"mariner" poems
Friendship is built upon the foundations of
Unique and quirky first impressions.
It is not brought together by what others
May say or recommend,
It is not brought together by a Rubik’s cube
Or the use of super glue—
Friendship is just what it states!
Two or more ships brought together
To become one friend—thus the
Creation of Friendship!
It involves a raging sea of betrayals;
Of innocent white lies; of going astray;
Of being in the wrong place at the wrong time;
Of hatred and envy.
But Friendship is strong
And it prevails over anything above all else;
And when the bonds of
Friendship is that strong, nothing between
Friendship should ever; could ever be wrong!
However, you do get one or two that goes overboard
The bow of Friendship and are forever lost at sea
Hoping to be picked up by Cecrops, the Lost Mariner to
Remain forever a prisoner on the ship of Friends that
Corrupts the minds of truthfulness; of the One True bond
That which is called Friendship.
My ship is true and has never
Strayed from its course.
It is homeward bound towards
The foundation that which
Made it true; towards quirky
First impressions that’s unique and precious;
Back to the fleet yards and of harbors
of its creation--
The Fleet of Friendship.
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 2:55 PM UTC
Zeus had plastic surgery,
his fingertips shaved off
so he would not leave prints
when he committed
his archetypal crimes.
He changed his name to Saturn
then to Cronos
then to Albatross Von Mariner,
all this subterfuge
just to disquise the fact
that he goes borderline ballistic
when he doesn't get his way.
He pulled Icarus out of the sky,
wounded Prometheus’ side,
left Sisyphus on a steep lonely mountain,
dared Demeter to save her daughter,
yet these souls persist
in mnemonic literary defiance
of a single fact…
No god is greater than you,
the karma jury has come in
and Zeus is sentenced
to five years of community service
on Interstate Highway 5.
He will wear a yellow clown suit
with a red rubber nose
and floppy green shoes
with a fast food tray hanging from his neck
and he will walk in traffic snarls
stopping at every car
to clean the windows
to sell hotdogs
with purple relish and black mustard
wrapped in grey buns
as unappetizing and pathetic
as the lies
he has told us about ourselves
for so long.
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 7:35 AM UTC
Silhouettes emerge from the night lunar tide
lives still wriggling in their net
ghostly figures from the sea silken wide
reaping riches from the waves in spate.
The night a luminous smile wears
the belly is fired up for a bite
dried leaves would burn under stars
brewing another day under moonlight.
Mariners when not venturing into deep sea
release passions on the shallow shelf
harvest hope though the catch is measly
breathing in the winds the aroma of kelp.
I feel having long belonged to this place
wading breakers in the phosphorus' glow
gathering in my net a strange happiness
craving home when the tide is low.
Jun 27, 2017
Jun 27, 2017 at 9:21 AM UTC
Albert Ross was at a loss.
He couldn't gloss
over the dull fact hanging
lifeless like the near-homophone
about his neck.
It's a pretty neck,
this long and slender neck,
with the impeccable lines of its smooth cylinder
broken only by a smallish apple.
Eve would've refused it.
To sea. To sea.
There he'd see
with its wide vistas
the feathery visage of this polar white
visitor riding astride his black cloud.
"Rain, would it please you to rain?
Are you allowed
to open up and drown me?"
Is how he’d phrased it
in his mind, countless times.
The hardest rain would be welcome,
but this constant threat,
this ponderous yet,
this threaded pendant swinging
as fast and steady
as a winged pendulum might,
was not. It tightened,
that knot deep in the pit of his stomach.
He'd done no harm.
Harm wasn't his to do,
or undo. The harm came before,
at the hands of a father,
who gave him such
an ill-spoken name,
and the Father before him.
He, ages before him,
deigned to make us this world
where a bird’s no more
than a bird or any man
with the want of a soul.
Apr 6, 2011
Apr 6, 2011 at 1:10 PM UTC
my life was like a rope walk
a thin rope of sanity I walked on
and below was a thousand feet Valley of depression,
you miss a step ,you never come back.
struggling to balance myself ,
and then I met you .
the saviour ,
like the albatross
who came to save the ancient mariner.
you came into my life and with you came hope.
the rope beneath my feet widened ,
widened to become a plank.
and as you grew closer,
the plank became solid ground.
the valley started to disappear
and the fear melted down.
now I could risk missing steps,
enjoying the grass and the tiny falls.
it felt like never before ,
and there was no turning back.
but I realised, on the ground I wasn't alone .
not just mine,
but you had saved a zillion lives .
but that didn't matter now .
they all loved you and so did I .
so we all pledged :
to help you, to love you forever
and that anything that gets to you
have to first get through us .
we all are debtors of your love
and we will pay back by standing by you .
you are the nation of our happiness
and we are your A.R.M.Y.
saranghae BTS
Jun 12, 2019
Jun 12, 2019 at 2:30 PM UTC
I’ve sailed towards freedom
A lifetime it seems
But only manage to arrive
Only in my dreams
Stranded in this place
Like a ship on a reef
Held fast in the embrace
Of heartache and grief
Unable to pull free
From its iron tight grip
Trapped in the misery
On my now sinking ship
Desperation and anguish
Washes over my face
My hope starts to languish
On my voyage to this Imaginary place
I’m a mariner who’s out of sort
Traversing this turbulent sea
Searching for the nearest port
Where I can finally be free
Jan 8, 2018
Jan 8, 2018 at 5:23 PM UTC
Spirit that breathest through my lattice, thou
That cool'st the twilight of the sultry day,
Gratefully flows thy freshness round my brow:
Thou hast been out upon the deep at play,
Riding all day the wild blue waves till now,
Roughening their crests, and scattering high their spray
And swelling the white sail. I welcome thee
To the scorched land, thou wanderer of the sea!
Nor I alone--a thousand bosoms round
Inhale thee in the fulness of delight;
And languid forms rise up, and pulses bound
Livelier, at coming of the wind of night;
And, languishing to hear thy grateful sound,
Lies the vast inland stretched beyond the sight.
Go forth into the gathering shade; go forth,
God's blessing breathed upon the fainting earth!
Go, rock the little wood-bird in his nest,
Curl the still waters, bright with stars, and rouse
The wide old wood from his majestic rest,
Summoning from the innumerable boughs
The strange, deep harmonies that haunt his breast:
Pleasant shall be thy way where meekly bows
The shutting flower, and darkling waters pass,
And where the o'ershadowing branches sweep the grass.
The faint old man shall lean his silver head
To feel thee; thou shalt kiss the child asleep,
And dry the moistened curls that overspread
His temples, while his breathing grows more deep:
And they who stand about the sick man's bed,
Shall joy to listen to thy distant sweep,
And softly part his curtains to allow
Thy visit, grateful to his burning brow.
Go--but the circle of eternal change,
Which is the life of nature, shall restore,
With sounds and scents from all thy mighty range
Thee to thy birthplace of the deep once more;
Sweet odours in the sea-air, sweet and strange,
Shall tell the home-sick mariner of the shore;
And, listening to thy murmur, he shall deem
He hears the rustling leaf and running stream.
3k
Your shoes unravel
From our travels,
From all our endless walking.
We spent days running away
From the shore until
You were safe with me.
We slept under stars that spelled our names
For all the world to see.
We avoided the coastline,
And your mariner kinsmen,
That would take you away from me.
I remember perfectly that night
You fell out of the sea.
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 12:17 PM UTC
Hark! The sea-faring wild-fowl loud proclaim
My coming, and the swarming of the bees.
These are my heralds, and behold! my name
Is written in blossoms on the hawthorn-trees.
I tell the mariner when to sail the seas;
I waft o’er all the land from far away
The breath and bloom of the Hesperides,
My birthplace. I am Maia. I am May.
2.7k
Thrift Shop Confessional
Old carts squeak down re-sale aisles
"One of," "two of,"
Sometimes "three of" items
Tempting treasure-sifting shoppers,
Bargain-needing families,
Women seeking up-brand names at low-brand prices...
Our wives, followed by their husbands,
Acquiescent, but quiescently seeking
Seeking a thrift shop oasis.
A cast-off dining set beckons,
Sturdy enough, if a little battered,
To make us solemnly content to wait
Carted clothing trundling
Off to fitting rooms.
He shuffled up with a foolish grin.
"I think I'll join this convocation of
Waiting gentlemen.
My wife is a shopper...
She'll close the place down."
I moved a chair and gave some space;
Strangers become brothers in this place.
Five minutes on,
I knew he was a vet:
Army, Vietnam Nam...
"I don't like to think about it,"
Cleared his throat,
"Never can forget."
I turned to look at him.
"A little girl came running,
With her hand behind her back.
She only stood this high," he said,
And showed me with his palm her height,
"They carried grenades that way...
All of 'em...couldn't tell which ones...
Sergeant told us, 'Don't ever check...just shoot.'"
The voice trailed off....
I sat sweating in a thrift store,
Captive of my own politeness,
Half a century,
Half a planet,
Transported in his words
into a soldier's Hell.
"So I shot...
Nothing else to do."
Silence then.
A total stranger staggering
under the weight of having
Murdered his Albatross....
Of having carried this thing,
This memory,
Inside him all these years,
Of finding me,
The unsuspecting thrift shop guest
Who'd listen to his lonely tale,
Perhaps so he could earn some rest....
I, his unwitting Confessor,
Uncertain what to say,
Certain something must be said...
Certain nothing could be said...
Sat dumb, but understanding
The wisdom of confessional dividers,
The private comfort of two booths
Where prayerful exchanges
Intersperse uncertain silences,
Present in the overhanging need:
Demanding sorrowful returns,
Impending memories of sorrows...
And lonely trudgings home....
(Connections with Fr. Laurence's "Riddling confession finds but short shrift," in Romeo & Juliet, and Coleridge's "Rime of the Ancient Mariner")
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 5:39 PM UTC
Deluded sailor
on his vessel
Set out to drift
on sea, it lies
Smiles.
Dawn only,
merely,
but a distance
to the eyes
Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 6:20 AM UTC
Army, Navy, Air Force, Marine,
Air, space, land and sea;
Sailor, Corpman, Airman, Soldier,
Pilot, Ranger, Medic, SEAL,
or Merchant Mariner;
Barbary, 1812, American Revolution,
Civil, Spanish, Texan and Mexican,
WWI, WWII,
Korea, Vietnam,
Gulf, Iraq and Afghanistan.
Khaki, green, white and blue,
Ship, tank, plane... all boots.
Knife, pistol, bomb or rifle,
Weapon, bandage, or Bible instead,
Each one’s veins filled with red.
Hostage rescue, protect and shield,
Capture, conquer, overcome, never yield;
Freedom, heartbreak, loss and grief,
Foreign, home, border, sky,
Ocean, desert, mountain, plain,
Water side, hillside, bedside, grave.
Parent, child, father, mother,
Auntie, uncle, niece or nephew,
Sister, brother, spouse and lover.
May your sweat on furtive brow,
Rouse our tribute, take knee and bow.
Buried, missing... wounded all,
Respect, endure, honor, release,
Forever may you rest in peace.
*To each of you
Who’s paid a price,
With years, with limb,
With blood, with life,
For each of these,
Oh, warrior ferocious,
Wrapped around
A heart that’s precious;
My voice it sings,
Let freedom ring;
My heart, it bleeds,
My eyes, they weep;
My hand, it rises in salute;
And my soul is filled
This day for you
With pride that swells,
With love that beats,
A song of deepest,
Heartfelt
Gratitude!*
Oh Warrior, you this day I salute!!!
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 3:37 PM UTC
The Straw Furniture (Summertime and the Living is Easy)
The ancient straw furniture, yellow-white, cracked,
My boon companions from the Sun Room where I write,
Give me a welcome back embrace and purposely snag my sweater,
Crackling a laugh and tween boisterous gasps, all wish me a hearty
Welcome back ancient mariner, to your cottage
On the bluff overlooking Peconic Bay.
The deck furniture exhumed from the garage,
Accompanied by a parade, nay a slew,
Of spiders and insects waving Adieu to their winter palace
Climb aboard to get a better view of their new deck digs,
And of me, the anti-hero of their grandparent's tales.
I go down to the basement.
Chagrined,
I come back up the twisty stairs
which designed, aimed to maim,
vowing never to return.
The refrigerator says do you like modern art?
Mold of multifarious colors, heavenly hues worthy of the
Museum of Modern Art,
I bequeath to you freely, no charge!
The clean laundry left out from last summer,
Looks so forlorn, asks politely,
Make me gone, wash away the winter's dusty grime,
Besides, traces of aged balsamic suntan lotion, still inhabit.
The golf clubs say nice meeting you,
Tho we think we met you once before,
Five or eight years or even never-years ago, was it not?
My obedient servants?
No, my friends, my helpers, my guides,
For in their sheltering embrace, in this holy place,
Inspiration floods, overcomes me and I am compelled alive,
Poet renewed, ****** why am I crying...
May 26th
10:15 AM
Shelter Island
In the Sun Room, weeping.
May 26, 2013
May 26, 2013 at 10:22 AM UTC
I sent a message out to sea, through
wasted words it begs for your return.
If the nautical clamor delivers it to you,
we will be reunited soon.
For weeks I wandered this lonely harbor
sunset after sunset and hoped that the coastal breeze
wouldn't bring with it your scent.
I saw your face in my dreams, and
that was almost too much...
I sent out a message in a bottle,
if it should reach your salted hideout, you'll soon
find that your vessel is calling my soul to your sea...
Sunrise after sunrise I wander this dewey harbor
and search the docked ships for something familiar.
And at night I'll sit out on the jetties, my eyes follow the
guiding light out to sea and I'll think of you,
and wish that when the coastal breeze blows east,
you will accompany it back to me.
So I wrote a message, addressed to my love out at sea,
telling of my desires to join you.
I'll leave this port behind and
the sea will be our home.
I sent out the message in a corked bottle,
and hoped the waves will carry it your direction,
and that you'll allow my love to be your beacon
through the rough seas and guide you to shore.
And night after night, I will sit and await
the arrival of my craved mariner.
Jul 12, 2011
Jul 12, 2011 at 7:08 AM UTC
A mariner on the ocean of the eternal,
Looking above the bow,
A panoramic view of the presentation of self,
Nautical boundaries and jurisdictions,
Inhabiting and found,
Consciousness of all,
Abound.
Nov 28, 2012
Nov 28, 2012 at 8:22 AM UTC
venus
morning star
lucifer f a
l
l
i
n
g backwards and forwards in time
in rotation
in retrograde rotation
(“the fall of lucifer” painted darkly against the bright spot in the sky)
((i see myself in the
shadows beneath
his tumbling figure))
light-bringer
dawn-bringer
the rising sun in the east
a supernova exploding in the background: there are subatomic particles
bigger than what i can offer
there are greenhouse gasses that
give off more heat than my body
will ever be able to produce for anyone
day light
night light
the setting sun in the west
a constellational birth in the foreground: there are
not enough moons in the solar system
there is not enough space
between planetary rings to explain
gravitation and the human body
(aphrodite tell me: is this sin or is this love?)
((i will dip my toes in sea foam
until i deteriorate
i will put my ear against conch shells
until i can hear your answer))
venus
evening star
lucifer pouring sulfuric acid into the car vents
the air ducts
the atmosphere
it becomes the thick dark clouds that obscure
my vision of myself from reality
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 10:38 PM UTC
Flow Like Fluid Concept by Jay Byrne of Eclectic.Collective.
"text" Jay byrne text Mr.Sandman
-------------------
I flow like fluid. I do it. You knew it.
The cryptic, mystic, Celtic Druid. rpt x 1
--------------------
"Bring them all on, mix them in me cauldron.
Brewin' up a batch o' bad beats to call on.
Broth's bubblin'. Brewin' up, rumblin'.
I try avoid trouble in me hometown Dublin.
I'm a pacifist. I take the ****
Spit like a basilisk. A rhyme alchemist.
An optimist when the chips are down.
Smoke verbs like herbs the proverbial clown.
I get a notion. Pure emotion.
Check out me rhyme. Poetry in motion.
Behold me ocean. Come in it's fine.
Jay's The Name, I'll take you Deep Into The Rhyme.
So deep.
Put your back to me brother cos me brother I keep.
No sleep now it's on with the show.
Feel the beat now I'm lettin' you know. That"..
-------------------
"..I flow like fluid. I do it. You knew it.
The cryptic, mystic, Celtic Druid."
--------------------
*Grrr...I flow like fluid. I do it,you knew it,
the Poseidon Adventure,Marianas Trencher,
I flow like fluid. I do it,you knew it,
the Poseidon Adventure,Marianas Trench-yeah*
-------------------------------------------
*Welcome to the Maelstrom,event horizon,
barometer's droppin,ears poppin,the pressure is risin,
yours widen in surprise as you enter the eye of the perfect storm,
beneath the surface beyond the norm,
moments ago the surface was placid and warm,
Now the Sandman's here...Sea's turbulent,
sound the alarm,
too late wrong Siren,your crew is all charmed,
chain yourself to the mast spindrift whips past,
as I froth up the sea's with my breath,
mermaids approach eyes promising caresses of death,
whether Mariner or Sub Mariner,you're no challenger,
Architeuthis is toothless but it still strangles ya,
Mangle ya drags ya down to the Abyss,
welcome to my realm,hear the crackle and hiss,
Neptune's risin,rhyme's sussurus surprisin'-you're caught on my Trident,
______--__________________-___________
*Cause I flow like fluid. I do it,you knew it,
Poseidon Adventure,Marianas Trencher,
I flow like fluid. I do it,you knew it,
the Poseidon Adventure,Marianas Trench-yeah*
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 11:27 PM UTC
I've drowned before, in a literal sense of the word.
I, fancying myself adept, bored of shallow waters
dived in to the depths.
However, proving my pride quite wrong, the water
submersed me with its innate and temperate nature
to a world void of breath or zephyr.
I flailed my arms, and kicked my feet; but to the
sapphire liquid my efforts came quiet inept.
Understanding my current disposition, I left myself be
enveloped.
My lungs wailed and burned, the irony hardly lost,
and as I sank towards the muted pit of abysmal blue
I construed of Love's similar tactics.
Because now that I am drowning in the loveliness of
your undiluted singularity;
the resonance of sound, when around you, is dulled by
the euphony of your voice,
my lungs have a lack of oxygen and the tilt of the colors
of the spectrum are vibrant and mesmerizing.
I've drowned before, in a metacognitive sense of the word.
I, more experienced, don't fancy myself a great swimmer,
because in the torrents of your sea, I am but a mariner
lost in the sublime beauty of exquisite waters.
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 4:33 PM UTC
The sad and solemn night
Hath yet her multitude of cheerful fires;
The glorious host of light
Walk the dark hemisphere till she retires;
All through her silent watches, gliding slow,
Her constellations come, and climb the heavens, and go.
Day, too, hath many a star
To grace his gorgeous reign, as bright as they:
Through the blue fields afar,
Unseen, they follow in his flaming way:
Many a bright lingerer, as the eve grows dim,
Tells what a radiant troop arose and set with him.
And thou dost see them rise,
Star of the Pole! and thou dost see them set.
Alone, in thy cold skies,
Thou keep'st thy old unmoving station yet,
Nor join'st the dances of that glittering train,
Nor dipp'st thy ****** orb in the blue western main.
There, at morn's rosy birth,
Thou lookest meekly through the kindling air,
And eve, that round the earth
Chases the day, beholds thee watching there;
There noontide finds thee, and the hour that calls
The shapes of polar flame to scale heaven's azure walls.
Alike, beneath thine eye,
The deeds of darkness and of light are done;
High towards the star-lit sky
Towns blaze--the smoke of battle blots the sun--
The night-storm on a thousand hills is loud--
And the strong wind of day doth mingle sea and cloud.
On thy unaltering blaze
The half-wrecked mariner, his compass lost,
Fixes his steady gaze,
And steers, undoubting, to the friendly coast;
And they who stray in perilous wastes, by night,
Are glad when thou dost shine to guide their footsteps right.
And, therefore, bards of old,
Sages, and hermits of the solemn wood,
Did in thy beams behold
A beauteous type of that unchanging good,
That bright eternal beacon, by whose ray
The voyager of time should shape his heedful way.
1.5k
This Poem Was Written By Eli, Age 7,
(Assisted By An Ancient Mariner)
Wandering around the house,
Ole Man Nat, I found in bed,
Writing a poem on his tablet.
Invited in by the Ancient Mariner,
He offered me, a rare opportunity,
Join in, he said, two heads in beds
Are always better,
Especially when writing poetry!
*The Poem:
The navy- colored deck umbrella,
Rocks back and fro,
Like a big sailboat,
Going in circles
Cloudy Sunday,
Just a pinch of blue,
Not enough to go outside,
So I am writing this bored poem
Glaring seas, small waves moving,
Gazing upon the bay,
Makes me tired and needy for
Body fuel,
It is after ten, and I have not had my
Breakfast yet!
Since I am already in bed,
Bring my breakfast to me,
Since someday I will be a
Father (and CIA agent too)
I might as well get used to it!*
**At this point Eli split,
Cause breakfast was clearly
not going to be delivered.
While it was being set up,
Throwing a football to his dad,
Was preferable to completing his
Masterpiece.**
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 10:27 AM UTC
I stumbled against you at the bazaar in Alexandria one day,
a stroke of accidental closeness as we brushed hands,
and my heart shivered like the old man on the corner of Divisadero street.
And then you vanished from my mind as a dead leaf from branch,
till I saw you again in a tavern by the docks,
quill in hand and the world on your back.
We share that same dusty look, that obvious stride
that wanderers from everywhere can so easily surmise
to belong to one in kind.
The day after you were at the well by the caravanserai,
and I recognized your goatskin shoes as those
of a mariner from the North, the land of the Majus, my kin.
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 7:44 PM UTC
At the height
of their pursuit of elusive light,
in the inner core deep,
they set about
translating the ardors of night
in to a sublime fire
that would lead them
to a new awareness.
She had a deftness
that crossed limits and
found new possibilities
in any thing she did.
Art of body coupled with
urges of the heart
she transformed with her magic:
a tree full of scented flowers
that are dreams of eternal spring.
He had spread creepers,
on the foliage and chunky trunk,
with his caresses,
she forgot herself completely as the pleasure
swept over her every cell.
Continued embraces tight and passionate,
anointed them with perfumes,
in their quest they collected star dust,
from her swelling sculptured *****
he inhaled narcotics and got high.
Sea breeze covered them
with fine grains of salt from far away waves,
and an ancient mariner's quest.
A sublime fire simmered
in their nerves.
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 6:59 AM UTC
If you go chasing rabbits
Or shooting albatross
Expect to run afoul
Of queens and gambling loss
When you ignore the cat
You might just lose your head
You should have stayed home sailor
Safe and in your bed
Don’t try cheating fate
Or wasting time on tea
Death always catches up
He’s never late you see
Listen to the hatter
He’s sure to drive you mad
Now go tell your tale
Bemoan the woes you’ve had
Sit and watch the hours
With a watch that doesn’t work
Whispers from the sea
Forever will they lurk
May 14, 2012
May 14, 2012 at 1:08 AM UTC
He’s journeyed many a treacherous route, scuttled ancient-ships,
ridden the skyscraper-troughs of crystal-seas, hunted enemies,
alone.
He’s guided by the lamps of the Heavens, the countless stars,
the sun and the moon, calculated the astrolabe,
alone.
He’s braved hurricane winds, the triangles of Bermuda, windless days,
leviathans & squids, scavenging whites and other such hungry things,
alone.
He’s got the strength of a Goliath, keeps his tenderness guarded under lock and skeleton-key,
his wounds bleed forever in the brokenness of a self-induced solitary confinement,
alone.
He’s the truest mariner, fights black-tempests within, protects himself from overexposure,
from another broken heart,
alone.
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 1:55 PM UTC