"mer" poems
Elle est retrouvée.
Quoi ? - L'Eternité.
C'est la mer allée
Avec le soleil.
Ame sentinelle,
Murmurons l'aveu
De la nuit si nulle
Et du jour en feu.
Des humains suffrages,
Des communs élans
Là tu te dégages
Et voles selon.
Puisque de vous seules,
Braises de satin,
Le Devoir s'exhale
Sans qu'on dise : enfin.
Là pas d'espérance,
Nul orietur.
Science avec patience,
Le supplice est sûr.
Elle est retrouvée.
Quoi ? - L'Eternité.
C'est la mer allée
Avec le soleil.
18.1k
reaching the back of you
not sure I could. not sure i would.
scent of the crime uncommitted uncovered
the meandering is the man demigod demagogue taking
time
pleasured mercy
the remaindered searchingly
suffices
you don’t speak plain english the only tongue i got
insert the coin in your slot commencing researching the
way in and
don’t think i want to find the way out to the
back of you hiding in the inside learning the way you visualize
playing amy winehouse as an overlaying graph to the autoroute
to the south of france, sur-la-mer, why ever leave and you come
in my mouth poems new each time
no exit. no back of you. stuck in a longingly heaven
this house is my home and I know the sun brightest
when i put my coin in the slot of play and press the
new tune button at 4:10AM
Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 4:17 AM UTC
Few days back, returned from a marriage
With my katz-en-jam-mer-ed bud, in a typical Himachli carriage
Half the journey, I was accompanied by
After parting ways at station, we bid each other bye
Continuing thereafter, the journey, I went into a slumber dim
Unaware, that the signal went out from my SIM
Someone, looking about 25, sat into my lateral sight
Looking sober, he asked about a familiar site
Involving his step family, he told me his unfair tale
Hearing upon which, I let pity sail
Somethings do happen for worse, told myself
Nothing remains forever, he added words on my shelf
|AB|
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 12:59 AM UTC
The deadly air of autumn’s blow
Empowered winter’s cold to flow,
But spring’s warmness began to grow,
Releasing summer’s smoothing glow.
It started out as a mer gaze,
Bringing my lonely heart ablaze,
We were lost in a lovely maze
Surviving the long autumn days.
Can we handle the freezing cold?
The one that wraps us close and hold
Unto each other like glimmering gold
As time stops, turning us into winter’s mold.
We slit in half, when spring arrived,
As I believed love was thrived,
I felt you had my heart revived
But it was clear you were contrived.
Now summer begins to boil down,
I can see all your endless frown,
You indeed fooled me like a clown,
So I watch our affair slip, drown.
Summer was to bring us together,
But spring showed we’re light as feather,
In winter we were twined with tether,
Did you enjoyed autumn’s weather?
Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 9:12 PM UTC
A white mist drifts across the shrouds,
A wild moon in this wintry sky
Gleams like an angry lion’s eye
Out of a mane of tawny clouds.
The muffled steersman at the wheel
Is but a shadow in the gloom;—
And in the throbbing engine-room
Leap the long rods of polished steel.
The shattered storm has left its trace
Upon this huge and heaving dome,
For the thin threads of yellow foam
Float on the waves like ravelled lace.
5.9k
I know of a world with magic in the air
Flights of fantasy and the most enchanted sea
I'll take you there
Show you the forests of the fair
All you have to do is follow me
The oceans will take your breath away
Mer scales glimmer as they shed in currents
Dive down in the bay
And mind the seaspray
And you can catch one if you make sure to hurry
Deep in caves, dragons meet our eye
Guarding hoards of gold and jewels
But they leave to fly
Throughout their own wide open sky
And that's when you disrupt their accrual
Higher in mountains, gryphons make their lives
Wingspans like whirlwinds: mighty and wide
But diets on which they thrive
Can't keep them forever alive
So take a talon which'll never again glide
Mer scale, talon and stolen gem
I like these souvenirs so far
And when I look at them
Checking over again and again
We can make a potion of stars
But there are a few more ingredients
We need to brew our magic
I'm a potion genius
And also a bit of a deviant
Who cares if this gets a bit tragic?
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 11:18 AM UTC
Tes yeux sont si profonds qu'en me penchant pour boire
J'ai vu tous les soleils y venir se mirer
S'y jeter à mourir tous les désespérés
Tes yeux sont si profonds que j'y perds la mémoire
À l'ombre des oiseaux c'est l'océan troublé
Puis le beau temps soudain se lève et tes yeux changent
L'été taille la nue au tablier des anges
Le ciel n'est jamais bleu comme il l'est sur les blés
Les vents chassent en vain les chagrins de l'azur
Tes yeux plus clairs que lui lorsqu'une larme y luit
Tes yeux rendent jaloux le ciel d'après la pluie
Le verre n'est jamais si bleu qu'à sa brisure
Mère des Sept douleurs ô lumière mouillée
Sept glaives ont percé le prisme des couleurs
Le jour est plus poignant qui point entre les pleurs
L'iris troué de noir plus bleu d'être endeuillé
Tes yeux dans le malheur ouvrent la double brèche
Par où se reproduit le miracle des Rois
Lorsque le coeur battant ils virent tous les trois
Le manteau de Marie accroché dans la crèche
Une bouche suffit au mois de Mai des mots
Pour toutes les chansons et pour tous les hélas
Trop peu d'un firmament pour des millions d'astres
Il leur fallait tes yeux et leurs secrets gémeaux
L'enfant accaparé par les belles images
Écarquille les siens moins démesurément
Quand tu fais les grands yeux je ne sais si tu mens
On dirait que l'averse ouvre des fleurs sauvages
Cachent-ils des éclairs dans cette lavande où
Des insectes défont leurs amours violentes
Je suis pris au filet des étoiles filantes
Comme un marin qui meurt en mer en plein mois d'août
J'ai retiré ce radium de la pechblende
Et j'ai brûlé mes doigts à ce feu défendu
Ô paradis cent fois retrouvé reperdu
Tes yeux sont mon Pérou ma Golconde mes Indes
Il advint qu'un beau soir l'univers se brisa
Sur des récifs que les naufrageurs enflammèrent
Moi je voyais briller au-dessus de la mer
Les yeux d'Elsa les yeux d'Elsa les yeux d'Elsa.
5.8k
Le garçon délabré qui n’a rien à faire
Que de se gratter les doigts et se pencher sur mon épaule:
‘Dans mon pays il fera temps pluvieux,
Du vent, du grand soleil, et de la pluie;
C’est ce qu’on appelle le jour de lessive des gueux.’
(Bavard, baveux, à la croupe arrondie,
Je te prie, au moins, ne bave pas dans la soupe).
‘Les saules trempés, et des bourgeons sur les ronces—
C’est là, dans une averse, qu’on s’abrite.
J’avais sept ans, elle était plus petite.
Elle était toute mouillée, je lui ai donné des primevères.’
Les taches de son gilet montent au chiffre de trentehuit.
‘Je la chatouillais, pour la faire rire.
J’éprouvais un instant de puissance et de délire.’
Mais alors, vieux lubrique, à cet âge …
‘Monsieur, le fait est dur.
Il est venu, nous peloter, un gros chien;
Moi j’avais peur, je l’ai quittée à mi-chemin.
C’est dommage.’
Mais alors, tu as ton vautour!
Va t’en te décrotter les rides du visage;
Tiens, ma fourchette, décrasse-toi le crâne.
De quel droit payes-tu des expériences comme moi?
Tiens, voilà dix sous, pour la salle-de-bains.
Phlébas, le Phénicien, pendant quinze jours noyé,
Oubliait les cris des mouettes et la houle de Cornouaille,
Et les profits et les pertes, et la cargaison d’étain:
Un courant de sous-mer l’emporta très ****
Le repassant aux étapes de sa vie antérieure.
Figurez-vous donc, c’était un sort pénible;
Cependant, ce fut jadis un bel homme, de haute taille.
3.5k
To you i would give the passion of the sun
and the shine provoked from simmered grass
and if the moonlight was not safe from your eye,
it's buttermilk glow i would surely pluck down.
To you i would give the midnight chimney smoke
that sillouette on the sky putting cobbles underfoot.
Take my taste of salt as sea white mer-men come
a breeze in the laughter of workmen's homecoming.
I give the feeling when swallowed by field flax
pinpricks of cotton, i'd lay you down bare-skinned.
You empty the film on my flesh camera,
I keep the removal cuts.
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 7:08 PM UTC
It's motion sickness,mal de mer
this feeling that I get when you're not there,
like I'm floating three feet in the air
upside down.
When are you coming back to town?
I can be your entertainment for the night,put out the light, and treat you right
I can be your breakfast waiter,on a silver tray,
what do you say,
when are you coming back to town,
or are you going to let me down and stay away?
I want this sickness that I have to be kept at bay,want you to come and stay with me,
we could be a pair
instead of me alone, just floating in the air,
what do you say
why do I pray
when are you coming back to town?
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 12:04 PM UTC
I am drunk
why do they say as a skunk?
I've never seen a drunk skunk
I've never seen a skunk.
I'd like to see the sea with a skunk.
Go sailing, drink *** look for mer skunks and then say: 'me and the skunk were drunk'
That would be funking good drunking!
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 4:44 PM UTC
strewn atop
her neatly made bed
decorated with satin sheets and silk pillows,
some dainty rose petals.....
a green bottle of bubbly by the bed side
the highlight of the night....
that slinky ‘coco de mer’ lingerie
her secret weapon.....
as she tucks away her pleasure toy
a smile of relief descends.....
her lover is back in town!
© 2021
Aug 7, 2021
Aug 7, 2021 at 9:16 AM UTC
She's out there somewhere,
Among the tall grass,
Waiting for me, still unaware.
She's dancing with breeze
As the winds come off the shore;
She's singing with the seas
As the waves crash and roar.
Her scent sails to me
In the flowing evening air
While I still travel seas
I'll land upon that beach
One day and find her there;
She'll be within my reach
Elle est ma fleur de la mer.
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 9:34 AM UTC
Just pebbles on a lonely shore.
Eroded by a constant ebb and flow.
Once were rough around the edges,
Quartz stones,embedded far within.
Bring forth the merman, who chips away with all his heart.
Only happens at midnight you know.
The merman, breaks the pebbles down, retrieves their gifts of crystalline dreams.
Requests permission from Neptune, the father of the seas.
To find a lonely mermaid, to be betrothed to him, so mer folk can continue, to ever live and breed.
Free to rave those wild seas.
In love, they breed on rugged beaches, discreetly out of eye -shot of the eyes of man and beast.
(C) Livvi
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 8:17 AM UTC
Ce que j'ai ressenti quand j'ai écouté ses chansons
True sorry
Sa musique t'envahit
Te coupe le souffle
Rien que des sentiments graves, étouffantes
Il te prend par la main
Et t'étrangle soudainement
Il te caresse dans ta gifle
Il est avec toi
et t'abandonne quand tu le désires le plus
Il est là
Sur des vibrations sonores hors norme
Ce qu'il fait t'exaspère
te rend malade
Il ment sans même rougir
L'improbable c'est lui
L'horizon , les jardins vivent dans
ses imaginations
mais il aime me montrer ses démons
Nomade Slang
Je me balade dans tes pensées
Je veille sur tes routines plates
Ton âme danse dans cet espace
Je te voix heureux mais effrayé de
ce monde et ne montrant que ta tristesse
Essentielles
La mer, le vent chaud
les gens qui passent
Tout est familier
Tu revoit ta jeunesse
A l'aise dans un coin
Ce que tu es ne te ressemble plus
Mar 8, 2018
Mar 8, 2018 at 2:01 PM UTC
We sing of the ocean,
start of all life.
Encompass frail creatures,
bring seafarers strife.
A mysterious womb,
God’s blessed daughter;
a mystical kingdom lies under it’s waters.
The echoes of waves run rampant above,
they bless the warm sands with treasures and love.
Cascading valleys hidden beneath,
magic encumbers each barrier reef.
Color her lure,
The moon makes love
to her everynight.
Aug 8, 2011
Aug 8, 2011 at 7:46 PM UTC
Sometimes love comes too little, or it comes too late but does that make it any less true? You search for something your whole life, only to lose it once you finally had a grasp of it- it slipped right out of your fingertips. Why? Because you were wrong to “search” for it. You should have stayed there and let it locate you, or rather, stumble upon you. Like serendipity. Let destiny play its part.
But you know, the craziest thing is, I did. I stayed still and lived my life exactly the way I had been living because I knew that something like love can’t be forced- it will arrive at your doorstep when you are not even expecting it. I did not go about looking for love- no, because he appeared out of the blue and blurred every dimension, corner, crook and cranny of my 20/20 vision. He did not sweep me off my feet, the way I thought it would be when you fall in love, no- because when I was with him, I forgot that I had feet at all- I was not running, and it was not a walk in the park either. Being with him was more of a swim.
Why?
Because, sometimes I am swimming with sharks, and I feel as if they would sink their teeth in me anytime they choose to, the way my insecurities come and go- leaving me vulnerable and stripped, and alert. Like a flock of birds pecking their heads as they feed, insecurities would attack me the same way- a frenzy that I have no control over. At times I swam with mermaids- seemingly beautiful and ethereal- but once you get closer, they will try to drown you in as they unmask themselves and all you are left with is a question, “Will I survive?” and this is a lot like pretending to be fine, to tell yourself over and over that you will not drown, yet the pain inside, as everyone is all aware of, is way stronger than the fake smiles I plaster on each day as I vowed to stop being unhappy, but once he comes around, mer-figured, he looks promising and I would swim to him, thinking that his presence meant survival, but I would be wrong, again and again. Other times I swam in the azure Caribbean sea, believing this is paradise- filled with wondrous feelings and unimaginable liberation because the reason for all of this is in the water next to me, never letting go of my hand. The rest of the unidentified moments was like being a passenger in Titanic, believing that I was sailing on something that was “claimed” to be unsinkable, but as I blinked my eyes, I realised that I was cold, covered in ice and clinging onto a shattered piece of iceberg that was slowly melting with time in the middle of the silent but perilous ocean- with a whistle in hand, alone, and there were no signs of rescue teams to wait or look out for. That is what it felt like. Or feels like.
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 8:30 AM UTC
The Girl with the Tree Earrings stood motionless before the fire. Seething tongues craving-- grazing-- for a taste of her, never easing their desire. "Arrogant." she simply stated. But her eyes spoke more than hatred. And the Flames licked with more arrogance; every whip a louder whisper of a deeper elegance. Yet the Girl with the Tree Earrings and the contagious hidden smile, did nothing more than stare for an even longer while...
The echo of millions of actions manifest through the flickering of a Flame, so it is no mystery that the essence of all of history, can be seen in the dance of an elemental game.
Still, she waited.
For a word.
For an insult.
For a slap of reality--
waiting for the flaming lips to speak! To speak more than mere causality!
Silence filled the sound.
Gravity held her bound.
The Fire, motionless, searched The Mind-- the Past, the Future-- all of Time. It asked the Earthy ground, but it nothing found. Then it asked the kind and playful wind... and there it was...
A lonely phrase hidden just within
"La Mer." was all it whispered in a cool embracing breeze, molding the Fire to its own desire-- into a cresting wave crashing down-- with ease...
The Girl's Tree Earrings shone. Each branch caught in a golden glimmer as her eyes softly simmered the simple beauty of this vision... Her glazed strawberry lips then repeated, words unheard yet somehow needed...
"La Mer"
Aug 3, 2010
Aug 3, 2010 at 6:18 AM UTC
Les ondes de la mer me caressent doucement.
Je me sens si heureux chaque seconde de mon être
Et j’oublie mes chagrins si divers légèrement.
Tout ce qu’on veut maintenant est s’unir aux belles-lettres
En quoi notre destin fut écrit autrefois,
Où les chemins de la vie sont toujours dégagés
Et nous sommes libérés des regrets, des outrages
Qui empêchent notre envie de partout voyager.
Nous manquons seulement de courage de fuir -
De nos craintes, vexations, amertumes et avis...
En étant caressés par les ondes de la mer
Commençons de nouveau: nouveau seuil de la vie.
Feb 6, 2017
Feb 6, 2017 at 2:34 PM UTC
She came to me at Calvados,
A single night, without repeat.
The woman of my soul’s love longing,
to consummate with kisses sweet.
She entered in my midnight room
a simple pastel shift she wore
Smiling as she bared her shoulders,
the garment dropping to the floor.
So beautiful, this child of Gonne,
to this poet’s bleary eyes.
How often I had praised, in print,
her auburn hair and hazel eyes.
I was silent, she as well,
neither keen to break the spell.
She kissed me deeply on the lips
just as the stroke of midnight fell.
Her fingers deeply in my hair
she brought me to her freckled chest.
I licked and nibbled at one ******
like a baby at her breast.
She mounted me, her Rocinante,
and slowly, we began our quest.
My Willie in warm velvet wetness
wrapped as I returned her thrusts.
In spirit, we belonged together.
In truth,she’d wed another man.
A brute who’d tried to **** her sister.
She, too, had suffered at his hand.
As we played, she bent to kiss me
sweet Celtic sweat was in her hair
In another life she’d been my sister.
In this life’s love war all was fair.
She gave out with a little cry
as she took my Willie deep.
we came in unison so sweetly
but quietly, her child was asleep.
I remember, one time, Maud had asked
what type of bird I’d like to be?
Back upon the hills at Howth
when we were young and both still free.
“I think”, I said,” I’d be a gull,
playing at the shore for free.
Soaring high above the water
taking my living from the sea.”
Now we lay here in Calvados
near the town Colleville sur Mer
Her villa was named “Les Mouettes”
For one night only, we coupled there.
It is rumored that, in the Summer of 1907, William Butler Yeats and Maud Gonne shared physical intimacy for the one and only time in their lives. He the famous Poet and Playwright, she the famous Irish nationalist.
At the time she was separated from John MacBride, but they had not divorced, being Catholic. Yeats had a belief in reincarnation and both had, at times, dabbled in the occult. See also my poem
" Making Iseult"
The child asleep in the adjoining room would be Sean MacBride, later in life a Nobel peace prize winner.
Les Mouettes is French for "the (Sea)gulls."
I have read that Yeats wrote a love poem about this night, but that it has been lost. This is my attempt to replicate that lost love poem.
I thank Patrick McFarland for helping me revise the original version of the poem. His suggestions improved the flow of the piece.
.
Feb 24, 2012
Feb 24, 2012 at 8:39 AM UTC
- Air breton. -
Adieu, patrie !
L'onde est en furie.
Adieu, patrie !
Azur !
Adieu, maison, treille au fruit mûr,
Adieu, les fleurs d'or du vieux mur !
Adieu, patrie !
Ciel, forêt, prairie !
Adieu, patrie,
Azur !
Adieu, patrie !
L'onde est en furie.
Adieu, patrie,
Azur !
Adieu, fiancée au front pur,
Le ciel est noir, le vent est dur.
Adieu, patrie !
Lise, Anna, Marie !
Adieu, patrie,
Azur !
Adieu, patrie !
L'onde est cri furie.
Adieu, patrie,
Azur !
Notre œil, que voile un deuil futur,
Va du flot sombre au sort obscur !
Adieu, patrie !
Pour toi mon cœur prie.
Adieu, patrie,
Azur !
Jersey, le 31 juillet 1853.
1.9k
Alles, was bleibt, ist ein Riss, genau in der Mitte des Seins.
Lass mich nicht die sein, die an allen Standpunkten
teilhaben muss, nicht die, die mit Stift und Worten
Angst zu bekämpfen vermag, nicht die, die sich im-
mer brav rechts auf den Weg hält, die, deren Blick
immer Fremdens Füße begutachten, nicht die, die
sich ohne eine Tasse Koffein wachhalten versucht,
die, die überhaupt nur zu den traurigen Songs tanzt,
die, deren Herz sich nur schwer erwärmen lässt,
die, mit den melancholischen Augen den Raum er-
misst
Someone taught me to be me -
Es sind die Kämpfe mit meinem Selbst,
die sich in meine Haut gebrannt haben,
die Angst vor höheren Mächten, die
meine Augenringe abzeichnen,
es ist das große Vielleicht von dir,
dass mich zittern lässt.
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 5:56 AM UTC
I want to be a pirate and sail the seven seas
command the open oceans
and bring
Poseidon to his knees.
Alas I suffer from mal de mer
the smell of salt makes me sick
I swear.
It seems I'll never go to sea
so
a pirate's life is not for me.
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 5:32 AM UTC
June bugs crash into screens
mosquitoes whine
to get in by any means
dogs howl, frogs croak
like the bass fiddle
in Lightning Hopkins’ blues.
Sticky moisture from the bayou
envelopes, and soaks through,
permeates still night air
like the sad strains of Claude’s La Mer.
Growing up in southern climes
slowed days, stretched years
put me on the edge of tears
yearning for escape from there
from dominion of church
and Mama’s monarch perch.
Hints of her softness
were so rare and spare
that when she let us smooth her hair
we forgot how parched were we
for a trace of this tender intimacy
on summer nights’ scorch
spent on our homestead porch.
Aug 19, 2021
Aug 19, 2021 at 9:22 AM UTC