"landfall" poems
If only we could begin again and slow down the pernicious pace
We ruin our oceans, the land, our air even outer space.
If only we avoided such precarious paths that may lead to disparity
If only we knew what action is needed now, to deal with the reality.
Ecologists warned, yet still observe with ever-growing anxiety
the growth of harmful long-term effects on Earth's biodiversity.
If only the air wasn't gravely polluted, so the atmosphere begins to fail,
so wreathed by carbon dioxide layers, extremes to climate may prevail.
If only Earth's lungs cease being shrunk by profits heedless exploitation,
existing relationships are considered scarcely in these aberrations.
If only a solution for discarded synthetics which float in ugly hordes
on oceans global drifts, disaster occurs wherever it reaches landfall.
If only we can do something, a belated but resounding universal call,
If only we can safeguard the future before there are no options at all.
If only we could begin again and slow the ruinous pace... if only
If Only
M C Crowder
@scorsby
19th November 2018
Jan 2, 2019
Jan 2, 2019 at 12:00 PM UTC
When you come to my thoughts
You are none other than the billowy embodiment of a reminiscent memory
and also a current everlasting longing
You are the memory of a being or idea
one can feel and remember vividly
but can not zero in on,
for you are the intangible
the winding wind
You are those spiraling twines that place intermittent along grapevines
You are the ancient scrolls from wise days before paperback
You are the spin in the reaching center of a handcrafted wreath
And within all these
individualities and collective,
Lies your scent comprised of multiple scents
You are the mighty togetherness
Your arrival to earth escaping from birth
gave these words to the minds of the kind
You are the winding wind who spins and twines, wreathes and scrolls who lands from time to time and when you do drop for a spell
This location of harboring landfall
is a day of new tradition,
the first step you take on new land on that new day
Becomes the origin of a new holiday
In my thoughts you are the mortar of the earth
Dec 19, 2018
Dec 19, 2018 at 9:21 AM UTC
lovers forgo their faces
defacing in the act
mammering their information to unreadable smudges
they slur in kinetic fluctuation
experimenting material forms fray
each the others face is vented away
betray being human
no separated being
and then...
to return in the tender moments following
a bumbling landfall
then they are athletes
enamoured and praising of the other
flushed and radiating
having rushed the life from their breath
they heave in its return
Later in a **** trip down to the night kitchen
they forgo they faces in a foxes forage
hers ; over-lit by the fridge light
face thrown into a mask by extreme shaddows
his ; beyond this light in the dark
they are bodies
sneak children
the raider and the lookout
after many years make the familiar relation
her face disappears into a hand mirror
and his is pulled out
into a middle distance beyond the dresser
durred in thought and waiting for 'go'
to the restaurant tonite
or that career social that neither wishes to attend
- fell shy of Eden
Sep 11, 2022
Sep 11, 2022 at 8:48 PM UTC
It begins here.
In the percolating silence
that lingers behind gritted teeth--
the loose threads on denim jeans
that only ever gets cut,
the landfall that prays
for minimal casualties
except each body bag
contained pieces of your heart
he could no longer mend --
a slightly-timed confession.
The end begins in the way
the essence of the beginning
becomes foreign.
We know about length measurements
from school,
but kilometers or feet
do not weave the tapestry
in spaces between two people.
Distance,
we forget,
surpasses the cataract-like
tunneled notion of
merely its quantitative value.
I see it in the way you've forgotten
how to make me laugh.
How you've got a grip
on my hand
and yet
I'm still reaching out.
How we walk on eggshells
around each other,
and traded in words
for daggers
or words
that didn't matter
enough to land on ears
that swell to listen.
Ticking bombs,
deep sighs,
feeble temperament
waiting for the softest nudge
to topple the tower,
and you’ve predicted
the catastrophe
long before a tandem
of hot flesh
had turned cold,
and bruised,
and hurting.
The galaxies
in our eyes,
rusty,
no longer colliding
into sweet solace—
you’ll realize that
you’ll always be in the
losing end
where you flaunt your
vulnerability
in plain sight
like a mannequin
on the other side
of the looking glass.
Let me stay for a bit.
Let me mourn what’s passed
and cherish
whatever’s left.
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 6:24 PM UTC
A pirate sailed south, but too far.
The good ship's prow found
harbors filled with icebergs,
frolicking penguins and walruses:
it began to snow inside his mortal soul.
He dreamed of perfect white beaches,
warm sand, sunlight, palm trees
and (perhaps) a lovely French poet in a slight bikini
lolling like Erato on holiday.
He could taste the sun and coconut on her skin.
It was only a vision, but one worthy of a quest.
He preferred living dreams to dead conclusions.
Many people told him he dreamed too much,
to accept this landfall and be content.
But cold and darkness are not a pirate's lot
and contentment does not appear
in the official pirate's vocabulary.
Even an aging pirate holds true to course,
pinned like a medal to his longing and desire.
More sail, he cried, and turned the helm
toward the islands of his heart,
toward a landfall of warmth and color,
toward hot and willing flesh,
toward parrots and monkeys and blue skies.
Leaving the nay-sayers in the cold,
he headed the only direction a pirate can, further.
- mce
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 11:02 AM UTC
(Happy 150th, Canada!)
Canada Day - Just One?
With love from an ‘umble Yank
But every day is Canada Day!
The afternoon plane lands in Halifax
When the hatch is popped, cool air rushes in
Even the fog is happy in Canada
The Muskogee never made landfall here
And so we pilgrimage for her, complete
Her voyage from ’42 to Canada
Wolfville, Grand Pre’, Le Grande Derangement
The Deportation Cross and beer cans
Well, God forgive the Redcoats anyway
Newfoundland
Is a bold
Anapest
The church spires in a line, the light is green
The bold young captain shoots the narrows wild
Can you find your way to your painted house?
To walk again the cobbles of Ferryland
And smell the very blue of the Atlantic
The sea-blown wind is cold in Canada
Blue Puttees and a mourning Caribou
Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord
Good children sing “We love thee, Newfoundland”
Quebec – royal city of New France
May Le Bon Dieu bless the Plains of Abraham,
And may God bless
The signs an English driver cannot read
The Coca-Cola streets of Niagara Falls
Yanks laugh at made-in-China Mountie mugs
And buy them, happy to be in Canada
A cup of Toujours Frais from – well, that place
But to us in your southern provinces
Below Niagara, Tim too is Canada
Though Canada goes on, these scribbles must not -
Your grateful guest wishes only to say
That every happy day is Canada Day!
Jul 1, 2017
Jul 1, 2017 at 11:39 AM UTC
A pirate sailed south, but too far.
The good ship's prow found
harbors filled with icebergs,
frolicking penguins and walruses:
it began to snow inside his mortal soul.
He dreamed of perfect white beaches,
warm sand, sunlight, palm trees
and (perhaps) a lovely French poet in a slight bikini
lolling like Erato on holiday.
He could taste the sun and coconut on her skin.
It was only a vision, but one worthy of a quest.
He preferred living dreams to dead conclusions.
Many people told him he dreamed too much,
to accept this landfall and be content.
But cold and darkness are not a pirate's lot
and contentment does not appear
in the official pirate's vocabulary.
Even an aging pirate holds true to course,
pinned like a medal to his longing and desire.
More sail, he cried, and turned the helm
toward the islands of his heart,
toward a landfall of warmth and color,
toward hot and willing flesh,
toward parrots and monkeys and blue skies.
Leaving the nay-sayers in the cold,
he headed the only direction a pirate can, further.
- mce
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 8:05 PM UTC
Meteorologist had been predicting that Hurricane Harvey would hit the landfall of Texas shore
It’s a reality storm no one should ignore
Mighty winds and heavy rain hitting the Texas land
Warnings upon warnings being active in demand
Some people decided to remain in their homes
But during the storm no one will be able to roam
Now Hurricane Harvey could last for days
The two words of the day, “HOME STAY”
Hurricane Harvey has winds of 130 miles per hour
Now that is along of power
Hurricane Harvey is a strong alert
It offers no perk
Homes are being destroyed
The hurricane is treating homes and fixtures as if they were toys
This storm is no joy
How Great Thou Are comes to mind
Rain, Wind and Tornados all combined
A message to Texas and the world to kneel and pray
This is Heaven ‘s communication being their relay
My heart goes out to the citizens of Texas
I pray and hope the people survive
Trust in God and that is what will keep them alive
God’s amaze in what he gives
As Hurricane Harvey conquers on
My advice to the Texas citizens is to remain strong
Stick together in fellowship is what I am talking about
Sooner or later Hurricane Harvey will move out.
Aug 26, 2017
Aug 26, 2017 at 2:51 PM UTC
Standing straight in the swirling straits,
A bridge - now outdated - whose chains bear great weight and history,
Bejewelled with diamond raindrops that glisten in the winter sun,
Lending the old bridge the look of a semi-submerged crown.
This bridge is a source of pride to the islanders,
Many stories are told of it,
Some are true and some are legend,
But one tale lies inbetween:
That of a giant King chased from the island.
Forced to leap across the boiling straits,
Barely making landfall,
Falling backwards as he did so,
Watching in horror as his crown tumbled to the ground,
Falling into the grey waters.
Many years went by,
And modern ways demanded a bridge.
As foundations were laid a discovery made!
Upon the shore, deep in ancient mud,
Poked out a colossal rusting iron crown,
News broke!
Everyone spoke!
The story was true!
A giant King had once ruled!
So, in honour of this ancient King,
The design was amended to honour this crown,
And that is why this bridge, in profile,
Resembles the ancient coronet,
Found on the shore of the waters that the Romans failed to cross.
Of course, naysayers claim there was no crown,
Merely publicity seekers who found an old iron fence,
And who contrived a tale with willing locals.
Whichever is true,
The bridge is part of a glorious view,
And stories abound of its construction,
Like the man who walked the length of the chain,
Stopping halfway to take in the view whilst making a shoe!
Or of the maiden who swore that all who crossed would suffer a loss,
As great as they could ever imagine.
This bridge, whose beauty is unsurpassed,
Is now part of a glorious past of truths, lies and legends.
But forever it will stand,
And many more stories it shall inspire,
For it no longer simply links lands,
But now links truth and myth...
Am byth.
Sep 29, 2018
Sep 29, 2018 at 5:05 PM UTC
~
*I'm an exit wound
I'm a numinous obstacle
I'm about to make landfall
I'm about to break free
I'm a nerve ender
A fascinator
A purifier
A world populator
And I'm about to break through
I'm the push and pull
I'm a counter argument
I'm dissonance resistance
I'm viral replication
I'm about to break out
I'm a singularity
I'm a spark
I'm the perfect detonator
To mind and heart
And I'm about to break up
I'm a simulacra
I'm an oscillation
Made of breath only
I'm a living, moving imprint
Of what no longer is
Yet somehow seems to be*
~
Mar 15, 2025
Mar 15, 2025 at 2:02 PM UTC
there's an undying storm in my heart
it grows so tall
it reaches my throat
and chokes me
stealing my speech
and brewing rainfall
that pours in the form of tears
from my eyes
it twists and turns
to knot my stomach
enough to stop me from smiling
it screams in thunderstorms
so deafening they fill my head
like thoughts i'd rather not have—
there's no way of stopping it
but to wait and take cover
to hide and hold on
to every corner, every string
only to survive
but storms eventually calm
and reach landfall
my heart sees the horizon overhead
when the skies are clear
and i think to myself:
still, the good days rise,
still the good days rise.
May 17, 2017
May 17, 2017 at 3:00 PM UTC
High above the teetering mast
A shout long awaited is heard at last
"Land ** Land ** Straight ahead"
Across the sea, the mariners sped
The mass of land, close in range
Ominously, the winds have changed
The ship drops anchor a hundred yards out
Rowing in without a doubt
Making landfall, the ****** cheered
A great appraisal to Brown Beard
Gallivanting, their songs sung loud
Roused, the sea soughed
Ripping from the strenuous tides
The monster emerges, the sea divides
Crashing down upon the ship
Fearful men tighten their grip
Threshing about as the beast descends
Into the depths where the mirk never ends
Duped, the mariners take their last breath
Inhaling, the seas grant them their death
Bloated corpses resurfacing
The dubious island repositioning
Full, the gulls await
For the next to take the bate
May 10, 2010
May 10, 2010 at 8:44 AM UTC
Safe inside my beehive
Picking cobwebs off the honeycomb
At the heart of this shipwreck
The devil keeps me lukewarm
Suckin' out the red sea
Then parting ways with bad dreams
By way of a submarine ark
Carried by the gust of shooting stars
Boney fingers on the steering wheel
Fingernails dug into the leather
If the sky preaches parades
We'll be in for nasty weather
Landfall calls for mongrels
On crippled horses
Salivating for a sister of mercy
Or any kind of company
Erase me, help me
Before he gets me
I've never seen his face
Just his mafioso posturing
Push me, pull me
Let the sirens scream
I'm too scared to sleep
In the jaws of the peripheral
Sep 13, 2011
Sep 13, 2011 at 11:32 PM UTC
A wrinkle in time; in that moment you laughed and then the moment passed me by
In that exact moment your laugh caught my eye;
Then I saw shooting stars making landfall on to the surface of Mars
The echoes of your laugh spiralled out of control in to my mind’s eye and lit up my soul
Entire parallel universes in their corresponding dimensions unwrapped in warp time & light speeds
You were setting me up for the inevitable fall
The fall that would come eventually and in the next moment I fell
Head over heels in love you could tell- so much it hurts
An epiphany - you are not the only woman for me in this world followed by this catharsis
But you are the only one for me in the entire multiverse;
But all these revelations took place in a parallel dimension on a mirror earth on a counter ecosphere
Because in this cosmos I never heard your laugh
Never saw shooting stars, create craters on Mars
Just as you left your impression on my heart;
But sadly in this time line you never caught my eye
Hence in this realm all these moments just passively passed me by
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 1:04 PM UTC
I'll tell you a tale
of our own Devil's Island
and the demonic crash
of the waves in a swell,
the smell and the taste
of the ball-breaking weather
the ghosts that deliver
poor sailors to Hell.
We were out in the water
amongst our Magdalens
the wind plucked the ropes
of our rigging at sea
we looked for a port
and saw many lights flashing
“that's old Devil's Island,”
said the skipper to me.
Ghosts began hurling
their fierce imprecations
to “come to the Island
safe landfall to thee”
but the skipper turned round
the ship with a vengeance
“that old Devil's Island
will never catch me.”
I thought he was mad
to be scared of a legend
it was my first time
in a storm on the sea
and two men washed over
to Davey Jone's Locker
“God bless 'em, they'll rest now”
the skip said to me.
Protesting the treatment
of two forlorn sailors
I said to the skipper
“It's not good to tell”
“It's better,” he said,
“that they're resting in Heaven
than entering into the portals of Hell.”
Winds lasted the night
then the voices did falter
the lights blinkered out
and I saw very well
so many rocks jagged
just waiting to smash us
The Devil's Isle gateways
await in the swell
If you're on a ship
and the voices of demons
come tell you it's safe
in their harbor alee
remember the shoreline
at old Devil's Island
then turn the ship seaward
and gracelessly flee.
Jun 20, 2012
Jun 20, 2012 at 6:38 PM UTC
Her heart sunk into a half moon
before fully disappearing from view.
Her head hung the way clothes do
from coat hangers
and no words could be said
to raise these organized thoughts
into some holy clarity.
She wept now
not for the lack of love,
but an abundance of it
and it ate at her illusionary ego
the way venues of vultures do cadavers.
Warm blood glazed on their beaks
in exhausting Saharan heat.
Hardly a reason to ruffle feathers
for the scavengers who have come to eat.
His words gushed in devious waves
like raging oceans unsure
of the storm still far from landfall
but she saw through the salty cover
of his convoluted spoken screeds
to see the tsunami approaching
with such ferocity.
"Are you breaking up with me?"
her voice trembled
like the echoing hiss of a violin
as it struck its final cord
in an auditorium of empty seats.
His lecture ceased,
he had yet to reach the conclusion
she had foreseen for several weeks.
The silence grew between them
calming both wind and sea.
The tidal wave would have demanded
rebuilding and temporary peace
but the nothingness arrives
on the hushed breath of the heavens,
bringing with it both
the ship from Delos
and the poison hemlock ****
He drank of it,
thus his love of her succumb
to everlasting sleep.
It becomes but a past life,
only to visit him in haunting dreams.
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 12:06 AM UTC
Forgetting the glances,
the long dark drift
of glistening dewy webs
spread in the misty dawn
Sound as thin as air
Soft, like filmy frost
that rimes the windows
on icy mornings
A tune as quiet as breathing
labyrinths of colour
without landfall
or metaphor
Letting go
to idle and float
From the surf sea sands
Into the fathomless ocean
No strut or clasp
but in its place,
the soul can rise
in all the washing wonder of the world
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 7:36 PM UTC
Canada Day? Just One?
With love from an ‘umble Yank
But every day is Canada Day!
The afternoon plane lands in Halifax
When the hatch is popped, cool air rushes in
Even the fog is happy in Canada
The Muskogee 1 never made landfall here
And so we pilgrimage for her, completing
Her voyage from ’42 to Canada
Wolfville, Grand Pre’, Le Grande Derangement
The Deportation Cross and beer cans
Well, God forgive the Redcoats anyway
Newfoundland
Is a bold
Anapest
The church spires in a line, the light is green
The bold young captain shoots the narrows wild
Can you find your way to your painted house?
To walk again the cobbles of Ferryland
And smell the very blue of the Atlantic
The sea-blown wind is cold in Canada
Blue Puttees and a mourning Caribou
Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord
Good children sing “We love thee, Newfoundland”
Quebec – royal city of New France
May Le Bon Dieu bless the Plains of Abraham,
And may God bless
The signs an English driver cannot read
The Coca-Cola streets of Niagara Falls
Yanks laugh at made-in-China Mountie mugs
And buy them, happy to be in Canada
A cup of Toujours Frais from – well, that place
But to us in your southern provinces
Below Niagara, Tim too is Canada
Though Canada goes on, these scribbles must not –
Your grateful guest wishes only to say
That every happy day is Canada Day!
Jul 1, 2018
Jul 1, 2018 at 9:35 AM UTC
That's the one I was talking about
When he broke your heart and your only escape was the keyboard?
I was listening
I'm being the best brother I can
But we've all got hiccups
And the choppy waters never end
The best we can do is to wait for
Landfall and hold onto hope until the world swallows us
Again and makes us into something new
But I see an awakening for you
In these coming months
So please, don't let go
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 2:15 AM UTC
the camera is blind. the blind
my dog
is going.
in my mother’s sleep
I am kind
to think
she lost it.
a foreign adoption, a procured act
of landfall.
I bomb my lifelong
dollish
sense
of the photogenic…
the dogs were fat, the ticks were full.
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 11:04 AM UTC
As sleep slips over,
Whilst muscles melt unmoving
Snow drifts rising slowly
Doorways disappearing,
I watched idle hours pass
Just hoping you'd return .
---------------------------------------------------------
The afterglow gone
The days short/stars dim seemingly/this is only January
A gentle thaw starts/cloud formation broken as/
cold ground soften slowly
In between seasons/march in the middle/
easter around the corner
----------------------------------------—---------------------------
through out the evening
the sea swelled seemingly
brimming saying something
sailors staring safe inside
communication cut
the snow white foam made landfall
salt smelling scene
before them
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 7:36 AM UTC
There’s been so much bad luck
Blowing in the gales of life,
The sails of my happiness are
Tattered and won’t hold the wind.
Life has long been such a heavy load
My little boat is listing
And it needs to be rebalanced.
I have stores of ballast, so
My little craft won’t sink.
My twisted fingers still can hold
A needle to mend the spinnaker.
The tiller isn’t broken and
The rudder still steers true.
I can see the distant shore
And the tide is lifting me.
Soon I will make landfall and be safe
ljm
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 2:15 PM UTC
emptiness looking for tenants
a library with no books
being read
but full of people talking.
the starfish dancing
in whirlpools of fire
slabs of light underbelly
spineless me
reading landfall
lurking in other poet minds
watching metaphors
like meteors
bounce off innocent images
some ******* will graffiti
the walls and windows
we will need to decipher those squiggles
as art
guessing. guessing
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 2 months ago
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 5:11 PM UTC
It took until now
thin and mid 20s
to comprehend
that as a child I was
and as an adult
still very much am
spoiled
little childhood
traumas to mine
no festering drama
no shrouded mess
calm can bury like a
gravity blanket
too hot or too cold
I complain
I have never clawed
at my belly in hunger
felt my body
fall off in jeweled
pieces but I have
at times been
hungry
adulthood is a lake
blue black and endless
rife with mudtraps
brimming with viperheads
scraping at the surface water
I am spoiled
I have not known pain
but I knew a person
whose eyes prodded
like nails through jello
my insides and cut
tendrils of muscle
and delighted in the
stitching back
the pushing of
needle through
meaty bits
some time after
I was grown
but flailing madly
as a comet poised
for landfall
a beetle in
a dust storm
a child with its
first scraped knee
my flesh yearns
for the needle
and for skin all
smooth and
scarred and
like the color of night
singing
like the color of night
like sky like light
a rapturous blue
Mar 27, 2019
Mar 27, 2019 at 9:52 PM UTC