hands OFF my body politic!
Celebrate maximized Matriarchy
by radicalizing pronoun polarization.
Revoke Whiteness by darking the brightness.
Empower the margins for doodling
instead of scribbling.
It's about disembarking
from Patriarchy's leaking ark
It's about politicizing polyandry
It's about re-peeling the orange
to freeze the debt ceiling
NO MORE free Cheetos: Truck Fump !
NO MORE empty sloganeering
NO MORE mindless cheering
Create your own unreality NOW !
Islam is right about women.
Feb 24, 2020
Feb 24, 2020 at 10:31 AM UTC
Confused seems to be the new grade.
i've brought it home on my report cards
for years and yet
never allowed it to dampen until now.
It would appear to many that i have
lifted a new blank page from the books
and flailed around senselessly, finally
resorting to casually disembarking the
book on an outward passage through
the plate glass window of the 19th
floor apartment.
It doesn't scream on the way down,
primarily due to the complex fact that
it knew in some way or form that
this day would come eventually.
(Across the street, an old man sat
on a park bench, feeding popcorn
and alka-seltzer to the flocks of
pigeons he attracted. He watched
the book's swan dive and unapologetically
smiled inside: also so disenchanted that
he too gave himself coal in his
stocking labeled "Dreams.")
i don't smile anymore for them;
makes me sad inside, i guess,
because one day we will be old,
carry our canes arthritically and
look for and reminisce about each,
but who knows if together.
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 1:31 PM UTC
It was late the train to oblivion
it screamed into the station of the dead
stopped on a penny farthing
then let off steam in anger
It was the time to say goodbye
time to let sleeping dogs lie
it was time to now deploy
that perfect moment of pure joy
The platform was packed with the hopeful
and in between those cringed the lost
so many relying of springs hope
yet winter did dwell forever here
Embarking and disembarking
braking the chains of servitude
the cost was the written word
that was strewn all over the tracks
Come my dears to heaven said the driver
yet all the tickets were to hell
and the smoke emanating from the engines
was only sulphur you could smell
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Oct 23, 2016
Oct 23, 2016 at 7:36 PM UTC
On a whim one day we took the car
And drove for miles and miles, quite far
To visit a place, a sanctuary
For cats and dogs and all things hairy
All three of us without a plan
Had never been best friend as man only can
We had no clue when disembarking of all the curs
Alone there skulking and marking
The couple who had come on holiday
Decided to stay when confronted by strays
And in their house they were inundated
With bowls and beds and little bodies mutilated
In one cage a ball of fur hid and retreated
Into the shadows and disappeared
I failed to notice this little hound
Instead shed tears for all around
With anxious steps from Helena and Remy
We were led to a cage much bigger and roomy
Where inside seemed to hide a huge Bear
Who smiled and sniggered and appeared not to care
This one we took out for a walk
But before that we asked who could not talk
And from the cage the most pitiful thing
With one broken leg and fear heartbreaking
We bundled them both out that day
And bathed and fed and loved them forever
And still today
Oct 4, 2016
Oct 4, 2016 at 6:48 AM UTC
I saw you on the plane.
The small crook of your neck turned
outward and resting along the
shoulder-line of another man.
How many lives will it take to shake
your phantoms from my spine?
We made eye contact disembarking and,
awash with turbulent shadows of
an old unyielding guilt, I said nothing.
There is a regret that exists,
deeper and more exacting within the shells
of lives we shake off and carry behind us—
tin cans attached to the wedding car
we will never drive.
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 12:48 AM UTC
Disembarking on the shores
of roadside curbs,
I look at the distance
of my eloping footsteps.
Emigrating from that place
now in wishful forgetfulness.
But my anchor fell,
and for now I have arrived.
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 4:53 PM UTC
North of Watford Gap is grim
and even the reaper needs a minder
to go about his business.
Can't say that I agree,
its been tough but fair
to me.
We'll soon be docking,
disembarking at
the quayside of 'new year'
which was named the year that it was new,
it's not new anymore,
seems like everything's like that
South of Watford Gap.
Dec 30, 2021
Dec 30, 2021 at 12:51 AM UTC
Disembarking like
wet snowflakes,
they submerge within me,
laying a blanket of
regrets.
Melting within my physicality,
a stream of motions joining estuaries
of consciousness.
And I slumber, woven dreams of
nothingness
encompass me,
swimming in a blizzard of closed senses,
I'm drowning in slower beats, like the
rumbling of thunder slowly fading away
with each rumbling of consciousness.
As the last breath of existence
falls,
a singular snow flake shatters
within me,
I'm buried in the frailties of my decisions.
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 5:48 AM UTC
I love to sleep with both eyes wide open,
So I can catch my dreams in the real world.
Maybe I just made all this up in my head.
I have written the truest story never told.
I dared to laugh at a joke nobody spoke.
Disembarking the coattails of a trail of smoke.
Where's my car?
I forgot where I parked.
I am lost,
In this labyrinth of thought.
But it is okay.
Maybe this is where I am meant to be,
A place made by me.
Jun 27, 2019
Jun 27, 2019 at 6:22 PM UTC
Summer rites
Reinvented pastimes
Happy days of yellow
Fringed with sea-foam green
Mountains of tomorrow
Holding fast at sundown
Burgeoning beginnings
Awakening each day
Reflections in a shadow
Of mist forever rising
As dawn predicts a new day
With lazy afternoons
Forgetting stress of winter
Seasonal sensations
Dow Jones disembarking
To quieter retreats
The mantra of the summer
Mixed in pure reflection
Of happy ever after
Perfecting summer rites
6/28/19
www.brucelevine.com
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B07485W4Q1
Jun 28, 2019
Jun 28, 2019 at 9:30 AM UTC