"nautical" poems
I knew I loved you
since the fourth feather light forehead kiss.
In your presence
I am isolated in utopian bliss.
An island overlooking
glowing hydrogen masses
of what looks like Pacific fires,
or Polaris,
or just you.
Small suns floating in nautical blue,
showered in Pearl Harbor reds
and paper kamikaze sunset hues.
My high sandcastle walls fall
a million grains all over the beach
and I am defenseless against the tide
that is about to swallow me.
I melt away,
let my demons burn,
open the gates,
and let the little girl escape.
I look at you
and everything
is made out of light.
You make every day
worth waking up to.
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 2:59 AM UTC
Like the gold at the end of a rainbow
Lives an angel off the coast of San Diego
A dark skinned beauty with a sunshine halo
Found her in the water and just had to say hello
Her siren voice still echoes in my head
Whispering my name so gently
with her bated breath
Her blinding smile is still burned into my eyes
Even in the dark of night
or against the great blue sky
On a vacation escape from reality
I found her, or maybe she found me
We fell into an ocean of sensuality
Until we were lost at sea...
Aquarian Mermaid
I swam in her lust
and I drowned in her love
Nautical Erotica
Wishes granted
By the gods above
Dearly beloved seraph
Enchantress of the Sea
Sing your magic siren song
Heavenly, to me...
Angel of the Oceanborne,
Navigate me home
Across these waters treacherous
Everywhere I roam
Her siren voice still echoes in my head
Whispering my name so gently
with her bated breath
Her blinding smile is still burned into my eyes
Even in the dark of night
or against the great blue sky
Aquarian Mermaid
I swam in her lust
and I drowned in her love
Nautical Erotica
Wishes granted
By the gods above
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 11:32 PM UTC
Swim in the deepest part of the ocean,
With waves over head,
A life pieced by water,
A nautical life,
Or aquatic wonders,
There is no fear,
Living in fairytales,
Mithical creatures,
Sorrounding the waters,
Travel sea to sea,
Hopes disguised as flounders,
Surfers all above,
And here come the divers,
Ready to explore,
The kind I belong to,
Sing to them now,
They'll jump off from sails,
To follow the voice,
Deep in the waters,
Desperate souls,
Following as I speak,
Gullible minds,
When told to go under,
This siren awaits,
For sailors to wonder,
To bring them in deep,
In dangerous waters.
-Kathia Mariana Landeros
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 6:18 PM UTC
Saltwater Poet.
Waves washing over me cleanse my soul.
Salt-soaked sand glues itself
to my skin,
it clears the cobwebs in my cluttered mind.
Anchoring back near the coast
is my ultimate goal.
Reaching others through my words
with the help of my
Nautical Muse.
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 3:23 PM UTC
i was born all naturally
formed in a lax factory
im actually
a hack with ******* in my nose, practically,
every day, haphazardly
stumbling home, half asleep
i cant tell whats happening
vision begins blackening
im whack like kriss kross
crack like rick ross
major brown boy to houston
be like, "yes, we have liftoff"
dont like me when i'm ****** off
cause ***** i'm bruce banner
or maybe i'm bruce wayne
either way, i got mad manners
tearing down walls like berlin
preaching like its a sermon
potential begins to burgeon
i'll cut you up like a surgeon
killing in place of coercion
so you better lower the curtain
my head and my body are hurtin
so tell me how quick does the world spin?
i'm taddling on ya, you can call me a toddler
but the snitchin n' **** is somethin im never fond of
and i never grow up, cause i'm the neverland smuggler
peter pan turns into one of my best customers
i never grew into my head, im not cocky
never had the eye of the tiger, im not rocky
growing up i never got in fights or caused a lotta ****
but presently im screaming **** the world", i've got a bone to pick
i've gotta problem and i think its the probable cause
you hold me captive, keep me trapped in your facets of laws
looks of repulsion are what cause me to brandish my claws
constant compulsions reminiscent of prodigal flaws
i've gotta problem and i think its the probable cause
see im a goblin shark i'll sink in my nautical jaws
im not a joker im a jester with lesser facades
wrought with insomnia cause drugs are american gods
Mar 10, 2017
Mar 10, 2017 at 1:39 AM UTC
*Over the centuries
a transforming logo
promoting and shaping
our dance with coffee..
a seafaring birth
fifteenth century siren
exposed and sensuous
twin-tailed mermaid..
her seductive history
reached to Seattle
with nautical theme..
one lasting effect
many centuries told
with modified modesty
her crown remains..
this enduring connection
upper and lower
crown and creation
transcends the coffee..
the logo reminds us:
senses through time
stimulate and attract
crowned light above...*
Mar 2, 2013
Mar 2, 2013 at 8:47 PM UTC
This is an apology to my younger self
for letting her forget the ixora bracelets
tucked in her tattered notebooks;
for letting her blur the outline of Artemis’ body
resting the edges of a waxing moon.
This is an apology for the poetry
and the songs she tuned out
that could’ve saved her life.
This is an apology for allowing her
to stop hearing the midnight stories
of the souls who get lost in unknown towns
concealed beyond
the gaps in their ribs;
for allowing her to stray too far
from mountain-and-sea sunsets
that she can no longer smell
the salty air
and remember the color
of the twilight skies.
This is an apology for allowing her to fall out of love
with the things she wanted
to stay in love with —
for allowing her to fall out of love
with the things that kept her alive.
This is an apology —
for peeling the tattoo scabs
between the drags on a cigarette,
for sleeping drunk on a pile of ***** laundry,
for wanting to keep
the dreamers in the rye,
and yet falling off the cliff
two pages before the ending.
This is an apology for writing her dreams
in a bottle and throwing it out
into the open ocean;
now those dreams
are nautical miles away,
lost in the domes
of a sunken city.
This is an apology to my younger self
for all the things she wanted to be
that I never became —
and an apology
for all the things I am
that she never wanted to be.
And yet, this too is a promise to her
that it’s okay:
it’s okay to lose yourself
in places you don’t like.
It’s okay to wake up and find yourself
confined in a body
you no longer seem to know.
It’s okay, darling;
someday, you’ll find your way back.
I’ll find my way back.
We’ll find our way back
to who we’re supposed to be.
And it’ll be home.
Aug 8, 2019
Aug 8, 2019 at 1:41 AM UTC
The city plays cat and mouse
and pefects the fear.
Jaggered lights dazzle
the victim
and nautical terms are resurrected as shanking.
Hospitals in an ode to Johannesburg's ingenuity
repair the injurious knife wounds
caused not by weekend lighter fuel
but a postcode lottery
undone only by the postman.
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 3:31 PM UTC
I came out of the north-west
Staggering from the storm
The surgeons had repaired my body
And my mind hung by one hinge
So I headed for the coast of Wales
To assume the healing rhythm of the sea
And breathe the briny air
Where no-one knew me
Nor called my worn out name
Sweet freedom in isolation
And so, in smiling solitude
I walked and smoked too much
Staring at the moody ocean
As we all inevitably do
As though it holds answers
And indeed it does
The answer is "being"
One hot but breezy day
I followed the coast from north to south
Not too far but far enough
Until I came upon a harbour
Tiny and insignificant
But a harbour nonetheless
With a clutch of small boats
Bobbing and swaying lazily
On the backwater slack water tide
And somewhere close by
A nautical bell tolled the rhythm
Of an endless heedless movement
And an oddly comfortable melancholy
Rocked me in it's arms
Lost and found
Beginning and end
In as much as everything matters
Though nothing matters much
This place was nothing to me
No more than countless others
But that harbour bell
So patient and so constant
Touched something deeper than knowledge
Perhaps it was the state of my health
Or the glowing heat of the day
But some vulnerable receptor
Vibrated to that gentle toll
I've been in many places in my life
And seen wondrous famous sights
All seared into my minds eye
But their memories will last no longer
Than the haunting harbour bell
By Phil Roberts
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 5:36 AM UTC
A little bird found a boat
A little knot held it docked
A little bird found out that
the boat was soon heading out
The sea is calm and the sun
looks so far from the shore
“Where are you headed?” asked the bird
“Straight towards the sun,” the boat replied
“You’re welcome to come along if you’d like.”
The little bird’s eyes lit up.
“Yes,” she said.
“I’ve been waiting to sail
toward that light for my entire life.”
Anchor’s up, they headed out that night.
The beginning was calm
The sea was peaceful
The moon was a kind and encouraging satellite
They left all of the world’s crossed wires behind
The sun was bright
and the fresh salt water
made them both feel alive.
A couple months went by
The boat noticed that every once in a while
the little bird would fly off for some time
I guess the little bird is just like myself,
the boat thought.
The little bird knew that the boat
was heading to the same destination,
however she wanted to fly there herself.
Determined to find…
Determined to find…
Someone, somewhere that could give her wings a break.
The boat looked up at its mast
and wondered why the bird flies so many miles
when the wind is willing to take us both in real time?
I wonder why the bird works so hard to let go
when there was never anything to hold
The boat started to worry that the bird
would leave home when she started to feel alone
I wonder where that poor little bird keeps going?
The boat kept sailing.
The sun kept shining
The wind kept blowing
The water kept flowing…
The little bird was off a few nautical miles on her own
Wings working tirelessly
The bird doesn’t like the salt, the heat,
and the fact that she doesn’t know where she is going
“I’m going to find that light,” the bird cried.
And she kept flying in circles
She could barely see the boat
Exhausted she mumbles,
“Where is that **** boat?
I need to go home.
I’m so tired.
I’m so hot.
I’m so lost.
For the last few months I’ve just wanted to be home.”
About to lose the energy to fly
About to lose the energy to see the light
About to lose all hope
The bird started back in the direction
of where she thought she’d last seen the boat
“I want to go home!”
“I need to go home!”
Anxious but brave she tuned into herself, her heart, her intuition…
Will it be enough to get her within reach of the boat…
I’m not sure
if we’ll ever know
the ending
to the story
of
The Bird & the Boat.
But we can have hope.
Or just please God
let me know
if I need
to give up hope.
Not on myself, just on us.
Once again, I let go.
Joseph S. Fusaro
Jul 16, 2021
Jul 16, 2021 at 10:03 PM UTC
There was a Young Lady of Portugal,
Whose ideas were excessively nautical:
She climbed up a tree,
To examine the sea,
But declared she would never leave Portugal.
3.2k
Even though we’re leagues apart
Measure my heartbeats by ear, sir
Part these waters from my tears
Tell me that you can tell the difference
I know that you’ll leave me as soon as I can
Need someone, anyone, anything, something
Empathizing with me is worthless; I can’t feel
Surely you must see my pain growing
Surely you must hear my heart breaking
Feb 26, 2010
Feb 26, 2010 at 7:45 PM UTC
Love poems rot,
The sensical knots.
I tie, overflowing, the dread.
The Pickwitkin Heavy,
The Verveberry Wedding.
Such shanks, still stuck in my head.
My memories loosen,
The Stopshift Tallcluesen,
Cut to myself dreaming in red.
Full throttle forward,
I'll sail ever toward,
My untying your knots from my bed.
Aug 29, 2010
Aug 29, 2010 at 7:24 PM UTC
There's this mermaid girl I knew once.
She had long blonde hair,
and she smoked tobacco under water.
She defies the laws of the universe.
She had deep green eyes
that screamed the names of lonely sailors.
I hear they got lost in her eyes,
so lost no nautical device could guide them away.
Her ******* were covered by shells.
Sea shells that glowed their gratitude as they lay on her chest.
I hear she moved exactly like the ocean, or maybe the ocean mimicked her.
When I heard her voice,
it was like bubbles.
Like bubbles that begin at the bottom of the sea and run through the water to so delicately burst on the top.
But even delicate bubbles have capacity for violence.
We, they, you, have reverence for a voice they tell stories about.
Her face shone like the ripples of light at sunset that stunned the sailors in awe.
Her hands, smooth like pearls.
Her lips, tantalizingly terrifyingly beautiful as all the reefs the wrecked the ships.
I knew a mermaid girl once. She had long blonde hair and she smoked tobacco underwater.
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 1:43 PM UTC
A palatial forest,
Full of verdure only to be seen under
The Lucent celestial body
Owls stay secluded beneath the
Caliginous shadows,
Tree limbs swerve and waver from the
Fluttering wind.
Pathways scatter across the canvas
Filled with greenery
Vines clamber to the ground,
Fallen leaves lie withered through the earth,
Under the nautical dusk
Thus shows the beauty of a forest at
Night.
Dec 20, 2012
Dec 20, 2012 at 12:11 AM UTC
Glitters and red meters
givers and received perceivers
usher the gift of illusionary display
vision all the aspects of reality
Signal the surreal posts on trees
yank and spotlight my dreams
walk and split the glass panels
wagon us from societal ice
Glitters and red masks
course every vein of our being
pour the red wine and misplace
protrude every nautical sense
Read my palm, contact the wizard
grab my sight, take me to the moon
contactless,eventful and tasteful
contactless, easy and resourceful
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 4:49 AM UTC
A lost coyote, she howls
And scowls ripping branches
A witches tantrum
Making tall pines
Stir in their pots
As powerful as naught
Nautical miles
A sail in the air
A mystical mare
The mountains stand peaceful in the distance
A ridge of resistance
Against her insistence blows
But the energy in me grows
I need this though
I commune with thee
I appreciate the need
To scream and sing
To let your voices ring
Through the mountain air
To shout to others beware
The wind witches that swishes
For river coffee are here
Jan 19, 2021
Jan 19, 2021 at 1:00 PM UTC
the wind has caught up to us once again,
billowing around the spinnaker
as she dips the helm ten degrees starboard.
we've reached six knots,
a nautical dilemma when the cat's paws
signal the departure of a strong gust.
she rides the wind-waves,
a natural captain, she is,
as we continue on home.
Jul 4, 2011
Jul 4, 2011 at 8:29 PM UTC
Night comes
r
o l l i
n g
down again
in painted coats
of thick onyx
clouding my vision
as if a brightly-striped
cuttlefish,
sister of squid
has enveloped me
in its
dark liquid
sea ink
an opaque vapor
for protection,
a shimmering
sheild against
disillusionment
pain of potential
loss
endless strands
of longing
knotting in my
hair like kelp
keeping me rooted
to the sea floor,
feet ensconced in
the soft squish
of muck and earth
Miraculously,
I breathe,
as if a sea nympth,
a mermaid
holding on to
the silvery scales
of her reality
indigo-dipped
in deepest iridescence
blending with fronds
of vibrant greens
and I am floating
within a vast membrane
of brine
somehow nuturing,
liquid cushion
of womb-water
letting it slake
the piquancy of thirst
that bursts my tongue
into succulence
Spiked in sea stars
like thorny crowns,
I reach out to
discover new textures
puncture the dark
with my fingers
enfold those waters
to me,
letting them
rock the soul
of my soul
the heart
of the seed
of my heart
and allow my
sonar, as powerful
as a whale's
encompassing call
to surge up
through nautical miles
of ocean depths,
buoyed through layers
of waves
up unto
the winds
that ride,
ever-tenderly,
the surface
of
the
dawn
Sep 12, 2016
Sep 12, 2016 at 3:21 PM UTC
some say im cynical
satanical
that my minds mechanical
diabolical
spoken essence erotical
detestable
jaded imagery hypnotical
unstoppable
liable to solve the unsolvable
while prodigal poets drown in their nautical modules
im a criminal
a cannibal
storming the street like an animal
shooting cannonballs
through prison walls
splattering the generals
in bathroom stalls
hostil
leave you poppin pain pills in the hospital
uncontrollable
my temper is flammable
mumbles illegible
choking you with your pentacle
leaving onlookers speckled
the abominable
mental protocols unstoppable
the unfeasible constable
shooting up the card table
willing and able
to call your fables
and smash apart a label
i raise babies in unstable cradles
let you bleed out
like cracked ladles
engorged in unholy wars
exploring
the corruption of the core
deplored
uniformed for
the clash of the double edge swords
taking control of vocal chords
a meet of the hordes
of the horned
misinformed
adorned
in sunlight
trying to shine
just 1 line
at a time
until my life signs decline
almost time
light and shadow combined
Horus and set
by hindsight blessed
yet to contest
to the rest of this mess
by melancholy caressed
as i arise unrest
from the cess
of the un confessed
blessed
Jul 9, 2012
Jul 9, 2012 at 6:14 AM UTC
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.
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 8:26 PM UTC
Literature literally leaps, like a lioness letting lemurs leave her licked lips.
Books beg to be broken open by bored bosses and brothers and all others.
Poems practically pray for people to pick open pages of Poe and other ponderers of personification.
Metaphors make mothers and masters master their manipulative messages.
Similes smile slyly and smother the selfish and selfless alike like a snake or slaughterer.
And on average, only an artistic artificial android with an arsenal of all arithmetic and knowledge knows,
That though they thought that they could think like the theorizing thinkers,
Nearly nobody knows never to neglect knowledge, whether on rope knots or nautical knots, neanderthals or Narnia.
Mar 9, 2012
Mar 9, 2012 at 8:44 PM UTC
You’d never guess
By eavesdropping
To the vapid colloquialisms
Of your neighbors, your co-workers
That 5 open sores fester upon our mother’s face,
5 gyres,
(even the word is disgusting),
of floating plastic,
tangle and strangle the warm wombs of our seas,
stretch out at the horizons like blankets of melanoma.
Livid and neon infection
Drips, seeps, spreads from Fukushima,
Genociding the Pacific—3,000 nautical miles
Devoid of breath or heartbeat,
Save a lonely whale with tumors
Full of hot dog coupons and carpet cleaning flyers.
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 6:40 PM UTC
I close my eyes
Try to sleep
I see a wave of ink
A cloud of black
In water
No rhyme
No poem or verse
I'm going blind
I need a nurse
******* like cumuli
Hips as wide as a nautical mile
To get me back to sea
To help me see
To make me smile.
r ~ 5/26/14
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 12:29 PM UTC