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Latitude: 34.51568, Longitude: 73.83959, Distortion: 1.47
Latitude: -55.75275, Longitude: -162.80105, Distortion: 3.16
Latitude: -63.20148, Longitude: 9.12396, Distortion: 4.92
Latitude: 65.70301, Longitude: -71.14915, Distortion: 5.91
Latitude: 18.09456, Longitude: 15.61721, Distortion: 1.11
Latitude: -26.99301, Longitude: -41.85667, Distortion: 1.26
Latitude: -83.60173, Longitude: 81.75023, Distortion: 80.52
Latitude: 35.58573, Longitude: -108.76813, Distortion: 1.51
Ann Beaver Aug 2013
Somehow the world
Has a vague flavor of you
Is this déjà Vũ?
I burn my mind
Looking for the memory
Location
Latitude
Longitude
Of where I went wrong
It is nowhere
And everywhere
At the same time.

All I want is to understand
Your mind
All I want is for you to forgive
My mind
The way I forgive
Your body.
Criss Jami May 2014
Lately
What I do is a vacancy with
A disposition made just for me and it's
In a position that they can't see, you see
In deep blue seas
There's the place where a vacation is free for me

And then you dream in peace

So call me maybe the ghost protocol where most of those photos of all the things I do
Are used as prototypes, baby so-called clues of my new call to move where-
In everywhere and wherever and with whomever and whenever which
Is whosoever or whoever's whichever of whatever, for all of you
Whether the weather's a typhoon in-
Cluding the SoCal blues but
This isn't all I do
It's just that it's my call of duty
On a mission for all of what's true
But without bailing, balling or brawling in her suit
And then failing, falling, bawling and calling and then crawling in pursuit

Like some other subliminal, minimal flukes
'Cause it's done much better than those "lyrical, miracle, spiritual, individual and criminal" dudes
Or bitter, fritter critiques with the use of twitters
In order to refute the fullest of all hippo-critical fools and critters sitting and fitting
Itching to switch to snitching about this glitch
Which is hitched to renewing, stitching and gluing our fitches to truth and
And yes without twitching to their witch's magical, musical flute

Then in lieu of the altitude of the attitude rude of my pirate-like crew's mood
Whether longitude or latitude and more than impractical platitudes
I'm not as irate as I seem al-
Though it ensues that right on cue in due
Time with an aptitude of gratitude and exactitude in
Solitude throughout fortitude or servitude, to allude what you elude and dude
To intrude what you conclude with certitude in an interview interlude and now
Then out of you, under coveralls to view the overall outerlude
I rate the magnitudes of the habitudes it seems you take for granted in dreams and all types of things

And though my soul is a hologram
Hollow weight and zero grams
Hero traits with a villain glam I'm
The man of love and that of
One of the toughest clams above
Or below, I should say
Like Poseidon
Oh baby we ride on
Or sail on, should I say
The ghost of Poseidon

Then in lieu of the attitude of my pirate-like crew
I'm not as irate as I seem or
Even irritated as they deem nor
Norse, Thor or a heart of granite
I rate the things we take for granted, granted far asleep
Stereo-hyped in dreams with all heights of wings and

Although my soul is a hologram
Hollow weight and zero grams
Hero traits with the chill of a villain vibe or glam I'm
The anti-hero, champion of love and that of
One of the toughest clams clamping it above
Or below, I should say
Like Poseidon
Oh baby we're riding
Or sailing, I should say and it's

It's the ghost of Poseidon that's
That's trailed night and day
The ghost of Poseidon that's
That's trailed night and day 'cause
They say, I did it my way then they're
On my tail right away
On my tail right away
Adam Aug 2014
if you're lost without               direction
i will be one of maybe             just a few        
i can be    your  own                compass                  
let me        encompass          you, when
direction       is unknown       my arms
are a                 place to                move,
come                    in enjoy the warmth
for i                           will always face
north                            straight true
                          
when your life is all recessions
and really all  depressions  too
let me be
your
compass
let me come encompass you
your Longitude and Latitude are
all thrown
in a muck
let me get you to a place,
where you wont feel so stuck


               The tropic of cancer
       Is not a place for one to linger
  if you need to             grab my hand
hold on like i'm               your stringer
   when you cant                
       gasp another
           breathe and    
               there   isn't
                   anything
                       you  can do
come, and          let me be your    
compass,                let me come  
  and                        encompass you
   every sigh                  you relieve      
     will help                    find you on
          the map,                 and every
             time you             squeeze
                my hands, will help
                      you to relax
                      

this world is                     full of                     problems, one
thing that im                for sure, so                lets forget all
  the complacent           and replace               them with
    something               more,      wipe           away your
       tears you              wont         need        them where  
          we are          going.             if your    lost ill be
           your paddles                         we can find the
            way together                          and just like
              a little                                   compass ill
              be here                                     forever
none
Corey Nov 2014
I took the trip around the world
About a hundred times
Before I saw
That no matter how many times you do it
You can still find a reason
To keep doing it

I took the trip around the world
Once
Before I thought I had seen it all

I took the trip around the world
Ninety-nine more times
Because I wanted to see it all again

Turns out
One hundred trips
Has been no where near enough
To see the world

How naive I was to think
One trip was enough

And so I’ll take the trip around the world
One hundred more times
So I can see the world anew
See it from a different longitude
Nat Lipstadt Apr 2014
Conjunction:
a small class of words distinguished in many languages by their function as connectors between words, phrases, clauses, sentences

- the act of conjoining; combination; the state of being conjoined; union; association:

- a compound proposition that is true if and only if all of its component propositions are true.

- the coincidence of two or more heavenly bodies at the same celestial longitude.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I am in a relationship.

a colorless word
a word of no clarity
a good one? a bad one?
a professional deal,
or one that makes you squeal
with pleasure or despair

without context or content,
a description of a status,
not a state,
but a quid pro quo

I prefer
I am in a conjunction

well recall the day
our orbits
more than crossed,
but synchronized,
when two bodies
began to travel
upon the same longitude
one direction
in conjunction

t'was the day we coordinated
on our mobile phone,
co-configured our future,
our calendars


nowadays,
I answer her questions
while she is commencing to think,
when her foolishness prevails,
she questions, "did you remember to..."
my answer, a question returned,
connected, constant and conjunctive,

"and what's my name?"
an answer conveying constancy

relationship
oft the farthest place from logical,
but you know that,
say I am in a conjunction
and the logicians will celebrate
the end of your lonely celibacy,
well they understand the truth
inherent in and of and about
your compounded proposition


what unimaginative creatures we be,
dispensing with beauty for factuality,
but facts are easily misread,
your fact and my fact, relationship,
the exact same fact, conveys neither
an agreement as to what that means

are we unionized, associated, or conjoined
what is the quality of
our related ships?


so
Dear Mr. Zuckerberg,
amend my status please,
post me
as being in a state of:
a) conductivity b) connectivity c) concoctive

no, none of those
capture
what we have
captured,
so let create a new state,
a new world,
using a very old world word
post us as follows,
"Nat is in a conjunction"
No swooning allowed
Alaia Jan 2013
I always thought one day I’d write something worth reading
So far, just lines and lines, used up catchphrases
I slumber in the pine needles and breathe in the scent of cut
Juniper
Bathe in the shadow of sundials as the day fades, turns smiles to
moonlit slumber
In the green grass among the dead leaves I lay my head and listen to
leaves changing color
On the cold sand I listen to high tide turn to low, the rolling of the rocks and the
breaking waves of foam
The birds in the trees sing of bamboo forests in her backyard, blue room where she
collected rocks and lucky charms
Books with pages torn out, arrowheads she found in the field, a feather in
her hair
Pale blue eyes which reflected my dullness, reading Camus by the door
She used to read to me, when the sun was sinking and my head was spinning from the
last cigarette
And hold me like a child, hold me with my eyes shut and my lungs screaming to speak one
simple phrase
To grab the pen, to open my eyes and speak symbols onto the page, make my ballpoint
sing
To read a word worth reading, to write a line worth writing, this is my desire
Gary Lewis Oct 2013
Erebus disaster - November zulu niner zero one
November zulu niner zero one
This is Vanda Station.
We have clear weather with no cloud and little wind.
If you want to fly over the dry valleys we will flash you with our signal mirrors so you can pinpoint the station.

Vanda Station, this is NZ niner zero one
Roger, we are now just north of Cape Hallett and will call you again for directions.
November Zulu Niner zero one Vanda Station.
Roger It’s a right hand turn just after Beaufort Island.

For the next few hours
There was no word
worst feared not heard
The radio crackled through the night
In the un natural sound of SSB
All crew up drinking coffee and tea
with the midnight sun
Glued to the HF single sideband
November zulu niner zero one
November zulu niner zero one
This is
mac centre mac centre
howcopy
November zulu niner zero one
This is
vanda station vanda station
five four zero zero
Relay relay mac centre mac centre
Please contact mac centre eight niner niner sefen
Contact mac centre eight niner niner sefen
Relay relay mac centre
Contact mac centre eight niner niner sefen howcopy

All through the night
Over and over
Hour after hour
The same message
Until that fateful call
Feared by all
Mac centre mac centre
This is
navy three two one
wreckage sighting wreckage sighting howcopy

mac centre
navy three one niner
Longitude
One six sefen
Two sefen echo

Latitude
Sefen six
Two six sierra
howcopy
Mac centre mac centre
This is
Navy three two one
Correction Correction
I say again latitude
I say again Latitude
Sefen sefen
Two six sierra
howcopy
Mac centre
Navy three two one
Ahh ahh mac centre There appear to be no survivors
Howcopy
So it was then,
That the on board data longitude error some would blame for the crash
Is something that happens often but is accommodated by good airmanship
by not relying on one thing alone.
was repeated in similar fate
by a latitude error
in the crash site location message
from the search aircraft XD01-48321
that found a terrible sight
that the sun stayed up on late
on a truly awful night
when 257 souls met their fate.
©GARY LEWIS.2009
Dondaycee Sep 2017
I just wanted freedom,
I’m not talking about rights, that’s irrelevant.
We just wanted freedom,
As in the youth wanting better ways for development.
I’m speaking on the behalf of those unaware of their intelligence,
Those who discovered their element but kept the closet shut.
Afraid to offer the clothes on their back,
They’ll say it’s confidence we lack,
But here’s the ugliest fact,
We don’t open doors with skeletons.
Unless it’s Halloween, where dark and light are in resonance,
Yin and Yang, beauty is ugly and ugly is beauty, humorous medicine.
I have a testament, that if the morals in this holiday were a measurement of 365 days, it would be evident according to my estimate, that unity and love would be proper etiquette, excellent because even the dark would be perceived as heaven-sent.
The terms evil and hell would then be indefinite allowing a person to open a door with a skeleton as a cause without the effect being bedevilment.
That’s freedom.
Some have it in the day, most find it at night.
It could be with family or with friends.
A celebration of a season, or a reason to escape a thing we call life.
A venting conversation after empty bottles,
A sleep over when home is hostile,
They say happiness is in the moment,
I say that moment occurs when you’re no longer in a position to fight,
For a home, a place of comfort and acceptance,
A place where your company is appreciated,
We all need love, that warm feeling we get when standing in light,
Or the uplifting vibrations when the environment opens up, and you’re no longer forced to sit tight but now have the opportunity of standing up to take flight.
We deserve some freedom.
I used to feel alone,
With awareness that term became solitude,
I can’t crave attention after joining the mission,
I had to look in the mirror,
“Keep it together” said Kyi,
“Because this is a solid move”
But but, I’m losing my friends.
“You’re choosing your men.”
“A positive team,
Because that’s what knowledge do”
“Here’s a time reference using latitude.”
“Move forward, chase the rabbit food,
Clear vision with a positive attitude.”
“Moving West to east may feel like you’re leaving things behind,
But understand earth and understand time,
We circle back around, think of a birthday, there will always be a time when you're gonna look back at you.”
“That’s a rapid move.
These are states of Matter, going from solid to gas,
A caged bird ready to fly, that’s a cockatoo.”
“Atoms aren’t alone, eventually they meet others,
There’s a bigger picture, that’s a molecule.”
“Don’t feel alone, atoms go through solitude when there’s a column move, solid to gas-”
-a solid move-
“- but in our case, a change in longitude,
Because we’re shifting our consciousness from 3rd to 5th dimension.”
I understand the magnitude of the mission, that’s why we made this decision,
No need to crave attention when acting with promptitude,
Like minded people will act as a molecule and help constitute  a solid move in longitude, breaking the physical is an important attribute, analytical travel route, an atom moving towards freedom in its absolute-
“Knowledge acting as carrots, erasing ignorance, clearing the vision for an Omni move.”
The conscious battles to become the subconscious, the freedom to be all of me instead of part of me, that’s a body move.
Freedom is all I wanted,
Freedom is all we wanted,
Being labeled Millennials was the outcome,
It’s not life but these systems we’re trying to out run.
They look at suicide like, “What went wrong?”
“She looked so happy…”
Or “How did he feel alone.”
Freedom is when you have a home,
If I’m talking and you’re listening, that’s being heard,
But if you can’t understand it, there’s no meaning in the word,
That’s a failure in communication, standing without a herd I’d still be on my own.
If anything, the previous generations don’t understand emotions,
Feeling empty is indeed a deep feeling.
They say there’s not much in the bottom of the ocean,
I say dive,
“But Daycee we can’t the pressure will crush us.”
Now you see why suicide is chosen,
We dive, looking for something we know is there, unaware of the pressure, we get crushed by our own emotions.
These are powerful feelings and thoughts,
We see the insanity and what was lost in erosion.
Try to understand us, don’t try to change us, just like those whom predates emphasize, “Don’t blame us.” We must change a system that caused the previous generations to be broken, if anything our generation is bringing hope in, refusing to be above or below one, our words if anything are the greatest ever spoken,
We need people to understand us, not just listen, because these systems aren’t working,
Einstein said “A problem can’t be solved with the same consciousness that created it”, so don’t point fingers at us saying “Millennials” and that we were always given ****, when we’re the group that gave a **** about the world and the people that hated it and attempted change by not doing the same thing over and over again, innovative because we’re some creative kids,
I hope this is provoking because ****** we are special, specifically chosen,
To bring back balance and unity in consciousness that the ignorant and insane broken,
I am here to bring freedom,
Because freedom is something we all need,
The millennials are here to bring freedom,
Because it’s the one thing we all see,
The brothers and sisters we lost heard it call from the bottom of the sea,
Our ancestors want us to bring back freedom that was lost in waters but remained in gene,
Freedom is a kingdom we’re bringing where all is free.
Titanic-Lover Aug 2013
If you didn't know my story,but saw me in a book,
You'd read my name and wonder,then take a second look.
A shadow of my former beauty,I've been ruined by many years,
The things that have happened to me always bring on many tears.
I do not hide my sadness,for it is fresh and always there,
As I wait here so very lonely in my sunless Atlantic lair.
My poor,proud body is rotting away,there is nothing I can do,
Except hope maybe one day,equality will be given me too.
I recall a sadness filled day within my lonely dark,
When a plastic cup came floating down,and on my tomb left a mark.
That was one of many times I would give up and cry,
For human cruelness hurt me so,I got this rather than 'good-bye'.
I do not hardly recognize myself anymore,I say it not to be vain,
I say it with truth and exactness,to my heart welled up with pain.
Some people truly love me,for them I'm truly greatful,
Others regard me as a rusty ship with eyes that bespeak hateful.
I cannot help what happened to me,they just don't understand,
I once had a heart adventurous that would lead a career grand.
My hopeful life was ended in the year of 1912,
And my dreams,visions and pride-filled youth to the bottom delved.
I was told that youth and beauty would get me far in life,
And with these assets I proudly boasted,I knew nonesuch called 'strife'.
Throughout the tumble and crash of waves rode my lean body's length,
I reveled many times over in my satisfying,thrilling strength!
****
On the evening tide of the 14th,I saw the iceberg  true,
A handsome,glittering,ethreal prince,what was a lonely girl to do?
I rushed as fast as could be allowed to greet this glacier born one,
Eager to introduce myself and rid forlornness akin to a ton.
But when I came up closer,my heart he did stab,
With that glittering,icy spellbinding look,'twas my start of being sad.
He tore into my body,bringing unsurmountable pain,
What was the purpose of such cruelty,what could he possibly gain?
And on the night my life ended,I travelled my beloved sea no longer,
Death so young,in such a way,could life be any wronger?
I hoped so much I would not perish in a life that did just start,
Yet hopes were banished by the truths of a rapidly weakening heart.
I tried to wait as long as I could to save my passengers dear,
But the ending for so many of us was soon becoming near.
I didn't want to say farewell to the things I did love so,
And yet time was running short,and I wanted them to know:

Olympic,my lovely sister,I hope your life is a promise true,
Of many voyeurs across oceans wide,a charmer you are too.
Treasure the sun's bounty that warms the evening's chill,
And know throughout your entire life,my love is with you still.
Enjoy the satisfaction of your beauty and strength even when in dock you sit,
For a day may come anytime,and a single moment end it.
Show the Captain you are bold-bold,lovely and free,
But do not toss caution in the spray thrown off the sea.
I trust you not to be lonely in travels near and far,
For my ghost is always with you,just look up at a star.
When days come to you and a disconsolate thought you may think,
Remember the unconditioning love of a sister who'd "Never Sink".
Remember my love at morning,remember it at night,
Remember it these coming days I will no longer be in your sight.
I love you,Fair Olympic,in wordless,heartfelt ways,
Your memory I shall treasure in my saddened,sunless days.

I rest on a sandy sea bottom,amongst accoutrements of life,
From an unforgettable day when I learned the meaning of strife.
The earth has covered the stab the iceberg in my side did maim,
But despite that all,the hurt in my heart did stain.
I relive in over and over,wishing it were just a dream,
Yet awaken to the truths to know,my broken funnels have no more steam.
The way I landed in this grave,I look like I shall sail ahead,
But,that is all a fantasy,my once-strong body is dead.
It will not go anywhere,today or ever again,
I am helpless to the trash that falls upon me from heartless men.
The ship that sail above me hold people bright and gay,
Who do not know the sorrows that were on a 15th of April day.
They sail on to their destination,thinking nothing of me,
Who haunts the very waves they ride on my beloved Atlantic sea.
They dream of their days ahead,cheerful and free of plight,
Disregarding any notion of a nightmarish Hadean night.
They dance,they revel and throw trash over the side,
Where it floats down eventually onto the Ocean's Queen who has died.
They do not know of an iceberg with a sinister,laughing gaze,
And who pleasured in so knowing he ended my happy days.
They do not know of terror,of the ocean flooding ones' heart,
They do not know suffering for a ship breaking apart.
They do not know the agony of bading goodbye,
To the sunshine and a beloved sister who would never,ever lie.
They stand aboard a breezy bow,above the white waves foam,
Knowing soon,within a few days,they will be going home.
They seem to forget I belonged somewhere once too,
My home wasn't supposed to be an ocean floor,far from the sky's blue.
They do not know I've loved,they do not know I've cared,
They do not know the pain in my heart,that in scrapping,my sister wasn't spared.
They are the people who have this phrase float off their lips:
"Olympic and Titanic ,they are little more than ships!"
You humans claim you hold a bond to those you love so dear,
How different is it for me,I ask,with my sister built so near?
There is so much out there for those to remember me,
But my poor,sweet sister is forgotten,plunged into ocean history.
When you recall me,try to think of her too,
Bring her alive within your heart,I leave it up to you.
Years have passed,times have changed,though down here it's the same,
I am still the great Titanic,though my bow no longer says my name.
Some people who have discovered me have been respecting and kind,
I shall never give up my secrets,but their visits I don't mind.
Then,there are others,who ravage me to know,
They steal my finery,what is rightly mine;how can they hurt me so?
Although I do not mind some visits,I am now accustomed to the dark,
For the lights they shine upon me are so horribly bold and stark.
I am now part of this sea for one-hundred and one years strong,
All stemming from an April night when the most horrible went wrong.
The rust that drapes off me,some people say are like tears,
And,partially they are,my dearest friend,of the sorrows of many years.
The ocean floor is somber,the ocean floor is cold,
All the more unpleasant for a girl who's growing old.
My song it is of truth,to show that life is not a game,
But,treasure it every minute you can,all the very same.
It may be pleasant,it may be sorrow,
But,hold close the day you live in,think not heavily of a 'morrow.
I thought I'd have a tomorrow too,as I sit here in my grave,
I had a tomorrow,yes indeed,but not in a life-filled way.
I rest under these bitter waves,a melancholy heart is mine,
A shadow of my former beauty,a ghost of the White Star Line.
In the Aprils of today,on the dancing surf above,
My soul rises up to haunt the sea I love.
My soul is not marred by tears,fright and rust,
Whole and in perfection,before my death it's just.
At the latitude and longitude of that long ago day,
I have stopped many a vessel,so,remember me that may.
The scrapping of my sister,the sinking of me,
Life ended none too kind for both Queens of the Sea.
Remember us,gay vacationers,as you gaze up at a cloud,
For Titanic and Olympic,death 'twas not proud.....

I rest under these bitter waves,
A melancholy heart is mine,
We are remnants of our former beauty,
We are the ghosts of the
WHITE STAR LINE...
This poem is dedicated to my beloved Royal Mail Steamship 'Titanic',and her more forgotten,yet beautiful sister,Olympic. Never shall the sea be host to two finer ocean liners.
Gary Lewis Oct 2013
Erebus disaster - November zulu niner zero one
November zulu niner zero one
This is Vanda Station.
We have clear weather with no cloud and little wind.
If you want to fly over the dry valleys we will flash you with our signal mirrors so you can pinpoint the station.

Vanda Station, this is NZ niner zero one
Roger, we are now just north of Cape Hallett and will call you again for directions.
November Zulu Niner zero one Vanda Station.
Roger It’s a right hand turn just after Beaufort Island.

For the next few hours
There was no word
worst feared not heard
The radio crackled through the night
In the un natural sound of SSB
All crew up drinking coffee and tea
with the midnight sun
Glued to the HF single sideband
November zulu niner zero one
November zulu niner zero one
This is
mac centre mac centre
howcopy
November zulu niner zero one
This is
vanda station vanda station
five four zero zero
Relay relay mac centre mac centre
Please contact mac centre eight niner niner sefen
Contact mac centre eight niner niner sefen
Relay relay mac centre
Contact mac centre eight niner niner sefen howcopy

All through the night
Over and over
Hour after hour
The same message
Until that fateful call
Feared by all
Mac centre mac centre
This is
navy three two one
wreckage sighting wreckage sighting howcopy

mac centre
navy three one niner
Longitude
One six sefen
Two sefen echo

Latitude
Sefen six
Two six sierra
howcopy
Mac centre mac centre
This is
Navy three two one
Correction Correction
I say again latitude
I say again Latitude
Sefen sefen
Two six sierra
howcopy
Mac centre
Navy three two one
Ahh ahh mac centre There appear to be no survivors
Howcopy
So it was then,
That the on board data longitude error some would blame for the crash
Is something that happens often but is accommodated by good airmanship
by not relying on one thing alone.
was repeated in similar fate
by a latitude error
in the crash site location message
from the search aircraft XD01-48321
that found a terrible sight
that the sun stayed up on late
on a truly awful night
when 257 souls met their fate.
©GARY LEWIS.2009
Titanic-Lover Aug 2013
The new ship sails by me,callous with behavior cruel,
Churning up the blackening waves,racing through nights' cool.
Paying not a bit of heed to me waiting by
Who watches their every move with disapproving eye.
They know who I am,they do know my name,
But they sail by me in haughty manner all the very same.
They think I am an old girl,and therefore are not wise,
True,I may be old,but I do not speak of lies.
Those ships would learn a lot from me if they merely heard,
What I would tell them in a few and simple words.
I will tell you new ships what I know in my very heart,
Listen closely to me and my words shall never part.

My decks were long and pleasurable,filled with a gentle breeze,
I was once the most beautiful on all seven seas.
People laughed aboard my decks,stood upon my bow,
But that was so long ago,no one is on me now.
No one gazes out my windows,
No one sweeps down my elegant stairs,
No lady stands before my mirrors to comb her long brown hair.
No men laugh within my parlors,
No one greets in my grand rooms.
No one is aboard me at all,Young Ship,
For I am but a tomb.
Children once laughed within my halls,
Gaily twirling a top,
Young lovers stood on Boat-Deck,wishing I'd never stop.
But,no one laughs within my halls,
Not a soul spins a top,
No lovers stand on Boat-Deck wishing I'd never stop.
The laughter echoes within my halls.
From so long ago,
I think I hear it once again,
Yet,it's the winds' whistling,I know.
I long to hear the children's joy,
The felicity of their glee,
I know though within my sorrowed heart,
No one is here but me.
The haunting call of the wind
Makes me ill at ease.
I do not regard it now as a gentle,pleasurable breeze.
It reminds me no one is with me,
It reminds me I am alone,
It's chilling echoes frighten me
Right down to my old,steel bones.
No one sits to play cards in my Grand Saloon,
No one is with me at all,Young Ship,
I am just a tomb.

No one waltzes gaily
To the pleasures of my band.
No one stands at my stern
To bade farewell to their homeland.
No one sits in deck chairs
Where they'd see the sun the most.
No one is aboard me at all,Young Ship,
I,myself,am a ghost.
No one stands within a room
To qualm a child's fear.
No one is with me at all,Young Ship,
Do not grow uneasy from my tear.
I have cried many times over,
And will for many years more.
I am struck with this painful truth
That settles in my heart's core.
Do not recoil from what
This old 'unwise' girl shall say,
Remember it always as you command the ocean's lay.

I once had people aboard me that thought such happy dreams,
But now my heart echoes with their
Hopeless screams.
I am so very lonely,Young Ship,
I dream of what could of been on distant land,
I dream of being draped with flower garlands
If things had gone as planned.
Why did it happen to me,Young Ship?
Why did I endure such coldhearted fault?
I had a life of promise,
Which drew to a rapid halt.
I sit here upon these wind-whipped waves
Dreaming of the joyful days of yore,
Remembering the grandeur I gave the people
Who are with me no more.
I remember my splendid glory,
Yet,you only see the dregs of time.
I recall my glossy-painted grandness,
You see only the slime.
Young Ship,I once was different,
Than this unpleasentness that greets your eye.
I once was pretty and strong,
Not haunted by despondent cries.
In my heart,I am not festooned with ribbons of rust,
The souls that were with me have not dissolved
To dust.
Within my heart,they are alive,
As life-filled as can be.
They be not anchored by Death
On the bottom of the sea.
My heart may be saddened,
My body may be old,
But,be mindful of any voyage you take,
Be not brash and bold.
Remember it,you Young Ship,
What I say to the letter.
Remember the words of an aged lady,
Whose life has not got better.

No one gazes up at clouds
Or marvels at my steam.
No one is with me at all,Young Ship,
I'm remembering a centuries old dream.
No one stands aft at stern
To smile at the sun.
No one sings of happy days,
For their life and mine is done.
The flash of lightening illumines me
At my forever post.
Then,all darkens yet again
Around my weary ghost.

I remember the clink of glasses,
Of people giving a toast.
Their joyful hearts were so glad,
I felt honored to be their host.
Light glittered like diamonds
From my grand chandeliers.
People marveled at their glimmer,
There was no weight of fear.
My heart grows so happy
When I remember the life I had,
But the sparkle of it's beauty fades when I know the bad.
Then,the picture fades away,
There's no more glimmer or gleam.
I am upon a lonely ocean
Without a power called steam.
I am stuck at the longitude
And latitude of my demise,
'UNSINKABLE!",they said.
They told me nothing but lies.
Young Ship,I could go on forever
About the short pleasures this heart did know.
But,you do not wait for always.
You must leave me and go.
You must leave me,Young Ship,
Alone again-without company.
I will sit still in my place
Gazing out on a endless sea.
I wish you didn't have to be so haughty,
I wish you wouldn't glare and flee,
I wish that you'd be nice to an old ship,
For there are no more ships like me.
But,you are not nice,Young Ship,
Nor are your relatives who confidently ply
The seas I wait over.
They don't even say 'good-bye'.
I watch you as you retreat
To the setting sun.
I have told you all I can tell you,
My message is nearly done.
There is one thing now to retain,
And tell all of your fleet,
About an occasion with an aged lady
That you chanced to meet.

No one gazes out my windows
Or dances in my hall.
Listen,oh,so carefully,to my horn's haunting call.
It speaks to you,Young Ship,
Of a day ended by doom.
A day when a hateful iceberg
Turned me into a tomb.
No faces peer from a window,
No sure hand commands my wheel.
All ended by an iceberg,
Who with the Devil made a deal.
When I started off in life,Young Ship,
I dreamt of where my life may have led,
But terror wracked my very soul with
'ICEBERG
DEAD
AHEAD!!!'
This poem has been written from the heart but also from truth. There have been many instances of modern day cruise ships suddenly having unexplainable engine difficulties,or actually completely stopping for no apparent reason in the vicinity of the 1912 tragedy. In my personal opinion,I believe it is Titanic herself which causes the mishaps. This is what I imagine she would think of the modern liners. Such a different breed they are from her and her sisters.
Megan May Apr 2014
He's the North Pole and she's the South Pole and although they have a few things in common, they are total opposites and it's hard trying to run between the two of them. I am the equator and the prime meridian but I feel myself drifting. I'm becoming the Tropic of Cancer because I prefer the polar bears and his smile and it's hard to deal with the harsh winters of Antarctica. But for now I have to stay where I am so that the balance of the world will remain.
A Tale

“Of Brownyis and of Bogilis full is this Buke.”
                              —Gawin Douglas.

When chapman billies leave the street,
And drouthy neebors neebors meet,
As market-days are wearing late,
An’ folk begin to tak’ the gate;
While we sit bousing at the *****,
An’ getting fou and unco happy,
We think na on the lang Scots miles,
The mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles,
That lie between us and our hame,
Whare sits our sulky, sullen dame,
Gathering her brows like gathering storm,
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.

This truth fand honest Tam o’Shanter,
As he frae Ayr ae night did canter,
(Auld Ayr, wham ne’er a town surpasses,
For honest men and bonie lasses).

O Tam! hadst thou but been sae wise,
As ta’en thy ain wife Kate’s advice!
She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum,
A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum,
That frae November till October,
Ae market-day thou was nae sober;
That ilka melder, wi’ the miller,
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller;
That ev’ry naig was ca’d a shoe on,
The smith and thee gat roarin fou on;
That at the Lord’s house, ev’n on Sunday,
Thou drank wi’ Kirkton Jean till Monday.
She prophesied that, late or soon,
Thou would be found deep drowned in Doon;
Or catched wi’ warlocks in the mirk,
By Alloway’s auld haunted kirk.

Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet,
To think how mony counsels sweet,
How mony lengthened sage advices,
The husband frae the wife despises!

But to our tale: Ae market-night,
Tam had got planted unco right;
Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely,
Wi’ reaming swats, that drank divinely;
And at his elbow, Souter Johnny,
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony;
Tam lo’ed him like a vera brither;
They had been fou for weeks thegither.
The night drave on wi’ sangs an’ clatter;
And aye the ale was growing better:
The landlady and Tam grew gracious,
Wi’ favours, secret, sweet, and precious:
The Souter tauld his queerest stories;
The landlord’s laugh was ready chorus:
The storm without might rair and rustle,
Tam did na mind the storm a whistle.

Care, mad to see a man sae happy,
E’en drowned himself amang the *****;
As bees flee hame wi’ lades o’ treasure,
The minutes winged their way wi’ pleasure:
Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious,
O’er a’ the ills o’ life victorious!

But pleasures are like poppies spread,
You seize the flow’r, its bloom is shed;
Or like the snow falls in the river,
A moment white—then melts for ever;
Or like the borealis race,
That flit ere you can point their place;
Or like the rainbow’s lovely form
Evanishing amid the storm.—
Nae man can tether time or tide;
The hour approaches Tam maun ride;
That hour, o’ night’s black arch the key-stane,
That dreary hour he mounts his beast in;
And sic a night he tak’s the road in,
As ne’er poor sinner was abroad in.

The wind blew as ‘twad blawn its last;
The rattling showers rose on the blast;
The speedy gleams the darkness swallowed;
Loud, deep, and lang the thunder bellowed:
That night, a child might understand,
The De’il had business on his hand.

Weel mounted on his grey mare, Meg,
A better never lifted leg,
Tam skelpit on thro’ dub and mire,
Despising wind, and rain, and fire;
Whiles holding fast his gude blue bonnet;
Whiles crooning o’er some auld Scots sonnet;
Whiles glow’rin round wi’ prudent cares,
Lest bogles catch him unawares;
Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh,
Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry.

By this time he was cross the ford,
Whare in the snaw the chapman smoored;
And past the birks and meikle stane,
Whare drunken Charlie brak’s neck-bane;
And thro’ the whins, and by the cairn,
Whare hunters fand the murdered bairn;
And near the thorn, aboon the well,
Whare Mungo’s mither hanged hersel’.
Before him Doon pours all his floods;
The doubling storm roars thro’ the woods;
The lightnings flash from pole to pole;
Near and more near the thunders roll;
When, glimmering thro’ the groaning trees,
Kirk-Alloway seemed in a bleeze;
Thro’ ilka bore the beams were glancing;
And loud resounded mirth and dancing.

Inspiring bold John Barleycorn!
What dangers thou canst mak’ us scorn!
Wi’ tippenny, we fear nae evil;
Wi’ usquabae, we’ll face the devil!
The swats sae reamed in Tammie’s noddle,
Fair play, he cared na deils a boddle.
But Maggie stood right sair astonished,
Till, by the heel and hand admonished,
She ventured forward on the light;
And, wow! Tam saw an unco sight!
Warlocks and witches in a dance;
Nae cotillion, brent new frae France,
But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels,
Put life and mettle in their heels.
A winnock-bunker in the east,
There sat auld Nick, in shape o’ beast;
A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large,
To gie them music was his charge:
He ******* the pipes and gart them skirl,
Till roof and rafters a’ did dirl.—
Coffins stood round, like open presses,
That shawed the Dead in their last dresses;
And by some devilish cantraip sleight
Each in its cauld hand held a light,
By which heroic Tam was able
To note upon the haly table,
A murderer’s banes in gibbet-airns;
Twa span-lang, wee, unchristened bairns;
A thief, new-cutted frae a ****,
Wi’ his last gasp his gab did gape;
Five tomahawks, wi’ blude red-rusted;
Five scimitars, wi’ ****** crusted;
A garter, which a babe had strangled;
A knife, a father’s throat had mangled,
Whom his ain son o’ life bereft,
The grey hairs yet stack to the heft;
Wi’ mair of horrible and awfu’,
Which even to name *** be unlawfu’.

As Tammie glowered, amazed and curious,
The mirth and fun grew fast and furious:
The Piper loud and louder blew;
The dancers quick and quicker flew;
They reeled, they set, they crossed, they cleekit,
Till ilka carlin swat and reekit,
And coost her duddies to the wark,
And linket at it in her sark!

Now Tam, O Tam! had they been queans,
A’ plump and strapping in their teens;
Their sarks, instead o’ creeshie flainen,
Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linen!—
Thir breeks o’ mine, my only pair,
That ance were plush, o’ gude blue hair,
I *** hae gi’en them off my hurdies,
For ae blink o’ the bonie burdies!

But withered beldams, auld and droll,
Rigwoodie hags *** spean a foal,
Lowping and flinging on a crummock,
I wonder didna turn thy stomach.

But Tam kenned what was what fu’ brawlie:
‘There was ae winsome ***** and waulie’,
That night enlisted in the core
(Lang after kenned on Carrick shore;
For mony a beast to dead she shot,
And perished mony a bonie boat,
And shook baith meikle corn and bear,
And kept the country-side in fear);
Her cutty sark, o’ Paisley harn,
That while a lassie she had worn,
In longitude tho’ sorely scanty,
It was her best, and she was vauntie.
Ah! little kenned thy reverend grannie,
That sark she coft for her wee Nannie,
Wi’ twa pund Scots (’twas a’ her riches),
*** ever graced a dance of witches!

But here my Muse her wing maun cour,
Sic flights are far beyond her power;
To sing how Nannie lap and flang,
(A souple jade she was and strang),
And how Tam stood, like ane bewitched,
And thought his very een enriched;
Even Satan glowered, and fidged fu’ fain,
And hotched and blew wi’ might and main:
Till first ae caper, syne anither,
Tam tint his reason a’ thegither,
And roars out, “Weel done, Cutty-sark!”
And in an instant all was dark:
And scarcely had he Maggie rallied,
When out the hellish legion sallied.

As bees bizz out wi’ angry fyke,
When plundering herds assail their byke;
As open pussie’s mortal foes,
When, pop! she starts before their nose;
As eager runs the market-crowd,
When “Catch the thief!” resounds aloud;
So Maggie runs, the witches follow,
Wi’ mony an eldritch screech and hollow.

Ah, Tam! ah, Tam! thou’ll get thy fairin!
In hell they’ll roast thee like a herrin!
In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin!
Kate soon will be a woefu’ woman!
Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg,
And win the key-stane of the brig;
There at them thou thy tail may toss,
A running stream they dare na cross.
But ere the key-stane she could make,
The fient a tail she had to shake!
For Nannie, far before the rest,
Hard upon noble Maggie prest,
And flew at Tam wi’ furious ettle;
But little wist she Maggie’s mettle—
Ae spring brought off her master hale,
But left behind her ain grey tail:
The carlin claught her by the ****,
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.

Now, wha this tale o’ truth shall read,
Ilk man and mother’s son, take heed:
Whene’er to drink you are inclined,
Or cutty-sarks run in your mind,
Think, ye may buy the joys o’er dear,
Remember Tam o’Shanter’s mare.
avery Nov 2014
she told me
if she had to be my world
she would wear the equator like a noose
she told me
that no man is ever permitted
to find the coordinates of her love
only explore the snowy mountaintops of her ice age
she will never be anything but cold
she will never love anything but herself
and that would be okay if it were true
but it isn't
I know that one day a man will happen upon
the correct latitude of her heartbeat
he will find a way to pull every continent back together
while I tried to swim from one to the other
I will drown in her oceans
in her eyes
in her words
she will tell me it isn't my fault
she will tell me she wishes she could have loved me like I loved her
she will tell me she is sorry
and she will be
and I will forgive her
but his arms will wrap around her waist
an equator she won't hang from
and he won't have to forgive her
Nat Lipstadt May 2014
~ ~ ~
Adieu!
My Crew, My Crew!


this, our first trip,
our longest voyage,
nears completion

eighteenth of May,
a terminal date,
date of destination,
upon it commenced,
upon it,
our commencement

a terminus nearing,
a degree of latitude given,
a degree of longitude observed,
by you
mes méridiens,
witnesses to my zenith,
a degree of gratitude granted
and lovingly recv'd

adieu, adieu!
this sole~full rhyme
beats upon my lips
repeats and repeats,
endlessly looped,
Adieu, my crew!

sailor, voyageur,
scribe and travel guide
for four seasons,
a composition of one long
anno sabbatico,
muy simpatico

in the spring of '13
I sprung up here,
a Mayflower,,
a May flower,
a floral ship,
annual for a single year,
annual for a single circumnavigation

hearing now once again,
refreshing sounds,
hinting noises,
here comes his paul simonizing summery spring again,
rhyming timing reminding dylan style,
it's all over now, my babies blue

t'is season to move forward,
back to old acquaintances renewed,
sand, water and salty sun,
three lifelong friends who,
Auld Lang Syne,
never ever forget me

we get drunk on their eternity,
their celestial beauty,
and they,
upon my tarnished earthly being,
unreservedly and never judgingly,
give inspiration unstintingly,
we share,
never measuring a captain's humanity
by mystical formulae of reads or hearts

for
grains of sand, water wave droplets and sun rays,
all
only know one measure,
immeasurable

respect the
never-ending new combinations
of an old nature,
even the impoverished words he speaks,
words as they exit the
brain's grand birth canal,
whimsically announcing their poetic arrival with a:

"been here, done that,
but happy to do it,
one more time,
just ever so differently"


the only counting
that satisfies them and me,
the clicking sound be,
the sound of a
a pointer-finger tablet-clicking,
heartbeats a metering,
individual letters being stork-delivered,
and

yellow lightening
when it comes,
signifying family completion,
a poem,
a family,
comes
crackling real!

here comes spring again!
happily to shackle me,
shuckling me back to and fro,
to whence I came,
and from
whence I once
and always belonged

memorial weekend,
memorializing me,
orchestrating a prodigal son's
two edged tune,
a contrapuntal contrapposto,
a "fare-thee-well, man"
and a
"hello son, welcome home!"

that empty Adirondack chair,
by my name,
with your names
in tears inscribed upon it,
awaits

the breezes take note,
singing a duopoly:

this ole chair
needs refilling,
Rest & Recreation for your Rhythm & Blues,
your busted body boy
healing with our natural scents,
calming with common sense

with it,
will and refill,
the cracked breaches,
by phonetic letters frenetic,
drinking, then purge-spilling,
a speckled spackling paste of comfort food words
given of and given by,
given back to,
the bay's tide
and beaches
and

you, crew,

let this soul captain briefly lead,
spilling too oft his new seed,
he,
selected but unelected by a
raucous silent voice-vote...
of an unknown,
impressed-into-service crew

some of you
impressed upon
the skin of this captain man's sou!,
a cherishment so complete,
yet has he to fully comprehend,
its miracality,
the golden epaulettes upon his shoulder,
worn ever proudly

the nearest ending,
one of many.
a course of waterfall and rapids survived,
yet invisible shoals fast approaching,
a single bell tolling, warning,
here was, here comes,
yet another,
close calling

sirens shriek
forewarning,
can't abide a moment longer thus,
desperate longing
for a refuge of language loved,
not lost in lands and a sea of
ranted bittersweet journaled cant
and hashtags of sad despair

can't lengthen this sway,
grant a governor's stay,
cannot

heaven schedules our lives,
completed a time out
in a day,
twenty four hours of fabulous, fabled
and of late,
a shopworn, forlorn existence,
three hundred and sixty five times,
circularized on these pages

now
no forevermore, no forestalling,
only the truth,
a grizzled, unprimped,
mirror'd recognition

flutes,
sad low whistle,
trumpets,
wild maimed moan,
violins,
jenny jilted wailing tears, groan,
and harps and guitars,
each pluck single notes plaintive,
long and slow their disappearing reverberation,
but end it must

none can deny or fail to ascertain,
port of our joint destination,
pinpointed on maps as
"the last curtain call,"
just over the nearby horizon line,
demarcating the finality
of the days of glorious,
and the quietude of
a storied ending

my crew, my crew,
forever besided,
forever insided,
bussed, bedded, and bathed,
with me,

wherever I write most,
wherever I write eyes moist,
my crew
of all captains,
whose fealty I adore
and to whom,
my loyalty unquestioned sworn,
upon righteous English oak
an oath unstained,
an American bible, an American chest,
blood sworn here forever to
my
brothers, sisters and children
many who by title me addressed
this man as,
grandfather,
yet friends
from foreign-no-more-lands

this is only a poem,
this is only the best I have

This to me given,
and now to you returned,
encrusted with trust

for
we together,
were
a new combination
all our own

my crew, my crew,
for you:
my seasonal Yule log-life burns
every day,
all years of my life shiny shiny
copper-burnished teapot whistling
you, your names
a tune of the past,
and the yet to come

I care,
burdened more
than than you ere known,
dare I bear
to bare-confess

for and by you was I,
my restlessness lessened
my unrest less,
so comforted by an out-louded,
deep-welcome-throated reception
let it end thus,
no whimpers or cries,
no misunderstanding

in a Wilderness of Words,
sought you out,
your name and lands,
yours, purposely hidden,
disguised and unknown,

while I placed before you,
my name
my birthplace,
the poetry of my truths,
the jagged laughing,
the cryptic crying,
at myself,
foibles, pimples and the
the insights inside,
mine own book of revelations
all clear in the
drippings of my clarifying
cloudy tears

stranger to friends to chance,
all by chance,
sharing nodules, capsules,
even tumors and ill humors

your affection and simple heroism,
left me both gasping,
and leaves me now,
grasping

your hearts sustain
and are sustainable,
in ways the word,
organic,
not even remotely
adequate, sufficient

in ways
that can be secreted here,
in sharing,
private messages,
snippet exchanges,
that are valored above the rubies of
public hearts that
claim attention
but are gold bonded hand cuffs,
nonetheless!

my left, what is left,
to your strong right,
by rings married we are,
you and I,
a secretion on our kissing lips,
a perfumed essence called
No.365
"secrets of us..."

Wit I were a man
who could advance
his essay further,
but this voyage,
closed and done,
but a steamer approaches
where they need a third mate,
no questions asked,
no names exchanged,
no counting the change in his heart and the,
holes in his heart pocket

asking not,
are you friend long term true,
or just a fly by night,
short-winded trend

so onto
ports that are nameless,
needy for discovery,
perhaps,
they will have a fruitfulness
unripened,
awaiting verbal germination
so yet again,
when he wipes away
with back of a hand,
his fresh fears,
moistening those dried,
those crack'd lips

underneath will be yet found
a perhaps,
a
fully formed, yet to be shared,
new poem,
that gives value
standing on its own,
and perhaps, rewarming, reawakening,
his gone cold and pale,
yet quivering moving,
his almost stilled silenced spring,
but not quite,
lips...


--------------------------------

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
                         Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
                            But I with mournful tread,
                               Walk the deck my Captain lies,
                                  Fallen cold and dead.


                    
Walt Whitman
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And the words that are used
For to get the ship confused
Will not be understood as they’re spoken
For the chains of the sea
Will have busted in the night
And will be buried at the bottom of the ocean

A song will lift
As the mainsail shifts
And the boat drifts on to the shoreline
And the sun will respect
Every face on the deck
The hour that the ship comes in

Then the sands will roll
Out a carpet of gold
For your weary toes to be a-touchin’
And the ship’s wise men
Will remind you once again
That the whole wide world is watchin’

bob dylan

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We'll meet beyond the shore
We'll kiss just as before
Happy we'll be beyond the sea
And never again I'll go sailing

I know beyond a doubt
My heart will lead me there soon
We'll meet (I know we'll meet) beyond the shore
We'll kiss just as before
Happy we'll be beyond the sea
And never again I'll go sailing

No more sailing
So long sailing
Bye, bye sailing...

Jack Lawerence
looking for me in other names, other places
an explanation someday writ, not yet complete....but my poetry no longer gives
no satisfaction...
Hibernating in the summer, not merely resting my voice, but more than that, much more...will repost older stuff only...
take care of the newbies
~~~~~
Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind?
Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and old lang syne?

For auld lang syne, my dear,
for auld lang syne,
we'll take a cup of kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.
And surely you’ll buy your pint cup!
and surely I’ll buy mine!
And we'll take a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.

We two have run about the slopes,
and picked the daisies fine;
But we’ve wandered many a weary foot,
since auld lang syne.

We two have paddled in the stream,
from morning sun till dine†;
But seas between us broad have roared
since auld lang syne.

And there’s a hand my trusty friend!
And give me a hand o’ thine!
And we’ll take a right good-will draught,
for auld lang syne.
Taboosun Jul 2016
Fate calls on a cold summer eve.
Easing fourth I pretend that my dissatisfaction
Is a fruitful beacon.
My soul contends to rest in the shadow
Of hollow desire.

Rising from the hate buried deep
within,
I seek the path least taken to empty the blackness
That has become a focal point
In where my attention is affixed.

I turn lies into truths with the wave of hand.
Crafting chaos in disguise,
While exuding innocence with my eyes.

This is all just a plan that collapses
In Light,
To seek requiem in the twisted visions
Of the darkest corners of my mind.
Jacob Sanders Aug 2014
This is the last time I write about ships; the mighty seafarer, clasping in the deep. The last time the esoteric tides capriciously change their erratic minds, left torn between rousing up to fight and solemnly crawling into the shapeless night. I’ll haul, I’ll haul. Outward bound, I’ll haul away from the safety of the buoy, through a thousand spiralling knots, batten aground and set anchor upon the recondite bay. I’ll avast the journeys where the compass takes an unprompted turn, where celestial proves consort to nautical woes, awoke awash amidst the darkened shallows.

This is the last time I go back and fill vast depths, bearing right, then left, across the beating breadth.  This is the last ring of brash audacity resonating in chime with the gull’s hooded pride, the last of the salt and sway commandeering the longitude of each tumultuous ride. I’ll roll, I’ll roll. Hanging on behind, I’ll roll with the salted souls of Nelson and Hook as they furl and collide, hand over fist, drawing the curtains from their chariot’s majestic height. I’ll gybe and set back to sail, quarrel with the rushing sands, and grace every fractured notion that tooth and nail can siege the devil’s rest and forge currents capable of hustling both vessel and man.

This is the last of the gallant endeavours, set adrift from buccaneer’s voyage to a solitary pulse at the end of storm’s tether. This is the last stern embrace of Poseidon’s harrowing howls, the last of the rapturous applause mordant as it rises and swirls, the last time I wrestle away from his scaly hold. This is the last time I change tack and set course into the path of the sound, where finally, the tides settled

I’ll release control of the helm.
Nat Lipstadt Feb 2015
Feb. 2015

this writ,
content so obvious,
it begs,
why even bother...

Pen Man Ship

this is who you are,
this is your scent, scripted,
the parfume that memory triggers
declarative self-examination passing grades

if pen and paper
are your skin and blood,
then you, man,
ship to shore,
skinned alive,
in poems verbose spill all

ship in ship out,
the glories and the dreads,
expel ink oceans glorious India blue,
rivulets of tributaries,
spillages of what~where,

you are pen
you are man
you are ship

where intersect these routed things,
one is voyage~bound
for parts unknown

the pen be the oar,
and the man, the ship,
and when the sails raised,
the wind never fails,
only there is no
dead reckoning -

for there are no
landmarks observable
when sit~stand
to commence sail~writing

each writ a latitude recorded,
each poem a longitude drawn,
all together, a
body of work,
all together,
your life's coursework
is the captain's log

Pen is the Man is the Ship

in everyday words
he answers
the questions life poses,
in everyday words,
he realizes
the answers he (doesn't) posses,
with each passing poem
the ship, righted,
though the heading
remans unknown
Nat Lipstadt Nov 2015
~for Steve R. & Stephen Y.~

"two regrets are mine -
not finding you earlier in life when...words would have carved for me a better road, and...not hand-ing you a touch, the perfect tightness-shake of one's hand reserved for fondest friends and the light press on one's back deserved for dearest brothers!"
~~~

the light press surety of five fingers on one,
oh, what messages it composes, oh, what duty weighty it transmits

dear brothers:

tho this hands-on handoff, this fly-over, is still a  
mission unaccomplished,
yet no regrets, please!

men don't overuse superlatives,
what you lovingly uncover in my rocket-verbal Mars probes,
is more telling, more revealing of  who you are,
than any hand-tightness shake,
any touching grasp, could e'er convey

yet I promise, forsworn upon the cross
of the north west Pacifico latitude and longitude
a latitude that just happens to intersect
my olden, new english state,
knowing that Interstate 90
a straight transcontinental shot,
and the car keys just an impulse grab away

to tell your arms, your face, your back, our hands,
that when you love my poetry,
you love me,
you friends,
are an affirmation of  Pablo Neruda's words:

"whoever discovers who I am
discovers who you are"


fondness is not distance constrained,
touching grasps pay no obeisance to time,
the honor of your affection permanent
affirmed and enflamed,
all mine, sublime, to lead my heart,
where to lay hands upon your back,
to realize even more
our single united rhyme
November 7, 2015
4:50 pm
nyc/nl
The men kept to themselves:
they were waiting for the swiftness of the last cyclists.
The women kept to themselves:
they were expecting the death of a boy on a Japanese schooner.
They all kepy to themselves-
dreaming of the open beaks of dying birds,
the sharp parasol that punctures
a recently flattened toad,
beneath silence with a thousand ears
and tiny mouths of water
in the canyons that resist
the violent attack on the moon.
The boy on the schooner was crying and hearts were breaking
in anguish for the witness and vigilance of all things,
and because of the sky blue ground of black footprints,
obscure names, saliva, and chrome radios were still crying.
It doesn't matter if the boy grows silent when stuck with the last pin,
or if the breeze is defeated in cupped cotton flowers,
because there is a world of death whose perpetual sailors will appear in the arches and
freeze you from behind the trees.
it's useless to look for the bend
where night loses its way
and to wait in ambush for a silence that has no
torn clothes, no shells, and no tears,
because even the tiny banquet of a spider
is enough to upset the entire equilibrium of the sky.
There is no cure for the moaning from a Japanese schooner,
nor for those shadowy people who stumble on the curbs.
The countryside bites its own tail in order to gather a bunch of roots
and a ball of yarn looks anxiously in the grass for unrealized longitude.
The Moon! The police. The foghorns of the ocean liners!
Facades of *****, of smoke, anemones, rubber gloves.
Everything is shattered in the night
that spread its legs on the terraces.
Everything is shatter in the tepid faucets
of a terrible silent fountain.
Oh, crowds! Loose women! Soldiers!
We will have to journey through the eyes of idiots,
open country where the docile cobras, coiled like wire, hiss,
landscapes full of graves that yield the freshest apples,
so that uncontrollable light will arrive
to frighten the rich behind their magnifying glasses-
the odor of a single corpse from the double source of lily and rat-
and so that fire will consume those crowds still able to **** around a moan
or on the crystals in which each inimitable wave is understood.
Harsh Dec 2014
I’m awfully homesick, but

people always ask me the wrong questions.

It’s always
“Where is home for you?
Where do you go?”

The thing is,

“home”

isn’t a “where” question to me.

There is no mere
longitude and latitude
that can locate home for me,
my home is not cemented into the earth.

Home is a “who” question.

Who is home for you?

Where there ought to be brick and mortar there are bones,
where there should be couches and beds to rest on
there are arms open to embrace me.

I find home in no establishment of carpets and china cabinets,
I find comfort and solace in a person.

So, my dear,

you

are home for me.

And I’m homesick.
I miss my girlfriend. I miss her terribly. I long for those embraces where we'd just lay down in silence for hours, tracing the outlines of each other and drowning in each other's touch.
Southern shells – or longitude
it’s rude to discuss such a rough location – but I’m a *****
to such provocation.
destiny’s Vacation
in a nation
with ****** – nonchalantly run a muck.
total *** or ******* visible I don’t believe the natives can purchase *****.

a loss of bucks is inherent to those who want.
bring your paranoia to a paranormal place where
paintings haunt
or move around after your heat signature.
can he make this
make meaning?
i am the dignitor.

a broken side of a square to settle the score
if you weren't sure.
stressed to proceed with thee program.
the waves can crash on shape and
make ham
sandwiches
which is beautiful.
in the eye of the beholder, hold on I’ve smoldered
all of my calls.
put a hold on the fourth wall – I can
and swam into the shallow.
tribune myself to the tropical Loch Ness
fall fourth to the shadow.
let us Dive further.
amphibious herder of the deep
stay afloat on a personal boat
to return to sleep.
Meryl Wisner Jun 2012
I’d like to climb the clouds
Leave footprints in the sky
so I know I’ve been there
and it’ll have something to remember me by

I want to see all the longitude lines
that are nothing more than constructs of our minds
Have you ever turned the map upside down?
Maybe the US is only hanging on to South America
by a hook called Mexico.

You don’t get what you see
because Mercator
wasn’t quite right with his projections.
Boy, was he ambitious though.
He took something
not even a quarter the size of the Sahara
and dreamed it big enough
to kiss all the corners of Africa.
I want that kind of determination.

I want to stop filling my imagination
and start filling my eyes
with realities of cities and seas,
valleys and villages.
I don’t have to move mountains,
I’ll go to them.

The continents are playing coy
and just because I’ve seen them more than once
doesn’t mean I know them yet
I want to learn their favorite colors.

I want to go far enough away
that I’m not afraid to never come back.
You know wherever I am,
when I close my eyes,
all I see is the horizon.

I’ll draw my own map across my body.
Haleiwa, Hawaii on my chest.
The hottest day in summer, her
shave ice melts into my heart to keep me cool.
Paris is on the inside of my knee,
so I can protect her, keep her on her pedestal,
like you always do with your first love.
Tanzania circles my throat like a Maasai necklace,
it glints in the sun and jingles when I dance.
Dublin’s like a freckle under my chin,
it took me a while to find her,
but now I know there are things worth looking for
And I’ve got plenty of space left on my skin.
Robert Ronnow Aug 2015
Just watching raindrops slapping leaves
is better than anything requiring electricity
including fame and posterity. Monday
morning I walk over to the art museum
stand before Homer. I'm imagining
life in ancient Greece, the land largely
deforested to build a navy, white as bone,
a tourist attraction. The sea too being
denuded of its fish, super-efficient fishery
fleets, and every human wanting a healthy
dose of omega 3. O my God, omega!

the 24th and last letter of his alphabet,
which means great and has a value of 800,
often used to denote the last, the end, the
ultimate limit of a set, as in I am the alpha
and the omega
(which was omitted
from the oldest manuscripts). In physics,
ohm is a unit of electrical resistance,
in chemistry, oxygen-18, a stable isotope,
in statistical mechanics, it represents multiplicity
(the number of microstates) in a system.
In astronomy, the density of the universe
(density parameter), the ranking of a star’s
brightness in a constellation, and the orbital
elements: the longitude of the ascending node
and the designation of the argument
of periapsis of an orbit.

Also the solid angle or rate of precession
in a gyroscope. In particle physics,
omega baryons. In complex analysis,
the Omega constant, a solution to Lambert's
W-function. In calculus, a variable
for a 2-dimensional region, usually
corresponding to the domain of a double
integral. In topos theory, the codomain
of the subobject classifier of an elementary
space. In combinatory logic,
the looping combinator. In group theory,
the omega and agemo subgroups of a p-group.
In Big O notation, the asymptotic behavior
of functions. Chaitin's uncomputable constant.

Omega watches, badge of the Supreme Court,
last mission of the Space Shuttle program,
God of War, Heroes of Olympus, Pokemon's
Omega Ruby, Sonic the Hedgehog's E-123.
Symbol of resistance to the Vietnam War draft.
Year of date of death. Lowest-ranked wolf.

In molecular biology, a two-point crossover.
The lower case omega denotes the carbon atom
furthest from the carboxyl group of a fatty acid.
One of the RNA polymerase subunits.
The dihedral angle associated with the peptide group.
A measure of evolution at the protein level.
In dynamics, angular velocity or angular frequency.
In computational fluid dynamics, the specific
turbulence dissipation rate. In meteorology,
the Lagrangian time rate of change of pressure
for a parcel of air. Natural frequency
in circuit analysis and signal processing.
The omega meson.
NULL, a missing or inappropriate value.

The first transfinite ordinal number.
The first uncountable ordinal number.
The complex cube roots of 1.
The Wright Omega function. A general differential form.
The number of distinct prime divisors of n.
An arithmetic function. The self-application combinator.

The elasticity of financial options.
The tracking error of an investment manager.
In linguistics, the phonological word.
The archetype of a manuscript tradition.
In eschatology, the symbol for the end of everything.

The beginning of my first week without tv.
No more movies. If I have nothing to do
or I'm too bored to do anything, I'll just sit still
see what happens. Be like weather.
Be under the weather, with the weather,
in weather. Watch weather from the window.
Wait for change, in me and the weather.
How will I change? This is life and not life.
In 15 years or so I'll be gone from the earth,
bones whitening on some mountain
or rotting in the lowlands river or estuary I lived near,
flesh to sweat flesh with the population, dead.

This death, consciousness of which should give
this life's activities perspective, except for the red
sunset which remains untouched by atomic IQ;
and dead, laying open to the blue sky and dry leaves
one autumn like last autumn, or the autumn
I realized my insignificance.
--after the Wikipedia entry, “Omega”

www.ronnowpoetry.com
Dr Sam Burton Oct 2014
S H E


She softly came into my life without her crown

To whisper, to shed light and to turn me upside down

As soft music, she spoke through her pictures

And once I saw them, I adored her features

Something is daily pulling me to her marvellous cave

To appreciate her fountain of beauty  to which I crave

She gave me something I won't lose

Even if I drank too much *****

She gave me something to keep in heart

So that we won't ever part

Something I look at and see her in mind

Then slowly move to heart to bind

Now that I am totally stunned and sedated

It is too hard for me to be eliminated.



Sam Burton ©



Today is Sunday, Oct. 5, the 278th day of 2014 with 87 to follow.

The moon is new. Morning stars are Jupiter, Mars and Uranus. Evening stars are Mercury, Neptune, Saturn and Venus.



In 1876, the Agricultural and Mechanical College of Texas, now Texas A&M;, opened. It was the first public higher education institution in Texas.

In 1883, the Orient Express train made its first run.

In 1895, the U.S. Open men's golf tournament was first contested. It was won by Horace Rawlins.



A thought for the day:



You can become a winner only if you are willing to walk over the edge. -- Damon Runyon





QUOTES for the day:



It is the desire of the good people of the whole country that sectionalism as a factor in our politics should disappear...

------------------------

He serves his party best who serves his country best.



Rutherford B. Hayes



You're dealing with the demon of external validation. You can't beat external validation. You want to know why? Because it feels sooo good.





Barbara Hall, Northern Exposure, Gran Prix, 1994



“So much of what we call management consists in making it difficult for people to work.”

Peter Drucker



"A champion is afraid of losing. Everyone else is afraid of winning."



Billie Jean King



POETRY





AEDH Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven



W.B. Yeats


Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

About this poem


"Aedh wishes for the Cloths of Heaven" was originally published in Yeats' collection "The Wind Among the Reeds" (John Lane, 1899).

About W.B. Yeats


A poet and playwright, Yeats was born in Dublin in 1865. He received the Nobel Prize in literature in 1923. Yeats died in France in January of 1939.

*
The Academy of American Poets is a nonprofit, mission-driven organization, whose aim is to make poetry available to a wider audience.


This poem is in the public domain.
Distributed by King Features Syndicate







Vocabulary

"Bona fide" is used to mean good faith, sincerity. It is the evidence of one's good faith or genuineness -- often plural in construction; evidence of one's qualifications or achievements.

Health and Beauty



Pumpkin Seeds



Have you ever toasted pumpkin seeds at Halloween? Don't wait until the holiday to eat them. Pumpkin seeds are a great source of iron, zinc, calcium, and magnesium, and area also high in omega-3. One handful a day makes a big difference.





CHINESE FOOD

In Canada, Thanksgiving is just over one week away. As an alternative to turkey, how about serving Cantonese Roast duck for Thanksgiving dinner?



Cantonese Roast Duck



By Rhonda Parkinson



Author Deh-Ta Hsiung writes: This is the duck with a shining reddish-brown skin seen hanging in the windows of a good Cantonese restaurant.

Serves 10 - 12 as a starter, or 4 to 6 as a main course. (Note: total preparation time does not include the time needed to dry the duck before cooking).

Ingredients

    One 4 1/2 lb (2 kg) oven-ready duckling
    2 teaspoons salt
    4 tablespoons maltose or honey
    1 tablespoon rice vinegar
    1/2 teaspoon red food coloring (optional0
    about 1/2 pint (280 ml) warm water
    For the Stuffing:
    1 tablespoon oil
    1 tablespoon finely chopped spring onion
    1 teaspoon finely chopped fresh ginger root
    1 tablespoon caster sugar
    2 tablespoons Chinese rice wine (or dry sherry)
    1 tablespoon yellow bean sauce
    1 tablespoon hoisin sauce
    2 teaspoons five-spice powder

    Prep Time: 30 minutes
    Cook Time: 60 minutes

    Total Time: 90 minutes

Preparation

Clean the duck well. Remove the wing tips and the lumps of fat from inside the vent. Blanch in a *** of boiling water for a few minutes, remove and dry well, then rub the duck with salt and tie the neck tightly with string.

Make the stuffing by heating the oil in a saucepan, add all the ingredients, bring to the boil and blend well. Pour the mixture into the cavity of the duck and sew it up securely.

Dissolve the maltose or honey with vinegar and red food coloring (if using) in warm water, brush it all over the duck - give it several coatings, then hang the duck up (head down) with an S-shaped hook to dry in an airy and cool place for at least 4 - 5 hours.

To cook: preheat the oven to 400 degrees F. (200 degrees C./Gas 6). Hang the duck head down on the top rack, and place a tray of boiling water at the bottom of the oven. Reduce the heat to 350 degrees F. (180 degrees C., Gas 4) after 25 minutes or so, and cook for a further 30 minutes, basting with the remaining coating mixture once or twice.

To serve: let the duck cool down a little, then remove the string and pour out the liquid stuffing to be used as gravy. Chop the duck into bite-sized pieces, then serve hot or cold with the gravy poured over it.

Courtesy of Deh-Ta Hsiung.

JOKES



Skeleton in the closet



A very large, old, building was being torn down in Chicago to make room for a new skyscraper. Due to its proximity to other buildings it could not be imploded and had to be dismantled floor by floor.

While working on the 49th floor, two construction workers found a skeleton in a small closet behind the elevator shaft. They decided that they should call the police.

When the police arrived they directed them to the closet and showed them the skeleton fully clothed and standing upright. They said, "This could be Jimmy Hoffa or somebody really important."

Two days went by and the construction workers couldn't stand it any more; they had to know who they had found. They called the police and said, "We are the two guys who found the skeleton in the closet and we want to know if it was Jimmy Hoffa or somebody important."

The police said, "It's not Jimmy Hoffa, but it was somebody kind of important."

"Well, who was it?"

"The 1956 Blonde National Hide-and-Seek Champion."



Quick Quotes



"It was different when we were kids. In second grade, a teacher came in and gave us all a lecture about not smoking, and then they sent us over to arts and crafts to make ash- trays for Mother's Day." --Paul Clay

---

"We should have a way of telling people they have bad breath. 'Well, I'm bored...let's go brush our teeth.' Or, 'I've got to make a phone call, hold this gum in your mouth.'" --Brad Stine

---

"Doesn't it bother you when people litter? The most creative rationale for throwing an apple core out the window is 'It will plant seeds for other threes to grow.' And, of course, our highways are lined with apple trees--right next to all the cigarette bushes." --Nick Arnette



Republican or Democrat?



A woman in a hot air balloon realized she was lost. She lowered her altitude and spotted a man in a boat below. She shouted to him, "Excuse me, can you help me? I promised a friend I would meet him an hour ago, but I don't know where I am." The man consulted his portable GPS and replied, "You're in a hot air balloon, approximately 30 feet above a ground elevation of 2346 feet above sea level. You are at 31 degrees, 14.97 minutes north latitude and 100 degrees, 49.09 minutes west longitude.

She rolled her eyes and said, "You must be a (political party)." "I am,"replied the man. "How did you know?" "Well," answered the balloonist, everything you told me is technically correct, but I have no idea what to do with your information, and I'm still lost. Frankly, you've not been much help to me."

The man smiled and responded, "You must be a (political party)." "I am,"replied the balloonist. "How did you know?" "Well," said the man, "you don't know where you are or where you're going. You've risen to where you are, due to a large quantity of hot air. You made a promise that you have no idea how to keep, and you expect me to solve your problem. You're in exactly the same position you were in before we met but, somehow, now it's my fault."



Birthday Gift

A husband went to buy a birthday gift for his wife. Some friends had been invited over that night to celebrate her fortieth, and he wanted to get something special. At the store he spotted some cute little music boxes. One blue one was playing "Happy Birthday."

Thinking they were all the same, he chose a red one and had it gift-wrapped. Later, at dinner, he gave it to his wife and asked her to open it...

When she lifted the lid, out came the tune to "The Old Gray Mare, She Ain't What She Used to Be!"



Blonde Convention



80,000 blondes meet in the Kansas City Chiefs Stadium for a "Blondes Are Not Stupid" Convention. The leader says, "We are all here today to prove to the world that blondes are not stupid. Can I have a volunteer?" A blonde gingerly works her way through the crowd and steps up to the stage. The leader asks her, "What is 15 plus 15?" After 15 or 20 seconds she says, "Eighteen!"

Obviously everyone is a little disappointed. Then 80,000 blondes start cheering, "Give her another chance! Give her another chance!" The leader says, "Well since we've gone to the trouble of getting 80,000 of you in one place and we have the world-wide press and global broadcast media here, gee, uh, I guess we can give her another chance." So he asks, "What is 5 plus 5?"

After nearly 30 seconds she eventually says, "Ninety?"

The leader is quite perplexed, looks down and just lets out a dejected sigh -- everyone is disheartened, the blonde starts crying and the 80,000 girls begin to yell and wave their hands shouting, "GIVE HER ANOTHER CHANCE! GIVE HER ANOTHER CHANCE!"

The leader, unsure whether or not he is doing more harm than damage, eventually says, "Ok! Ok! Just one more chance -- What is 2 plus 2?"

The girl closes her eyes, and after a whole minute eventually says, "Four?"

Throughout the stadium pandemonium breaks out as all 80,000 girls jump to their feet, wave their arms, stomp their feet and scream...

"GIVE HER ANOTHER CHANCE! GIVE HER ANOTHER CHANCE!"





Have a super nice Sunday!
He serves mother earth
In northern hemisphere
I serve motherland
In southern hemisphere
He is on the tropic of Cancer
I am on the tropic Capricorn
Our longitude and latitude are different
Our aptitude and attitude are similar
To serve and deserve to serve
He is in light
When I am in dark
He is in dark
When I am in light
Both are exposed to each other
Through light and dark by cosmic pulse
Through thick and thin
He tracks my light
When I am asleep
I track his light
When he is asleep
Intuition is our live-wire
He is non-resident to me
I am non-resident to him
Both are residents of love
I am his prestigious father
He is my privileged son
He serves mother earth
In northern hemisphere
I serve motherland
In southern hemisphere
He is on the tropic of Cancer
I am on the tropic Capricorn
Our longitude and latitude are different
Our aptitude and attitude are similar
To serve and deserve to serve
He is in light
When I am in dark
He is in dark
When I am in light
Both are exposed to each other
Through light and dark
Through thick and thin
He tracks my light
When I am asleep
I track his light
When he is asleep
Intuition is our live-wire
He is non-resident to me
I am non-resident to him
Both are residents of love
I am his prestigious father
He is my privileged son
glitter Nov 2013
my body has become a map
of nights i'd rather not recall
i can't tell you how often i've envisioned
guiding your fingertips along the latitude and longitude,
pointing out the coordinates i'd just plotted-
"remember when you told me i ruined your life?
     or when you told me about all the pills you'd swallowed?
          or when you told me you'd never be speaking to me again?"
but as your skin brushed against mine
we'd come across paths more tangled than others, and i'd say
"remember when you told me you loved me?
     or when you told me i was beautiful?
          or when you told me you'd give me the world?"
and you'd get angry when i couldn't explain my own work

now my masterpiece is decaying
and so are my memories of you

sometimes i envision seeing you again
maybe days or weeks or years from now
and when you ask me how i'm doing
i'll guide your fingertips along the (almost) blank canvas
and tell you i've given up cartography
Jene'e Patitucci May 2013
i think my feel box is malfunctioning, i gotta find a screwdriver to pop off the faceplate and inspect the insides. it keeps saying the latitude and longitude aren’t localized. i can’t calibrate it because i’m up in the air. it flickers when it beeps and my static causes feedback. birds don’t know anything about artificial connective tissue, but they know all about falling.
free write 5/17/13
© Jene'e Patitucci
JL Apr 2013
I am going to die
Someone tripped my breaker
I swim in the sparks
Thinner lines of longitude
Meet tangentially above
The third eye.
A veil is dropped and I
See the spinning mandala
Colors drip in lateral formations
Each line crosses
Infinitely deep in every direction
Bisecting me
Pay attention now
You are dying
You will tear through the veil
******* in the first breath
Cold air
The buzzing is around you
Warm glowing life forms
They sing songs!
Music of shape and color
Cyan and lilac notes
Fluttering from their bodies
Their songs spark and lightning
Through my body filling me with joysorrowlustpainguiltecstacy
Arcing off of my skin
Leaving long gaseous, crimson-green trails through the buzz of light
Watch me!
Look at this
Do you see what I can do?
Do you see, young one?
The souls gather around me
Whispering the secret of the
*
We laugh together at the simplicity of it all
They show me their playthings shaped
Totem poles of fractal colors impossibly
Spinning on a string of deoxyribonucleic acid
Quadruple helices infinitely intricate strands
Dripping diamonds in hues of color I cannot name
It didn't last long
Knowing the secret of it all
Go back now
To your bed
Back to your dimension
Don't try to remember us
We are multidimensional
Children casting tridemensional
Shadow puppets upon your dimly lit cave walls
Oh Demon! Oh archangel! Oh fairy! Ghost!
You foolish primate
Smearing your cave walls with words
Try to figure us out, shall you?
We are forgotten like a dream
Stop
Stop
Stop
The walls are alien
And the impossible
Shattered bloom on each surface
Sing and vibrate
It feels as If I have been here before. As if it has always been but I am  allowed to see behind the curtain
Join the club
Join the club
We vibrate inside plant matter
Inside each atom we dance

Recreate us in your mind's eye dearest vertebrate
Watch us swim in and out of your memories
We have left our fingerprints upon the archaic machinery
Of your central nervous system
We are here
You are here
We are everywhere stop looking
We probe and poke at you
And sometimes we ancient-ones bend down and kiss you on the lips
You strange humans always exclaiming:  Déjà vu
Dmt
R J Apr 2013
El testigo of the ego,

avowal amid amigos
Pero sentidos dormidos
Seran the death of me though.

Querido Mr. Reap Sow
do you hear yourself go?
Host the dog show of that 'lost hope'
An ego weaves abrigos
Con todo los gran peligros
Morose recallings of your parents belongings-

Still longing,
still longing

Prolonging
Belonging in algo
Un trago, dos tragos, tres please
“to ease the squeeze” of life, they mean
“Yeah, of course, duh, hello
They're guys with big dough
They can play strip shows of words,
Pay for pinchos de dolor, por favor!
Con calor y sin aguantar.”

Tus llantas de Esperanza,
Creciendo debajo tu alma,
estan puesto en exactitude?
Tu attitude;

does the longitude and the latitude always point to you?
BarelyABard Oct 2013
Run your lips across my cheek
and whisper all the wild things that you seek.
The wants of those who rarely sleep
leave remnants that can make us
weak.

...and in these wants I taste your skin
and hear your longing sigh.
I grin at what they think is sin
and run my fingers up your thigh...

Within the spot beneath my sheets,
there hangs a spot I'd like to show;
where maps and seconds don't exist
and burning's all I wish to show...


The latitude
the longitude
will stop
as I dive into you.

The
tick
tick
tick,
The
tock
tock
tock
Will vanish as I smash the clock.

I'll pull you close and say your name,
and then without an ounce of shame,
become the man you cannot tame.
Third Eye Candy May 2013
it was not today, when it happened.
strawberries drenched in snow... the variable longitude of our hapless maps
and the whole thing strapped to an invalid,
the regional Apocalypse
of our near kiss. The gun in the hand.
The cool spark of Bibles
and the wrath
of all pygmies.

it was not today, when it happened.
but the choir sang
and worlds between worlds
twirled in the underneath.
and a blanket of Sunshine darkened our pedigree.
but you ate peaches
to dream another
peach

and came from Nowhere...

after me.
Dexter Portalis Jun 2015
I just want to feel closure
I want her to close the gap that separates us from getting closer
But there’s canyons of trust issues that become the biggest issue we face
Echoes from past relations along with your unfaithful accusations which leaves us in this abundance of confrontation
But I only wanted to feel closure
I just wanted her to come closer
I'm not trying to fast forward time it’s just life is short so I'm sitting here just trying to pray and debate these feelings
Because I ****** up and caught feelings for her
It was her eyes that caught my eye
The first night she laid her head on my chest and cried because yet another guy got into her mind
Now I’m sitting here with your head on my chest
My shirt drench with a mixture of her sweet aroma and tears realizing I'm just the guy she runs to when some other man runs from her
Thinking maybe it’s my status
Maybe the latitude of my reputation doesn't meet the longitude of her popularity which is why the coordinates of us being together cannot be found on this map of love
But I guess I'm just not high enough to fly with your social standards
It seems like she can't really grasp the thought of a good man
She just wants to exhale the good feelings and inhale the countless amount of pain and strain from ******* guys as her lungs become black holes due to the many hoes she's been replaced by
But if he cheated on his previous boo with you then who the hell said you wouldn't be victim number two?
See I was a little too late
Fate wasn't on my side as I was in a race not even knowing it and I lost because I tried to be a gentlemen and give her something she wasn’t used to but she refused me as she returned to what she was used to
She just wasn't used to me
But she always said she was waiting on her Superman not realizing she’s been passing up Clark Kent every day
And I wasn't going to contemplate with the thought that I should change my ways just to get her
Because I know that even if I get her I'll already be tired of her because I've used all my energy just to get her
Running Boston marathons and getting bombed by my competition just for her attention
I was tired of hearing your voice miles away I wanted it to come closer and reveal your tender exposure
I just wanted your closure
I wanted your presence closer
I had your friendship now I just wanted to feel the whole experience
I was tired of your friend zone
I was tired of working your part time position
I was tired of only feeling closure from you when you needed someone to be close to you
It wasn't even me you wanted you only thirsted for the essence of a human touch
It’s like you used me
But on some real ****
I really just wanted some real ****
I just wanted some closure
I wanted to feel her closer
I wanted her mind body and soul to come closer to me

— The End —