"ebbed" poems
These days have ebbed
as Love's swell was checked:
the waters in some places
- all but dammed!
But now at last
I sense the rising tide
and thank Temese
for the current's turn;
now following that great writhing snake
to where its pulsing head will rake;
over the mucky soiled watery beds
of Woolwich
Greenwich
Limehouse
- and under -
Tower Bridge
To that great gloating sight
A crown of a billion lights
Blazing day and night:
And somewhere within
In the slick oily warmth
Our flood tides mesh,
As over each other we wash.
Hard thrusts
wicked deep cuts
given and received
are recorded in that great mirror smoked!
where with a tug and a shove
on the banks
in the streets
through the loopy twists
everything prospers in the glow
as the decades decaying flow;
each ***** bud
red with new blood
one after t'other
flowers
before their purple petals scatter.
Let's on the luck o' the dice
(you 'n' me!)
ride out
on the flotsam and jetsom
that has carried us this far
and as pleases
merge.
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 2:32 AM UTC
We embarked upon a titanic voyage to a new world.
It’s said that behind every great man there's a great woman; But a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle.
7 bells rang late that night, as our ship stuck fast; between the devil and the deep blue sea.
Fingers frantic! tapping code…—-…
Sailors quickly battened down the hatches and stowed away the Riff-raff, for they knew fine words would butter no parsnips, Better here than there in third class.
Some fiddlers on the deck played “Nearer My God to Thee", As the bubbles rose from beneath the sea, come buckle down boys for the devils to pay, come hell or high water he’ll have his pay.
Mothers row, land lubbers row, it's time to leave this god forsaken place. pulling hard for freedom.
Ten steel decks split and snap, as they join the ***** and hundreds either shriek or pray; as La dolce vita slowly ebbed away.
Mercifully the cacophony descends ever silent, as fifteen hundred souls become neither fish nor flesh, rotting from the head down.
Save our souls •••- - - •••. … — …
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 4:15 PM UTC
Deamons and marvels
Winds and tides
Far away already, the sea has ebbed
And you
Like seaweed slowly carressed by the wind
In the sands of the bed you stir, dreaming
Deamons and marvels
Winds and tides
Far away already, the sea has ebbed
But in your half-opened eyes
Two small waves have remained
Deamons and marvels
Winds and tides
Two small waves to drown me
6.5k
*stars silently
enveloped
turbulent seas,
gingerly dappling
each current,
whence the tides
were stilled
'til they ebbed
'tween streams
of serene
spring waters,
rushing its
banks in
cascades of
tranquil
awed hushes
overflowing
midst
surrender's
quietude*
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 11:10 AM UTC
Her beautiful fleece
Glistened like gold
Woven in silk
Like the finest of tapestries
Her open ready smile
Pursed ruby red lips
Lying betwixt two
Soft white ivory pillars
The honey that lay within
Succulent, and exquisite
Freely flowing
Upon my gorging tongue
This well of pleasure
Sated my pulsing tongue
My own lips moistened
At this taste of delight
My hands gently caressed
Two soft buds
That soon flowered
As my lips brushed over them
We were soon
Face to face
As our tongues danced
In harmonies of desire
Like the waves of a rolling ocean
She was like the ebb tide
That washed over me
Echoing my own dance of seduction
I could sense my head
Begin to explode
As her tongue
Created my own delicious eruptions
Tsunamis of pleasure
Ebbed, and flowed
Culminating in a silent scream
Of exquisite ecstasy
Revealing a unique desire
The butterflies of our souls
Our gentle wing beat
Had discovered the nectar, of our deepest desires
by Jemia
Jan 17, 2021
Jan 17, 2021 at 3:31 PM UTC
I stand upon a familiar shore,
of white sands and ocean waves,
looked upon so many years before,
you and I joined as true loves slaves.
Salten sea breeze fresh upon my face,
casting mist and haze like some dream,
where I see that other time in this place,
bound forever, or so it then did seem.
In this place I now stand so all alone.
as if drawn across rolling dark water,
to calmer days once warmly known,
before love like tide ebbed unto it's slaughter.
Days when loneliness was an unknown.
where sun was warm, and seas were still,
before any storm squall gales had blown,
or wave and wind wrought it's winters chill.
You alone were there to share my time,
I recall beauties smile upon your face,
beauty before tears performed their crime,
it was you that made this a perfect place.
But this sand now beneath my feet,
leads nowhere I would wish to go.
My memories now of loves defeat,
in a time my heart still longs to know.
Sand worn away and faded coastal dreams,
waves roll and ebb high upon the shore,
eroded memories by times cold extremes,
Never to know the beach as in those years before.
Mar 31, 2022
Mar 31, 2022 at 12:20 PM UTC
Out of the merciless darkness and recesses of February,
comes the hope and promise of rebirth.
Hope only as white covers the landscape and grey dominates all;
life has all but ebbed away in this wasteland of broken hearts
A year of wasted time, a life made barren by you.
Time has slipped away in healing, and transforming into myself.
How could you have left me to face the life facing me alone,
hurting and in silent grief.
You alone can answer the questions,
and you alone can make me whole once again,
to face a new life and calm the ghosts of the past and
give me the hope of renaissance.
Aug 21, 2012
Aug 21, 2012 at 9:03 PM UTC
A breath, yours
soft, hot, chilling
the ear, mine
curved - an art on skin
the meeting of both
explodes, a confetti of feelings
a beat becomes a throb
throbbing madness
of that breath that still flows
a begging of hearts
a pleading of souls
begging the emptiness of body
an urging of minds
that breath that still flows
into begging hearts
fills the pleading souls
walls crumble
on soft ground they meet the heart
received, converted into trust
by the breath that still flows
excitement abides
eyes meet and hold
gazes into abysses of longing
a tide covers the belonging
the connection of two hearts at sea
joined by that breath that still flows
into that skin, that art
is but the wind with memory
spun, ebbed, blown, twisted by time
made into dreams fused with reality
the tail of one, the head of the other
its that breath that still flows
Jan 9, 2013
Jan 9, 2013 at 12:34 PM UTC
Fountain of youth runs in his veins,
The man who lives in Sycamore Keep.
His circadian clock had come to a halt,
Rather than rejoice, he sullenly weeps.
You would think that immortality is
The pinnacle of human existence,
All the time in the world and not a
Single malady to be of any resistance.
Yet there he sulks, the ageless man,
Cauterized by the turn of each century,
As loved ones breathe their last and
Become a parcel of his fractured memory.
But that is just the shell of his woes,
For even with all knowledge amassed,
He’s utterly aghast with the state of the
World unwilling to learn from the past.
Every crook and cranny explored,
Every experience well savored,
Now monotony for millennia to come,
His longing to live has ebbed and wavered.
I was told by the man of Sycamore Keep
That immortality is a curse so alluring.
Indeed, a hundred cultivated years is
Much better than hollow eons securing.
But sir, think of all the riches you’ve accrued
And mastery of all science and philosophies.
Who wouldn’t want to have the time to mark
The world and purge it from all its atrocities.
Say no more, interrupted the ageless man,
I applaud your idealism and optimistic delusion,
But you’re missing one essential element --
Even as immortals, we’d still be only human.
And to be human, is to be fallible. Let’s just say
That immortal fallibility will engender no good.
It'd be best to truncate our lifespan for the
Sake of our survival, yes truncate we should.
And that’s all I heard from the man of Sycamore Keep,
Who went on his way to his millennial weep.
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 9:40 AM UTC
I'm nervous about nothing,
Is that even possible, or normal?
I'm worried.
And I'm worried that something will make me worry more,
I'm stressed to the test
I feel like I'll shatter,
Like a glass window,
In pieces I'll fall,
Someone out there, hear my plead,
Catch me,
Cause my mind is being murdered by thoughts
Like roaring ocean waves,
Back and forth,
Breaking me like the beach,
I'm being ebbed away by my own inner shore,
So help before I become my very own enemy
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 11:56 PM UTC
You were a friend to the end but the urge to
do it finally closed myeyes, when I opened
them yourlife had ebbed away. Just silence
which cleansed the screams away.
I knew what I had to do, I had thetools ready
to do those unspeakable things to you, but never
worry your not here any more just a cadaver
that will soon be in pieces all over my floor.
I use my knife cut you from throat to your *******
whoops I just chopped of your meat and veg ****
it you don't need them any more. I play with
your ribs blood once warm now cold in my hands.
I think of a xylophone as I tap the knifes, dull noises
but they sound like musical notes, I smirk and laugh
a bit thinking of what you would think, as I play
musical notes down on your ribs and laugh some more.
I take your heart, it slips on to the floor, ok mate it
slipped from my hands, don't look like that you don't
need it anymore. I unravel your intestines as they unravel
over the floor, reminds me of spaghetti just needs meat *****
I have played enough, parts of you on me, I tasted part
of your liver like Hannibal lecture, I wish I could tell you
this but it tastes like horse.
I cut patches from your back, parchment a canvas of
skin so I draw, blood is my paint as I draw a skull,
then a dove you are free like the bird, no pain or
fear any more.
I feel no regret, you were a friend, but I use your
blood for hand print pictures on my wall as I
put it on my face on my chest. I write I am the killer
and now I am complete the circle of life is complete
as I get the knife and move it across then I paint
with my blood now across the walls.
I feel tired, but I am in a red sea of peace the room
once white now red is painted on the walls. I think
of what I have done, I cant help who I am no one could
have changed me I've done what I have done I'm at
peace now slumped on the floor.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 5:22 PM UTC
CHEERFUL voices by the sea-side
Echoed through the summer air,
Happy children, fresh and rosy,
Sang and sported freely there,
Often turning friendly glances,
Where, neglectful of them all,
On his bed among the gray rocks,
Mused the pale child, little Paul.
For he never joined their pastimes,
Never danced upon the sand,
Only smiled upon them kindly,
Only waved his wasted hand.
Many a treasured gift they bore him,
Best beloved among them all.
Many a childish heart grieved sadly,
Thinking of poor little Paul.
But while Florence was beside him,
While her face above him bent,
While her dear voice sounded near him,
He was happy and content;
Watching ever the great billows,
Listening to their ceaseless fall,
For they brought a pleasant music
To the ear of little Paul.
'Sister Floy,' the pale child whispered,
'What is that the blue waves say?
What strange message are they bringing
From that shore so far away?
Who is dwelling in that country
Whence a low voice seems to call
Softly, through the dash of waters,
'Come away, my little Paul'?'
But sad Florence could not answer,
Though her dim eyes tenderly
Watched the wistful face, that ever
Gazed across the restless sea,
While the sunshine like a blessing
On his bright hair seemed to fall,
And the winds grew more caressing,
As they kissed frail little Paul.
Ere long, paler and more wasted,
On another bed he lay,
Where the city's din and discord
Echoed round him day by day;
While the voice that to his spirit
By the sea-side seemed to call,
Sounded with its tender music
Very near to little Paul.
As the deep tones of the ocean
Linger in the frailest shell,
So the lonely sea-side musings
In his memory seemed to dwell.
And he talked of golden waters
Rippling on his chamber wall,
While their melody in fancy
Cheered the heart of little Paul.
Clinging fast to faithful Florence,
Murmuring faintly night and day,
Of the swift and darksome river
Bearing him so far away,
Toward a shore whose blessed sunshine
Seemed most radiantly to fall
On a beautiful mild spirit,
Waiting there for little Paul.
So the tide of life ebbed slowly,
Till the last wave died away,
And nothing but the fragile wreck
On the sister's ***** lay.
And from out death's solemn waters,
Lifted high above them all,
In her arms the spirit mother
Bore the soul of little Paul.
2.5k
She flew in her chariot by the light of the moon
Knowing the day would come all too soon
Gathering herbs from underground
The forest of darkness where twas no sound
To the river of blood to fetch her wine
Imps hovered about
Ran fast the time
From the wing of white owl
Snatched three feathers
Out of midnight sky
Stars of heather
The mountains north vials of whispering winds
Tails of magical deer
Running forbidden glens
In charm covered cape
To sacred circle flew
Leaving behind a trail of sparkling hue
Incantations spoken
Revenge beget
The man who spurned her
He demons would get
She drew up the potion
Called forth the demon
Hells brimstone smoke
Dead souls singing
Orders from the woman
Sent the Devils spawn into flight
With orders to return the following night
The night time fell
As did the following day
Black flickering lights in pentagram array
Each dark candle did kindle desire
The demon appeared amid red fire
Spells muttered under breath
Cast the ancient way
Over the conjured one silver bond did lay
To despised castle
I commandthee
Destroy the man
The one she had loved
Pledged to another's hand
Fly now winged one
Not one more moment spent
Evil black smoke
In a swirl the demon went
To the bedchamber of the king
Dispatched him with single blow
Wretched creature peered into his thoughts
As life ebbed in drops from body slow
His love for the strange enchantress
Hearts secret she did not know
Ghastly smile on the demons face
For the price of desire was her soul
This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby
I awoke from a dream and wrote this piece where it came from I dont know
Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 11:09 PM UTC
i remember that first night
how desperately you craved
to feel my lips against yours.
how worried you were when i refrained
from surrendering to your deep inhalations.
thoughts of uncertainty clouded your confidence
while your sense of comfort waned and ebbed
as my will held like a cliffside
against the ocean of your lust.
let me calm your worried mind now darling
it was not for lack of desire
that i held my lips pursed.
it was not detachment
that held my hands shy
of a passionate embrace.
i was lost in the shear comfort
of your presence.
your warm hands on my chest
felt as though they had been there
my whole life.
the weight of your leg across my hips,
so familiar that i was left confused by
the brevity of our acquaintance compared
to the depth i could see so clearly
in your glistening eyes.
it was in adoration for this precious moment that
i held myself satiated.
it was this same feeling that held me in fear
that our first kiss would not be the
electric explosion of beginnings
that we would hope to fuel our infatuation,
but that you would feel dissatisfied by the same ease
and placidity i felt.
i kissed you
in that way i felt i had for years and
with that practiced knowing hand
i pulled your lips in close.
they sang a story so old and meaningful
that i found a joy akin to returning home.
...
and since then
every moment shared,
every touch experienced,
every kiss given and
every kiss received
is a small unravelling of a truth that
i had long since forgotten:
that home is where the heart is.
...
and you have mine
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 5:21 PM UTC
_______________________________________
The radiance of my pen was already ebbed
My outcry seem now, not that much effective
But this could not be the hindrance for me to go on
For as long as my pen breath I won't ceased
But foe owed a vigor and have a lot of arms
That it needs a miracle for them to be ruined
But as a mark of history, armor was defeated by a pen
That wisdom count most than those of precious gem
But now indeed the battle was not mostly of war
Instead a disease that ruled the heart of many earthlings
That thy deeds sound very earsplitting
Do I have enough ink to calm their flame?
But maybe this time I was destined to be defeated
For I am weak and one breath away to death
Oh sky! I should be dead! But this i'm quite sure
That my pen will continue to battle....
written: June 14, 2001 @ 9:00 AM
Mysterious Aries
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 11:55 PM UTC
Now for years I haven’t seen him
nor know if he is alive or dead
the shadowy man who floated like dream
each moonlight on the roof surfaced!
When from my window his silhouette I caught
saw him on his voyage embark
the moon stalker day’s small-time clerk
wove a magic spell on my thought!
As the moon came over the eastern edge
silver orbed in her glorious rebirth
he would be there lost in his gaze
like a moonman stuck on the earth!
Madly his eyes riveted on the sky
in pursuit of gain unknown
as if once unmoored to her he would fly
leaving this world disowned!
Hours passed by his wonder not ebbed
eased not the moon stalker's trance
it seemed to me moon's waning he grieved
mourned dimming of her silvery dance!
Each full moon saw this unfailing zeal
on the roof two lovers' meet
his eyes sky bound till he had his fill
the moonman on earthly transit!
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 1:04 PM UTC
There was a squandering ember that climbed her spinal chord
and lit the deteriorating birchwood on the peach-fuzzed tea lamps.
When those stairwells cramped and swelled with staggered liquid terraces
in the foundational pin-cushion that cradled family after family.
Woe begone chants that railed support beams moaning under elemental abuse.
A litter of ghost kittens coiling underfoot where the rug
used to yawn before the grandfather clock,
now senile and rotting with absent-minded tick-tocks.
Inside her streetcorner, the music was that
monkey hopping to street ***** blue notes on somber ropes.
The air thick with the regal, chunky vibe
of batting eyes, flirty sighs, and bourbon.
Between the buildings again...
embraced with the same warm feeling that
entrances your fingertips, lips, and ears when within a man's arms.
In this city, Love is those two birds on that same powerline
that bowed and ebbed with summer's sweet sigh.
Sep 23, 2011
Sep 23, 2011 at 11:47 PM UTC
In a hollow off the main road
sits a village that time forgot
Where things flow, a little slow
and peace of mind need not be bought
The main street beckons all to see
how life ebbed and flowed in the past
Where smiles abound, the happy sound
of a life not metered nor fast
There you'll find the town Silversmith
making jewelry in a forge
The coffeehouse, echos of Strauss
a trodden path out to the gorge
It is home to the Glen Helen
part of a thousand acre woods
Steering the helm, coin of the realm
are the fruits of the craftsman's goods
There by the Antioch College
we spent a good deal of our youth
Climbing the trees, skinning our knees
among beauty we knew as truth
You might just see children playing
Hide and Seek throughout the street
Where "all yee all yee in come free"
sings of a melody so sweet
So should you find that your bones ache
from the pains of life you endure
Take a stroll, over the knoll
to the little town with the cure
Tate
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 3:17 PM UTC
Remember Him while you are young,
before your days and years grow dim,
before your time finally draws to a close
and you realise that life has ebbed away.
Remember Him before the sun burns out,
before the constellations are turned off
and the dark clouds remain after the rain.
Remember Him on the day the guards quake,
when the soldiers are doubled over in fear,
when the workers stop because they have fallen
and the faces peering through windows fade,
when the doors of houses are closed shut
and the whetstone grinds to a standstill.
Remember Him when people wake to silence
because the birdsong can no longer be heard.
Remember Him when people fear the mountains
and terror finds them wherever they walk.
Remember Him when the almond tree blossoms
and the grasshopper can barely drag itself along,
when all love and desire and passion wither away,
when the mourners come to wander the streets,
because you are reaching your everlasting home.
Remember before the silver ring is melted down
and the golden bowl is smashed into pieces,
before the water jar is shattered at the fountain
and the pulley wheel at the well is broken.
The dust becomes one with the earth again
and your spirit returns to He who gave it.
Nothing has meaning.
Everything is pointless,
an inane transient cloud.
A single breath of smoke.
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 8:01 AM UTC
I have intentionally tried to fill the hole inside myself that your smile holds, my sweetest Angel. For that, I am ashamed. But there has been only the feeling of emptiness residing in that cavern since last I looked upon your smiling face and held you close to my heart.
The sun has risen and set, the seas have ebbed and flowed, the winds have blown, hither and yon. Yet, still I stand, unmoving through all of it, for the pain of not having your tiny hand in mine has left me cold, battered by the waves and fossilized by the sands carried upon the winds.
My eyes have withered from too many unhappy tears and nowhere near enough tears of joy, made all the more optically diuretic by my inability to look upon your face as you run and play and sleep and dream.
I am sorry, my truest of Loves, my Only, that I have chosen to ignore these feelings of longingness for so long. I could touch the pen to paper a million times, writing odes to your face and sonnets to your smile, but the distance that I feel has forced me to lull my heart into a coma. I have intentionally medicated my heart in an attempt to stop feeling (to stop all feeling), yet I cannot.
I feel the sunshine on my face and I pine to see the sun’s rays dwarfed by the radiance of your dwarven smile.
I feel my heart hang so low and wish against hope that I could pick you up while you raise me.
My soul cries out to replace you, yet my heart is merely attempting to survive. My soul screams for only you and the chance (nay, privilege) to shield you from the fears that cause you to scream in the middle of the night.
Why have I chosen to harden my heart, my Love? Why have I allowed myself to stifle my screams, when in all truthfulness, I only dream of easing your own?
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 1:31 AM UTC
Somewhere seabirds pipe and bleat,
gathered on a dark low tide.
Shapes and shadows line the fleet,
cold and calling.
In the shore hide facing north
I'm focussing black ten-by-forties,
hunched against the wall for warmth;
the tide still falling.
Looking out, I'm looking back,
thirty years have ebbed away;
the boy, his joy, his haversac,
his notebook scrawling;
I see him, tremulous, wild-eyed,
among the plovers, curlew, knot,
a loosed dog shakes them and he flies,
the seawall salt sting cuts and dries;
there's no recalling.
Jan 22, 2012
Jan 22, 2012 at 6:55 PM UTC
Venus in Boots
You scared others, but me! Attracted
By what I’m not sure, your hair, eyes, hips.
Maybe it was the *** noodle you were having for lunch
My modern day Venus: behind the beauty counter at Boots
Head and shoulder above everybody else,
Even though you were only five foot two
I was captivated by your beauty, our eyes met
Then gazing at your full red lips, hearing those
Immortal words, “can I help you sir”.
It was at that moment I realised I do need help.
Nights and days I dreamed of Venus in Boots
I longed , not for her body, but her heart.
You in your twenties me in my seventies
The odds were not in my favour.
Slowly a relationship formed
You let me hold your hand, smell your neck
No kissing: I bought you things
Earrings , jeans, you asked what colour
I could not resist. Blue!
We went for walks , town, country, seaside
The waves crashed. My heart had already crashed
Totally besotted. Even though it was all one sided
I was blissfully happy!
As I paddled, I felt tired. As the tide ebbed
So did my life. My final thoughts were of my
Venus in blue jeans, in Boots.
Jun 15, 2011
Jun 15, 2011 at 10:44 AM UTC
In the night air, of ghostly moon
starry the darkened blues, quiver
some falling from the sky to startle
under murmuring trees, we rest
and never sleep, we seek to know
what night will conjure
strange drunken allure
of the celestial
Planetary fools
entranced by moons
magnetically pulled
ebbed and fallen
just another day, we lay
soon swallowed by
the sun
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 8:36 AM UTC