"foghorn" poems
Loony Tunes
Bugs Bunny is my favorite rabbit,
watching him became my habit.
He was smart, funny and two steps ahead,
his popularity was very widespread.
His best friend was Daffy Duck,
he never did have the same luck.
Rabbit season, duck season,
rabbit season, duck season,
watching them, I needed no reason.
Speedy Gonzales was so very quick,
this fast mouse was also a *****
Owned his own pizza place,
won a gold metal, at the local rat race.
Yosemite Sam was a short tempered man,
killing Bugs and Daffy was always his plan.
He's a liar, a cheat and a sore loser,
maybe he should have been a drug user.
Tasmanian Devil was a tornado of destruction,
he never needed any kind of introduction.
Foghorn Leghorn never saw a negative situation,
I say, I say boy was his favorite quotation.
Pepe Le Pew was a French skunk,
women loved his smelly *****
Marvin The Martian was from Mars,
his laser gun would leave you with scars.
Tweety was an antagonizing canary,
lived with Granny, and flew like a crafty fairy.
Sylvester was Granny's pet cat,
him and Tweety always went *** for tat.
Road Runner was so very fast,
said beep beep as Wile E Coyote he passed.
Never fell for those Acme supplies,
getting blown up was his ultimate demise.
Porky Pig was just happy to be included,
the, the that's all folks, is how this will be concluded.
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 2:18 AM UTC
My right ear has triple tinnitus.
It's true. I kid you not.
First there is the deep, low mourn of a foghorn,
with a louder high pitched ring above.
But stuck somewhere in between
is a beautifully sad Charlie Parker saxophone number.
It's soft notes range frome mid to low and drown
the foghorn and annoying ring while carrying
me away to dream. My own nightly internal
Charlie Parker radio.
r ~ 23Jan14
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 8:42 PM UTC
Sensing the loss of you
Was hard, raw and angry
The realisation that you would not be mine
Stung like seawater
And howled like a foghorn
For months, seeing you cut like a knife
Hot, fat tears rolling down my cheeks
As I mourned the loss of your love.
Sensing the loss of us
Was slow, sad and silent
The realisation that I was over you
Crept like an ant up my leg
And whistled like the wind through a window
Now, seeing you is like pressing a bruise
Our conversations just a nostalgic echo
As I mourn the loss of my love.
Jul 25, 2010
Jul 25, 2010 at 8:04 PM UTC
A Cornish sunrise
is spoiled by bleating tourists;
I enjoy the sunrise
with all but my eyes.
As sure as God is sifting out the chaff
and with mathematical certainty...
my listlessness is becoming an issue.
A fist is shaking at me again,
but I’ve stopped looking at faces.
I reach for a book, not to read,
but to straighten my posture,
by opening it in my lap.
I hear sailing boats
always, living here, the constant
boom swing and rattling of cheaply
made metal clips and whipping ropes.
I hear the negligence of novice sailors
and their secret wishes to accidentally
lose their family on the rocks.
I hear the sound of life jackets
hanging on their pegs whilst
skinny kids think that
the sea is just a big blue
bouncy castle.
I have observed how things
can go very wrong;
I was a lifeguard and then coast
guard working for the RNLI.
Now I try and enjoy the sunrise each
morning but the noisiest of tourists are
walking around in groups of
foghorn and sheep’s wool
and warning us of nothing
— so loudly.
They’ve closed the lighthouse
and the docks, ship don’t
come here anymore.
Just these novice sailors
who, with unerring instinct,
sink for the weight of their
masculinity
or lose a crew member
or be pinched painfully by a crab.
Their kids ask: How do boats float?
They ask that as their life jackets
swing on the peg
— the seas are not calm today.
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 11:21 PM UTC
There is a strangeness in fog
that is palpable
and perhaps it is the strangeness in me
which responds
It is no accident I know
that I was raised
where fog is legend
and so remains
a cloying fact of life
for coastal Sunny California
is coldly blanketed each morning
six months of every year
in chilly dampness
What once was familiar
now changed
hidden within soft billows
of clouds brought to earth
the monotonous drip
from the leaves of the trees
the eaves of the roof
the rocks on the hillsides . . .
stars and planets obscured
only the mysterious moon
peeks through the diaphanous veil
lighting her shroud from above
now moving
now shifting
a glimpse of . . . something
caught
only to disappear once more
deep within the flowing haze
Yet where others find in fog
a thing to fear
I find in it a pleasure
seldom found elsewhere
for me familiar comfort
in the heavy grey mist
enveloping me
as a blanket of spirit
or ancestors
And perhaps it is this
the others fear
for the spirits of fog
can be cunning and cruel
hiding dangers
from those unwary
or disrespectful
But I miss the fog
laying low upon the cliffs
turning ordinary landscape
into otherworldly and strange
I long for the lonely cries
of the foghorn at sea
and should the sea monster come
I pray it finds
the love it seeks
Cori MacNaughton
19Jan2007
Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 7:53 PM UTC
I watched adrift on a putrid plank
That had saved me once before
‘Twas the elusive Pride of the Pacific
Constructed in ‘74
Her bronze bells and mighty foghorn
Commanded all to make way
And the tides knelt beside her feet
To congregate as they say:
“Tis pitiful, such punishment
Bestown upon the Ancient Blue
Our vengeance creeps forth each day
And will drown this peace askew.
Their corpulence, disgusting
As they carouse all day and night
Limiting themselves to their marvels”
Alas! A human they spied in sight!
“The humans have rejected you
From their blissful celebration
Now let us stir up trouble
For complete annihilation!”
With swift currents bombarding,
The passengers fled with haste
And in one implacable calamity,
The ship was left to waste
The bronze bells won’t resound
With the ship flipped on its hull
The foghorn’s left to drown
As beauty is left to null.
I sobbed adrift a putrid plank
Never abandoned from the start
“Such horrors would go unnoticed
If humanity had the heart!”
Mar 4, 2010
Mar 4, 2010 at 10:32 AM UTC
I call it the Changeover;
like an analogue radio searching for a signal
sometimes it's clear
sometimes it's static
sometimes it's in between
somewhere between far away and near
somewhere lost in the middle
between Signal and Static.
Clear Day the signal reaches out its arms as far as the eye can see
and the ears can hear
and the senses can feel
and taste buds pop and linger
and revel in new experience
and comfort in knowing
and wrapped in wonderment.
Changeover Day is somewhere between Clear Day and Nowhere
struggling to tune in
backwards or forwards
or sideways or upwards
to something
to anything that resembles a signal
like hearing voices in another room
an argument through a wall
the indecipherable murmur of music
the clamber of ushered noise
the mishmash and cacophony
like a symphony of Morse code.
Static Day is dark day
there is no signal
no senses
no sound
only indeterminate fuzz
and the crackle of broken glass
and the foghorn
and the white noise
the confusion and delusion
the paranoia of shifting jigsaws
changing pieces that never fit together
can almost make out a face through the frosted glass
the smear like bird **** on a window
halfheartedly wiped with lackadaisical whimsy
and greasy chip shop newspaper.
In the Static there is no wind
no heart to beat
no empathy or sympathy
just
cold
hard
steel
out of place in a room of feathers and feeling.
You just have to ride out the storm
tell yourself:
it'll be calm soon
it'll be calm soon
it'll be calm soon
The Changeover
from Static to Signal
and the welcome return of voices
and breathing
and beating
and feeling.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 7:40 AM UTC
It was ten years ago today
That his wife died. He was going to retire
But the Lighthouse needed his care.
There was a ghost in the basement
Or was it just a trick of the light.
If it was, it just wasn't fair.
The deepness of the foghorn's call
Kept him from missing one single soul.
When someone stopped to visit he'd just sit and stare.
Many people came to ask him to leave
But he just held tight.
To leave would be more than he could bear.
It was ten years ago today
That his wife died. He was going to retire
But the Lighthouse needed his care.
One thing that he never knew
Was that he was the ghost in the basement.
He was the ghost that was sitting in the chair.
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 3:24 PM UTC
Salmonella sunset
sets the scene for
moondance morrey
into the mystic
Fool's ghouls haunt sunken treasure
Sworn protectors of
the damages
better undone
Mandela's dead
Deaf men didn't get the message
" !"
a sad song it was!
Counting the days
One a finger
waking up it's the same scene
the world
That strange place
you Left behind
pigeons in the streets singing
"tomorrow will be like today!"
*and when that foghorn blows
I will be coming home*
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 4:21 AM UTC
One of Edna's ancestors went down
On the Titanic
On a First Class passenger
(Gobble! Gobble! Gobble! she went)
Only she survived
To tell the tale.
And the band played the Moonlight Sonata
As the ******* ship sunk to the bottom.
"Toot! Toot!"
Went the foghorn
Like a farting elephant.
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 12:01 PM UTC
Oceans of swaying arms
Holding skateboards or coffee
Remember, passerby’s eyes
Are not the same as horizons.
I move
Like I swim
That is to say
I know how to still my body
Long enough to float.
Gospel screaming to me
Through broken headphones,
Foghorn booms
“I’ll die when I’m mother ******* ready”
“I’ll die when I’m mother ******* ready”
Remember, upturned chin,
Never to stop.
When you find
Sunken feathers that cling to pavement
In unforgiving embrace,
You will build an alter,
And continue
To move
With two feet
And no grace
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 1:15 PM UTC
Thank you, my friend--
little by little,
waves of time wash the wound:
worn driftwood,
broken shells,
a distant foghorn.
I follow meandering footprints
disappearing in the sand--
Suddenly, a glorious sunrise,
bright as her laughter.
May 23, 2011
May 23, 2011 at 1:59 PM UTC
Oh sweet maiden, in sirens song
To the foamy sea swells
A lighthouse foghorn joins along
Dawn colors soft pastels
Reddish, yellow, dawn shining bright
As the peaks of mountains highlight
Reddish yellow-
Reddish yellow-
With colorful hue’s vibrant bright.
On rocks she rests, combing her hair
With a comb made of pearl
Her lovely skins complexion fair
Massive ocean waves hurl
She sings her songs from far offshore
As the breaker waves break the shore
She sings her songs-
She sings her songs-
As waves pitch sounds in metaphors.
With waters deep and waters vast
Her melodies haunting
Thus in enchantment, a spells cast
With allures taunting
Oh sweet maiden, in sirens song
A sailor’s fate, her charms he’ll long
Oh sweet maiden-
Oh sweet maiden-
Loves sweet song, casts spells lifelong.
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 7:20 PM UTC
The raven
comes to me
constantly,
always in my dreams
crowding out the streets
where I made beer bottles
into Batman and the Joker,
clinking them against each other
mimicking a fight,
I could save everything
back then.
Now the streets are filled
with ticking feet,
the streets are filled
with streetlights
threaded with
feathers in the glow,
in the same
moment
I could wake up in a cold sweat,
****** myself,
fearful
that someone's in my
room,
I don't know what has happened
to my mind,
but it's not a safe place
any more,
no confidantes,
no saving grace
or saving bells
except the one
in the distance,
the foghorn
behind glass,
and the fog
a house
of caws.
Feb 11, 2012
Feb 11, 2012 at 7:06 PM UTC
**My greatgrandpa, Edgar Sweetlove,
Went down on the Titanic
On a First Class passenger
(he was a bit of a snob that way,
but he survived to tell the tale
With the taste of ***** on his tongue.
And the band played 'Abide with me'
As the ******* ship sunk to the bottom.
"Toot! Toot! Toot!"
Gaily went the foghorn.**
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 6:17 AM UTC
all the ******* leave the party early, attired
in cackles, even though stilettos say otherwise,
they laugh and squeamish assort
a waiting line for a mongol tribe:
open all hours minus the sunday,
when jesus' ***** was dried;
got to love a mother of a culprit readied
for sacrifice and prayer lasting 2000 years.
in between the party?
a man walked idly musing his relevance,
he popped a few balloons with his cigarette,
his life flashed before his eye,
notably an error, pornographic photos
flashed before his eyes, not as bad as Gucci and
gob anna in twisted anorexia... **** actresses take
the catwalk... we all revolve around liking curves...
plus **** in *** plus **** in **** plus **** in mouth,
a holy trinity through and through;
there was no offensive image shown,
there was no offensive foghorn sound made,
but she's too eager to censor communication,
says f**k... hush... oompa loompa augustus needs the loo
to **** out the roman empire...
what entertains children breeds a fear for adults...
what entertains adults makes children divvy...
say piston and phallus in a rhyming symbiosis
of tact... welcome you, welcome i;
what doesn't entertain children does entertain adults?
the reality of a mistaken fact that childhood passed?
and of those who's childhood was orphanage?
the free distribution of wealth... or a free distribution of justice
be seriously taken along with vitamins?
burp... are we shining with sun and vitamin c?
perhaps we wished to have netted brown skin
in a spider web of self-producing vitamin d of kenyan origin?
ah i see, sneezes from cayenne peppering.
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 6:41 PM UTC
To the right of my mind
a stuttering shudder stroked
into a conjuring trick
mist and fog precluded
with eternal density
Giving way to a definite
bypass of emotion
sitting, wondering, hammering
for the solution to troubled
senses that gripped in tight fists
Gradual senseless doubts
fogged up the highway
skidded into black icy fear
the foghorn sounding its blast
Announcing its brazen load
Keep me safe in corners
despite their black features
poking at me, barricading
my tomorrow with segmented
troubles, woven in pin pricking motion
Grinding statues were still
age transforming their limbs
into crumbling confinement
I struck out and rallied
them, together we circled
Transforming our once isolated
innards into sharing heart
shaped sentences
heard by those who chose to hear
and found droplets of hope
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 9:07 AM UTC
Summer sister sends her love to the minister
A blank verse cursed eye lids pursed
Ten dollar attraction for 5 cent of a fraction
Love a friend dies like the fog of the early morning
Friends forgive themselves after they have left the home stead
Snow melts as slow as milk molds further
Centimeter sticks of solute
Streets where I was not born
Streets where I am headed full horned
Pious pity for the peasants which we all are
Scribbling for forgiveness from our dear Lord
A man unseen unheard and not to be feared
The way of the law is the way of us all
Nature needeth not the glaring eye of suspicion
The heat the head the fingers the release
The treasure of might that relieves all the stresses of the week
Of the calender
Of the foghorn of maliciousness throughout this plagued and misfortunate world
I can't take it much longer I've got to see the world
The scope of the time lapse trembles underneath the eye of a child
Underneath the fingernail of God
Skyscrapers screaming for justice for they were built by the hands of the over fed
The overworked
The tricked and the deceived
I cannot go on if this is how it all is for the rest of time
Pie eating contests with cherry filled hormones
Hot dog churches eyes bursting the soul lifeless and thirsty
These people were born into a life not embraced and unbred
Now with the hour striking double midnight
The raven cracking his beak on my skull
The water dripping like the falls I've never seen
Bursting flames of white torrent flush underneath the whisper of God's hush
To be here to be there to be anywhere underneath the sky's glare
We are specks of conversation left at the dinner table
With a red lipstick kiss and a number
A frown and a glint of the flirtatious eye
Women and men living together in imperfect harmony
Lies that lay alive and writhing and seething and high and mighty breathing
These friends of mine whom I hold dear are getting much older
As am I
As am I and yet the sky
The bright blue egg crack yellow sky
Rests in infinite
Youthful
Romance
Aug 15, 2011
Aug 15, 2011 at 9:36 PM UTC
In the sweet crisp calm of twilight when sparrow
chirps tuck silent and their feathers puff to roost,
I gad about the starry night and harken to the hosts
who sing refrains of winsome cheer that boundless love ripostes.
My bones and flesh the earth holds fixed
in time with sure embrace, while my soul stows away
to voyage upon the Milky Way.
Enchanted hopes and yearnings of earthly dreamers fill the sails
and bound together do we wayfare amidst the starry veil
where dreams already born, like gulls pursue my celestial wake
until back home to earth I sail to foghorn sighs at harbor’s edge
where owls cry and wait.
And so to slumber must I go with dreams aflutter still
chattering of souvenirs from my nocturnal thrill.
Reluctant to return to earth is my soul’s soaring heart,
she would rather amidst the stars remain in perpetual skylark.
I must halter and put to earthbound paddock this courser racing free,
yet she tremors within my breast yearning for liberty.
I implore my earnest feet to climb without delay into the bed,
in hope my will shall follow despite the ceaseless call to vigil.
For all who slumber sweetly, preparing for the light of day,
I feel the eager mercy of history’s longing for each today.
~ P.A. Moffatt
© 3/5/2014
Mar 15, 2017
Mar 15, 2017 at 6:25 AM UTC
the phone rings,
**** its already late
I dress up past, I grab my things
rushing out through the gate
it was a grey rainy day,
the shoe lace was untied.
stepping on the puddles through the alleyway
I smelt the leftovers cornered to be putrefied
in the distance i heard the foghorn bray
and then suddenly the ipod died,
it wasn't the slightest idea of my heyday
and so it made me stupefied.
the alley never seem to end.
for once I was hoping for a commotion.
and then it made a slight bend
and a shadow appeared at the cross section.
everything got a trascend blend
looked like life moved ahead in a slow motion.
the figure was human like
and with each tick it moved slowly-closer.
my body was abruptly covered with spike,
as the motion became tenser.
the cold hit me like a pike,
yet my mind said he was just a bypasser.
I knew I shouldn't have been there.
I stared the figure drenched in the rain.
all I wanted to do now was run anywhere
before it blew away my brain.
before I could make my escape
he cought me by my arm.
his eyes were cold and senseless
but his hands felt delicate.
for a seond life became aimless
as I became his captivate.
his charm was flawless
his beauty was the least I could appreciate.
he suddenly let go of me
I stared into his eyes and realized I must leave
I turned around and made my move away......
TO BE CONTINUED...
May 13, 2011
May 13, 2011 at 9:04 PM UTC
· · · – – – · · ·
Stardust drips
in Southern Cross directions
lost at sea
floundering in the nothingness
counting seagulls
and island torches
branding the sky
with delirious connections
traveling beyond the speed,
22 knots to nowhere
and sinking fast
SOS carved
in summer clouds
threatening distractions
floating silently in our heads
as we bail out,
tossing salt water worries
overboard as
barnacle beliefs wait
beneath the surface
of our dreams
A lone timber,
nails protruding,
rotting slowly
is held for dear life
as tridents and trishulas
flail in withered hands
breaking seas,
angry waves bend
dissipating into
misted blankets as
foghorn signals
bellow in needled warnings
like a skipping album
drowning in its
own repetition
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 10:51 AM UTC
Look at this fool.
This babbling fool that stands
over me.
A garden full of burning flowers
visible through his eyes,
but not through ear to ear.
The things that run from his mouth-
which I do not blame them from doing-
**** my brain cells.
He thinks I care.
All I want the former fool.
He who taught me all I know.
The walking book cover,
dictionary, Britannica.
The ultimate thesaurus, movie star.
Bob the Rabbit.
It's in its cage.
Say hi to Bob.
I admire you.
The temperature.
The west and east egg.
All I desire is again
to sit and look up and admirably
watch words spill out of his mouth.
Not these dead song birds
flying out of his.
Not this spineless man walking
on his tongue.
Not, Not,
Not him.
In the distance, a foghorn yells, "No one cares!"
but he is Hellen Keller's doppelganger.
I am slowly going brain dead......
black.
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 12:00 AM UTC
Sometimes I dream
of the foghorn near the docks
whistling like a forgotten friend
in your letterbox
walking home from work
after I had left for the last time,
Remember the ringing of the last tram
freezing in the air
like a photograph
before breathing too quickly
ain’t you glad you walked away?
Sometimes I dream of
the chime of the clock
which freezes at mid-day someday
weeping under spires
and underneath dock boats,
Dreaming of my heart
tied up in chains
instead of knots
before I unpicked the lock
and walked away without regret
stealing inspiration from the sunset.
(From the End of Summer - https://www.amazon.co.uk/End-Summer-N-Andy-ebook/dp/B01LY7YR9K/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie;=UTF8&qid;=1475915722&sr;=1-2)
Oct 8, 2016
Oct 8, 2016 at 4:55 AM UTC
The absence of sound may be barren and voiceless,
but this peace that seems so calm and solemn
is as loud and consuming as our ears can stand.
A house devoid of noise and energy
is a windless winter’s night,
is a mind with a chance to finally speak
without interruption.
All the louder and more resonant,
all the more demanding than any fireworking,
freight train, foghorn…
In this case, the sonority of nothing is convincing.
In my case, this illusion of peace and quiet
reveals itself as less than a butterfly’s whisper,
yet more constant,
more prominent.
It insists upon itself as if it were real.
Is it?
It never lasts.
The presences of all noise-
from the leaf’s dance
to the cracks of thunder-
can cut through it like a blade.
Any spare word can dissipate this thick lapse
like locusts slicing the air,
coloring what cries between silences.
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 10:30 AM UTC