"navigational" poems
On flat bank’s where
grass runt reeds grow
waiting for rising tide,
A lone Heron stealths silently
while Gulls cry warning, and dive in to a cold sea air.
Phoenix Peanut and Pandora
stranded on wet mud bank,
wait for their chance to escape
but it’s bonds that need to be severed in their quest for freedom.
Estuary lights dim and flicker in the distance while closer to shore Mermaids sing on the breath of a storm.
Beckoning sailors "come ride the waves"
Siren songs of lost souls and shadows
“Come with us” on this bursting sea.
And they sing with a drowning charm
as fishermen launch vessels under a shawl covered wife's watchful eye.
And yesterdays widows weep, face rained bright from navigational lights.
Ships bell ring in time with a rollicking sea,
Pheonix Peanut and Pandora
still await their escape but not this night.
While the Heron has long fled this great swell.
No cries now from gulls nor mothers hurrying their little ones to the safety of their coal fired warm homes.
Just the rage of wave riding mermaids that will have their bounty
the heart and souls from a fisherman life.
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 9:34 AM UTC
Forget everything you've heard about ************
It is not pathetic. It is not ***** It does exist for women.
It is not replacing an absence of ****** fulfillment.
Concept: we all posses the power to be our own ****** fulfillment.
Yes, you posses magic that can send lighting across your trembling skin. Your hand needs no navigational assistance; it moves with the wholesome earth of your body, the rolls and valleys of flesh, all while following networks of crackling nerves and goosebumps.
Feel your heart beating in your chest!
Feel your ***** thrum with life and vitality,
Your digits are like brushes, learning the canvas they paint. The wet paint dripping down your leg is a sure sign of a masterpiece on the horizon.
The spread of the sky, like the spread of your legs, is vast, and not completely known. Your fingers are long skeleton keys, keen to unlocking your own passionate ****** and sweeping pleasure.
That majesty and mystery of what dwells in the valley of your thighs, the mouth of your womb, will draw many to the mountain silhouettes of your bent legs.
Of course, the keys that best fit will always swing from your keychain.
There is no shame in knowing the bounty of your own body,
the same way that no one blames volcanologists for
the study of hot, flowing earth.
We are privileged to explore our own unique topography, memorizing maps of our rises and falls, creating a seismic shift beneath our skin, and letting loose pent up pleasure and pressure and sensation.
It is our own divine action. We are gods of our own earthly bodies.
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 2:46 PM UTC
The clock smiled at us
as if it knew we were lost.
Unable to see the path, we continued along
on the wrong side of the ones and zeroes.
Tired of our aimless float;
fumbling along in the vacuums of our ignorance.
With all kinds of navigational aids to chart our journey
we mostly relied upon the compass tattooed over our hearts
While lost in the chasm of our indecision
our bodies and minds listed.
Our attempts to unpack the endless
parcels of our unrest ... proved futile.
So carefully, we re-learned the ABCs
and re-interpreted the Western Canon, finding
that it was only by closing our eyes
that we were able to see; were able to feel.
However, the rhythm was off
which was immaterial as
our feathers were ruffled and
the rhetoric was pluming.
With the overture of the new day dawning
we turned our back
on the algorithms of our demise
and shucked off self-imposed limitations.
You see, it was thirty seconds to midnight and
the world that never seemed to want us
needed us now.
So like anemic royalty, we took flight
breathing down rarefied air and
gulping the nuances of our resilience to swallow:
our intergenerational trauma
one more time.
Jul 28, 2020
Jul 28, 2020 at 8:09 PM UTC
My two weakling hands on my delusional head
A face tattooed with tear lines of anguish and perplexity
I am sick and tired of being sick and tired of this game
Many are sea sick with zipped lips in this freezing old ship
Precious dreams and lives; thrown overboard
Let me plead one more time with this heartless captain
We are charting upstream against the current, Sir
Sir! Please sir
Our lives and the lives of the next generation;
In your hands
Do you not care that we are perishing
He has a big navigational map on the wall
A gargantuan telescope in his hands
Alas, he is blind
Blind man will crush the blind into an iceberg
He is distracted by his own personal greediness;
Woe unto us, he is not far from a two hundred feet iceberg
He reminds me of the titanic
He has a crew who are not seas worthy
They are wearing their office like they are on vacation
The cry and the wisdom of the weak falls into deaf ears
Sir, do you not care that we are perishing!
Can you be my camera for a minute, Sir?
Focus below deck, sir;
Children without formal education
The future generation is today’s labor engine
They walk on the thin line of child...
Child, what?
Child slavery, Sir
They are brain washed
Manipulated and abused
Zoom on the mid-deck, sir;
The young jobless internet savvy
A storm tossed creative thinkers
A young generation with no future
A future neglected without action plan
Driven to push through the storm
One direction; the wrong direction
They are the masters of...
Masters of?
Masters of internet fraud and drugs, Sir
Gang banging is their security
Just like a candle under the night wind;
Their light goes off prematurely in lightning speed
Zoom a little high on the upper deck, sir;
Square pegs on rounded holes
Mismanagement and embezzlement
Unpatriotically obsessive creatures
Fanning the toxic flames of an aged ship
While expertise waste at the shore for decades
Will you anchor?
Will you pause and reflect
His words: acidic
Emotions: volcanic
Problems: oceanic
If angels rules; would have cry to them
Maybe they would hear the cry of the weak
Grant us safe voyage,
Thou that watch over the weak
Be our anchor in the midst of the storm
May we not sink in this sea of incompetence
Be our strength and hope in this journey to the unknown
Father, if it be possible be our captain and lead us to bliss
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 6:28 PM UTC
We have seen your greasy lips
Of supple warmth nibble our geographical space with relish
With your cerebral repertoire of Machiavellian tactics
A savage sage gleaning with resounding skill
And crafty navigational sail
Your masterstrokes through climes and tongues reverberated
With your sparkling craft of vile crypt
Across regions, tribes and locales
Of your fangs that foiled good governance
But this time…
Your gladiatorial glide on this political turf
Shall experience a firestorm of rejection
Your emissaries across territorial divides
Shall be hounded to delusion
For the masses shall maul your mushy mantle of self grandeur
To the abyss of dishonour
For your subsequent arrival shall be booed to your doom
Your waning clout shall swing you to judgement
Of abysmal invasion
We are watching your fragile trot through this fearsome terrain
Of your permutation in levitation
For Damocles’ fiery sword shall haunt your ambition
Your raging mist on this cloudy night
Shall encounter a violent tussle
Prepare for war!
The scarlet venom from your cruel camp
Shall cease with instant visitation
From the warhorses of this fearless infantry
Armed with the right tools to disarm your fortified fortress
As you dispatch your foot soldiers
Of monsters and Leviathans
To play a callous hoax like the cunning fox
Their morbid mien shall encounter an eternal fall!
Let the music begin…
Onuchi Mark © 2010
Aug 20, 2010
Aug 20, 2010 at 6:32 AM UTC
In the crows nest
Wind burnt and ruddy
From past navigational
Errors. Wearing stripes earned
While traversing the
Luna Sea
I see a new world
It smells as fresh
As a newborns
Head, and
As promising as a
:::Higgs Boson:::
Unwinding paired bases
And just-in-cases
Leaving no traces, and
Sharing open spaces
A gossamer trail,
it seems, might
~prevail~
Jan 14, 2018
Jan 14, 2018 at 10:46 AM UTC
*I left my shores in that fateful night,
my heart was torn in to pieces,
and blood rushed out, a red river
still I fought like an battle hardened soldier,
My old boat made of seasoned wood was broken
in many places, lost my navigational aids
the sky was windy and overcast, the sun avoided my eyes
at dark nights, the lone star that loved you and me
and wanted us to unite, was covered with angry clouds
that wanted me to get lost in high seas
the storm that was brewing didn't daunt me
I set full sail and saw the island in my mind
listened only to your voice within me , firm and clear
you are my rudder, light house, love song
Love, is the only light that's left for me
will I reach your abode against all odds?*
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 10:38 PM UTC
The only ship in the angle of my vision
seems to be still, as if cleverly painted above
the placid waves, that reject all agitations
near the shore I stand, a conspiracy perhaps!
No way I can tell if the ship moves away
or impatiently steers towards the port's embrace;
perhaps in keeping my spirit to espouse ambiguity.
Just a morning jogger from a planet far,
I am nobody to judge, still I am curious-
that vessel with an uncertain, navigational plan,
Isn't it me?Am I reaching anywhere, tell me.
I can see, none seems to expect it to come in
or go away and hide itself as a dot in distant horizon,
none who did bid it farewell, too is not to be seen.
Where have all gone, leaving no clue behind,
making it difficult for one to create dreams.
How so quickly time did erase all evidences,
which rendered goings and comings insignificant!
Is that static state, an illusion, a metaphor for life?
None is here to answer such questions as the world
has gone too far from there, to a space uncertain.
The port is busy as usual, any day it could be.
I wait for something to happen, will the ship
come to life astonishing me and move again?
I listen, the wind that blows from far horizon,
tells salty tales, tries in vain, again and again,
to recite the fish songs from deep sea blue down.
Aug 16, 2016
Aug 16, 2016 at 1:33 PM UTC
crossing over the x’s
of life’s yeild signs,
wisdom paused at potholes
alarming damaging obstacles.
appreciation of a flattened heart,
restored by breathing breaths,
repaired the elements that once,
depleted healthy treads.
ignoring warnings of danger,
living in a reality of denial
has fooled my internal equilibrium.
sapience surrounded my driveway,
i looked both ways and proceeded with caution.
foolishly piloting with a naive navigation,
is not within my futuristic visualization.
Feb 27, 2019
Feb 27, 2019 at 9:35 PM UTC
With merit badge in metallic flame
and while never failing to find a root from which to let blood flow
navigational will serves our only compass.
The woven path through wood
a rocky spillway Rapid
All to quickly dodge the occasional motorist
and fall and bathe in water warm from long summer sun
To bask in stars and feel the hum of night
Living as such revokes fear
for even in the absence of light, sight is made up for
Euphorias rationed prove a friend of adventure
and infinite exploration is chased with each taste.
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 8:28 PM UTC
The night sky of sleep
was ebulliently psychedelic,
specs of colors, yellow, brown, red,
created an ancient language
that spoke, secrets of a forbidden past,
The helicopter crept through,
the sky, tearing the canopy
of lights momentarily,
landed on a high rise apartment of dreams.
Now, after all these years,
difficult to remember,
who lives where;
aren't we somnambulists,
without navigational aids?
I would suddenly wake up
from one dream
within another -
soft touches of tender fingers,
sweet whispers in my ears,
soft light spreading its palm on an exposed shapely breast,
I'll sense a disquiet,
a sigh, the pangs of a weeping heart, incidental results of
a life of passion, strife and agitation,
getting ****** by currents,
diving deep in to swirling waters
In a dream, a young woman,
standing on a podium, in a class room,
teachers in a trembling voice
how to appreciate poems:
"From beyond light years,
comes our grief..."
the scene dissolves in to mist.
silence!
I am an yellow moon,
she is the pale mist circling,
we are in an embrace, momentarily,
in a dream
in the jeweled bed of the night sky.
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 12:33 PM UTC
A periwinkle snap of the fingers
A glazed-over, ungazed-at afterthought of a dimwitted maker
Allowing only specks of atmosphere to puncture through for gasps of air
An assassination without capacity for reflection or modesty.
Broadening my horizons, my eyes adjusting to the sun's sheddings,
I notice the satin ribbons of the west, trotting over the hills, blood-lusting,
Roaring in anticipation of the persecution of the dry, dusty chandelier to the north
Forcing the lumination,
Breaking open the porous night-covering threatening to its final breath
The self-mutilation to bring it and its 3 navigational acquaintances to the bone-encrusted, sadistic
Hell of the humans, modern-day Terra, the disease-laced, frayed blanket of Gaea.
And as I viciously avert my eyes as the first blow finds a weak exposed abdomen,
I pray to God that I might participate in this brawl,
And I curse high heaven that it is so fateful a dusk.
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 1:39 AM UTC
I am sailing upon the ocean
In a rickety vessel perforated and laden with rotten boards
The black water surrounding me is rough with roiling violence
The island that was once in the distance, where I would weather the storm, is now gone
I am rocked on every side as restless giants churn the waters to foam
A profound sense of dread permeates every fibre of my body; if I lose my grip on the rigging I'll surely plunge overboard
Dragged down to the cold, crushing depths by the hungry beasts lurking below
The pale sun only breaks through the clouds overhead to mock me
A momentary respite before the hurricane resumes, bent on consuming me
My navigational charts are all wrong, the stars have switched their positions in the sky
My anchor can find no purchase
The dark sea stretches to the horizon in every direction
I know not where salvation lies
The surface ripples with movement
They are waiting
waiting
waiting
Though I must reach into the salty water to distill it, I dare not dip a single finger
For the coiling leviathans beneath will rise to meet me with great gnashing teeth and ugliness to swallow me whole
It will be dark
It will be silent
And I will be alone
So I forego the water entirely
Learning instead to live with parched lips and a leathery tongue
And the gnawing emptiness within
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 7:58 PM UTC
As if one moving with an intent,
the flock of birds,of same feather,
with out any flight plan whatsoever,
or navigational chart,all approved,
change formations in lightning speed,
in to shapes none can ever imagine,
breathtaking to view, different each minute,
they do this in mid flight, reminding the quicksilver
dynamics of ocean waves,each minute day and night.
Oct 28, 2017
Oct 28, 2017 at 11:50 PM UTC
Beacon in the sky
Shining bright in
The darkness of night.
A guiding light to me home.
Never fade. Navigational aid in
Centuries past. Beautiful light
Forever last
Jan 12, 2016
Jan 12, 2016 at 9:00 AM UTC
Lying in bed, I shift my vehicle
into new day. A day that is blessed
by rising sun.
Feet become wheels, spinning in dance gracefully.
Skin is cleansed in carwash-like shower
that tickles to birth smile.
Moments captured in suns rays vibrate,
as gyrating beams flicker
and penetrate cells.
Air infused intentions
rise in thoughts expanding
to merge with gas-like breath.
Blessings surface, as guidance
from navigational system of heart
purrs, gracefully.
Brum, *** echoes,
merging with days landscape,
as dance commences.
Brum, *** fills air
as compassion toward others
becomes goal.
In instant, hands folded
on steering wheel of prayer
anchor, as gratitude fills thoughts.
As wind pervades senses
and birds sing on welcome mat
of ears woven by hair.
The day has begun in celebration,
while cruse controlled movements
connect to surroundings.
While alignment is made
to source as freedom bell rings
inside waking hours.
I’m blessed, ready to shift gears
inside unlimited possibilities
on highway of life.
Blessed to rondevu with light
for peace, while fuel of love energies
congeal with purpose.
Purpose to make the best
of the gift of life given
in a vehicle anointed by God.
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 9:31 AM UTC
Laying down words
with you
always tastes of coming clean,
throwing down things
how they really are
under all the changes they go through
to accommodate other people's
emotions and reactions.
No filters or pauses
searching for the "right words"
our voices play perfect chords.
I haven't even felt this before,
I thought I'd loved
**** well felt like I had,
but this has the potential
to blow that, straight off the
map.
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 12:33 AM UTC
The world, don't you see it?
You should glance, as it's bound to end.
Don't stand, you really should sit,
it's the only way your knees turn to bend.
High aggression with loose remorse,
who starts a riot in such a heavenly place?
In a doctor's office, walks in a horse,
and the physician only says "why the long face?"
Take me to the graveyard,
and lie me on the ground.
I'm playing the "one day..." card,
as it's the only one I've found.
Maybe this translucent simplicity,
has made everyone so sick of me.
But I don't talk back, for I've silenced my lips.
So dry they bleed and crack, but so wet my thoughts still slip.
Everyone keeps their movement going,
they don't lose step with the rising flame.
Their masks are slipping to start showing,
underneath they are dull and tame.
The problems line up to play "Red Rover,"
I'm feeling weak, I know I'm going to lose.
But I never hear them yell "come on over,"
which is a relief as I'm too tired to tie my shoes.
Take me to the graveyard,
and lie me on the ground.
Just leave me and disregard,
my final word's dying sound.
Maybe this translucent simplicity,
has forced the world to finally see,
what no one will admit, the drying paper on the line.
Accusations that don't acquit, just blank navigational signs.
"To be Continued..."
It always sounds so great,
but the original was skewed,
so the sequel relies on fate.
Take me to the graveyard,
and lie my body on the ground.
Walking away won't be hard,
my corpse turns to dust, pound by pound.
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 7:50 PM UTC
“Family Drive”
you should of gone that way
Have you ever had one of those days
you won’t need a navigational system nor a GPS
just trust in your family , Family knows Best
No No Not that left
One wants you to go in one direction
and the other wants you to go in another.
Confused? You can get that way
No No Not that left
And now I gunna ignore them all
In fact, that is exactly what I had to do
No No Not that left
you should of gone that way
you won’t need a navigational system nor a GPS
just trust in your family , Family knows Best
By:Oscar Harding
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 9:15 PM UTC
We can comfort ourselves
with platitudes; say
"Life is short."
"It can change at any time."
Then the shock of the water,
the pool on opening day,
that phone call, that look
hits us, and we know.
The bruises and the tender spots,
the winces and the tears
that will never quite fade;
the stains that sit until,
familiar, we wouldn't find our way
without them.
Our navigational systems
In the beginning,
the wisdom shared in full knowledge,
by those who sailed before us,
is the lies we tell ourselves
to get through the day,
to get through the next hour,
to get through that minute:
we all know it.
But then the lies become insight
become truth
become wisdom.
And we're passing on the coordinates
to the next mariner, sailing on
the seas of disaster.
Poor souls--
the maps we use we make ourselves.
Sep 30, 2016
Sep 30, 2016 at 4:57 PM UTC
Long, winding road;
a busy street,
cars of every color
drive close together
like a school of fish
navigating through the ocean.
Dotted white lines
quickly become solid,
preventing the cars from
switching lanes...
we were supposed to be
over one to the right.
Cursing, then flooring,
and finally U-turning,
you maneuver your car
back around to
get to our destination.
Talking, singing, laughing--
the frustration of
missing our turn
dissipates quickly with
each other's company.
It's always a pleasure
getting lost with you--
every missed turn
is a new adventure,
and every wrong turn
reminds me how right
it feels being next to you.
Jun 25, 2016
Jun 25, 2016 at 1:57 PM UTC
Riding upon an escalator of energies, I drift
inside landscapes of stars.
Inside place filled with limitless galaxies
and endless life forms.
My veil of forgetting is released
as so my human form
to celebrate my eternal flame
that burns aiding my sight.
Celestial bodies glisten,
vibrating with little voices
only a heart can hear.
Sweet music plays
trying to awaken a soul
deep within.
Heart radiates
becoming a geiger counter
a navigational tool
for my ships form to gracefully move.
Time exists not, for all is one and one is all
in the vacuum of space.
A place of Gods home, of my home
where I now know my essence is love.
May 17, 2017
May 17, 2017 at 8:56 AM UTC
“Family Drive”
you should of gone that way
Have you ever had one of those days
you won’t need a navigational system nor a GPS
just trust in your family , Family knows Best
No No Not that left
One wants you to go in one direction
and the other wants you to go in another.
Confused? You can get that way
No No Not that left
And now I gunna ignore them all
In fact, that is exactly what I had to do
No No Not that left
you should of gone that way
you won’t need a navigational system nor a GPS
just trust in your family , Family knows Best
By: Oscar
Sep 5, 2016
Sep 5, 2016 at 6:50 PM UTC
What is in the eagles mind when it soars in divine sky?
Is it thinking about its next navigational move,
whereby feather is tipped just perfect to catch the wind?
Is it perusing the tree landscape for a meal,
or enjoying the suns rays as it bonds with delicate air.
What is the eagle thinking,
as it glides with grace making a majestic scene.
Perhaps it’s contemplating
how it wants no part of those humans
that walk thinking they're free.
For it knows... true freedom is to let go
and move with divine sky. True freedom is not to ask why.
Jan 7, 2018
Jan 7, 2018 at 10:10 PM UTC
I have never been perfect.
I have always been too much, in fact
although that gives me too much credit-
I'm just a normal human being.
A normal human. Not romanticized,
not aggrandized, not more, not less. I'm just a person.
Just a person. A person who has her head ******* on
the right way up, I think, a person that sees
the light of good above her and the pit of evil below
and is trying her best to search the vague waters
for an answer to her navigational questions
a person that, sailing eastward into a west wind
knows that her wings are not wings but only arms
only arms. And only two eyes and only ten fingers
that don't deserve to touch God. I'm just one soul
floating and trying to find a rocky outcrop in the
midst of hurricanes on hurricanes. Trying to love
and live within reason. Trying to wake in the morning
with an attitude that lets me put my feet on the ground.
I'm just moving and learning. I'm only seventeen years old.
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 9:44 PM UTC