"offshore" poems
And then in just a click of a button,
I'm all alone. Nothin' but 2 Mutton.
For I have been stranded,
and perhaps abandoned
from my dear friends.
I see some stems
of an old tree, dying in despair.
I see a new land offshore,
but the distant island has no grass.
I went to the cave, nothin’ but bats.
So I went deeper forward,
toward the mighty horrors.
I found some iron and gold,
I make a tool to behold.
After some more iron,
I acquire some attire.
Then suddenly, out of the dark abyss
I found my true and only bliss!
After a few days more,
I have my tools galore.
A long time from then…
I built myself zen
All along the old island,
a long time after my first diamond,
I see something strange…
I know something’s a change
I see it coming closer,
I peek out like a toaster.
And there a person behold!
He was in a boat, looking bold,
I went out to the shore,
After all, I’m not gonna ignore.
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 11:19 PM UTC
I am half-Chinese and a half Filipino-Spanish.
I have only learnt to speak Filipino my whole life.
The best advises I have received is that there is no right or wrong,
that labels does not always help.
That no matter what, I should just go
and "Live my life", or "Sing in Full Voice, Until Then".
Attentive to a fault to the work or person at hand.
Because of routine and living demands, sometimes I
only pay attention to what is available or given to me.
Like the quest for the Spices of the East, I could no longer live the same way when the time came. I had to learn preservation and other flavors.
In a Asian Food Show, someone shares
How some later generation Chinese had to study their own native language in secret between 1966 to 1998.
Stories of how their migrant or refugee heritage have made them scapegoats of many local tensions.
And varieties of words and ingredients also native to Chinese and later generations that lived offshore.
Many of us now in the thrash of our collective songs
towards healing and full living as humanity, continuing
refugees and wanderers in our own ways.
Where we see our indigenous-selves and our oppressor-selves,
is not as difficult as we are usually made to,
in a world of artificial
demands and surpluses.
One old song gently reminds me
in many languages singing,
as another bowl of handmade noodles
breaks open into countless random pieces:
We are only passing through earth.
Made to experience, and let go of our fears
and limitations.To gather our remains so that
it is inanimate buildings and objects that are used
by the living instead, and nothing is left behind.
To not leave a trace. To learn how to love.#
Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 1:27 AM UTC
They are checking their list and checking it twice
Making a note whose leaning left or right
The CIA is coming to town.
They know when your cheating on your taxes
Checking Facebook they know when your awake
When your smoking Humboldt ****
Or chatting online with the Russians
So knock off for goodness sake
With hidden accounts offshore
Track and keep score
They know exactly who you are voting for
The CIA is coming to town.
OOOOOOOOOO you better watch out
You better not shout
You better be good
Check under the hood ( boooom)
The CIA is coming to tooooooooooooown
Dont panic........ its Political Satire folks
@ copyright Tammy M Darby Sept. 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 7:18 PM UTC
Offshore Oil Exploration
Months of preparatory work,
Permits obtained.
Maps explored, sited,
Ground and beneath scanned,
Each contour drawn, plotted, named.
Equipment assemblage.
Platform designed and towed,
Pre-commencement government inspection
Constant.
We test. Slowly, the loose, easy dirt,
Gives in. No rejoicing yet, premature.
The diverter in place, functions well.
The deeper the bit, the harder the resistance.
The camera's eyes monitor until
We reach depths too deep for their functioning.
The derrickhands order about the junior roustabouts,
Check the mud pumps, check the pH levels,
Do this, do that. The pecking order on board clear.
The kings of the rig, the drillers, in charge.
Then, disaster.
Oil spill.
Worse.
Not only smiling,
She has
Opened her eyes and
Ceased purring.
P.S. This would as is my custom be,
Re-entitled properly:
First Poem of the Day: Offshore Oil Exploration
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 7:02 AM UTC
“Put pressure on it, it needs more pressure”
Holding your wounds shut
That senseless force is what took you away
Pressure- to be... whilst not desiring to be
You saw the clouds moving in greyscale
I saw the hills below scattered in shades of green,
Cavernous, shadowed, cryptic, familiar-
We were advised to go as the crow flies
I cried to a nameless God that your crow’s feet
Were from insurmountable happiness, not the pressures endured
I’ve forgotten much since the storm some-178 weeks ago
Though my body remembers yours over and over again
My skin has yours imprinted, correlated
Forged into one point on the axis between here and there
You the X, I the Y
The Earth crept between the crevices, curling
Through the distance between the Right radius and ulna
Elbows breaking knuckles, blood remains to be spilt
Blood doesn’t connect, if anything it merely separates
Scarecrows don’t help much when the crops won’t grow this year
Ants crawled out of the barrel of a shotgun
Observing the process of cleaning bones after tragedy
Follow the moss to find your way North with no direction-
Sometimes on the other side it’s not greener,
It’s more terrifying than ever before
Terrain untouched, unspoiled, sacred-
Climb up the trees with me, find your quiet
We won’t carve our names but we’ll find our niche
You’ll have quills and I’ll have armor
Not even the thought of stolen arrows,
Lost time through distance,
Or perhaps a slew of chemical imbalances
Can reach us up here
I chose to glue your pieces back together with mud and straw
Taken from the fallen, the loved and now distant memories
You may be an abandoned military base offshore
What was once used by many-
Witnesses life again, life of a different kind
The vegetation will ease its way into the cracks
Constructed when the foundation began to decay
It has a beauty of its own, one of self-sustainment
An everlasting beauty that connects itself
To the surrounding extravagance, often times ignored,
Death isn’t the only way to be forged into nature, remembered
Fear doesn’t always win, nor death do us part so soon
I hope your skin and bones remember before the end
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 1:34 AM UTC
*With our untold dreams
On the beach we've built a castle
To put in our sighs, our whims.
Then suddenly, you left the vessel,
To sail your way, offshore.
The walls, made stronger by my tears,
Can now resist the Ocean much more.
Though I have no fears
That, horse riding as a white knight,
As you vanished, you will reappear,
Sooner or later, maybe in the night,
Back to our sand castle,
my Dear.*
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 3:19 PM UTC
All-knowing,
My great lord:
From the eternal palace,
Wherein we serve,
On the field of Sahiga,
Looking back
At the isles far offshore:
Where on the fresh, clean shoreline
With the blowing of the wind,
Breakers roar
And with the ebbing of the tide,
They go cutting jewelled seaweed:
From the age of gods
An awesome,
Jewelled mountain isle.
3.4k
Hello, Poetry Incorporated,
how are you now, coming after
the world's 3rd breakdown?
Where do we go from here?
Here beside us now, another gift
after the deathly blows.After children entrusts
us yet again pieces of their lives and deaths to us.
A Japanese animation in the 1970s was banned
somewhere offshore. Not just because
the landowners who banned it was just evil,
Nor because one was "better than the other".
It was forbidden maybe because of many questions
still haunting us to and fro, beckoning us into
living our lives fully, not because of the light and dark,
but rather despite of it.
Like the dark and beautifully frightening
ocean tides that have capsized whaling ships
and yet have given birth to all our species.
Unlike many other animations,
the banned show did not have crudely offensive content.
It was a story of different people coming together
inside a big machine and operating it as one
as they manifest themselves as the Voltes Five.
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 10:02 PM UTC
Ten black crows
in a red-budded
cottonwood tree
basking in the eerie
glow of the waning sun
bruised, livid sky
weighted air
waves shush, shush
on the receding tide
serenity reigns
but I can feel it
hovering offshore
a curled fist
wound tight
ready to strike
Mar 13, 2016
Mar 13, 2016 at 5:43 PM UTC
••
•now-
here near,
you exist
so far•fur-
ther than
my vision
could ever
reach•many
kilometres away is wh-
ere you are•faraway land on a distant beach•let
foreign winds drench my senses•let the offshore sand greet
my feet • let us come to a consensus....• that soon our gazes
would me-
et•chance
might sur-
face by the
end of this
night•wi-
th the dawning of mo-
rrow's morn•grant me the wings
to take flight • put me on a plane
and render me airborne•
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 9:53 AM UTC
at the end of the pier
no one is fishing
a couple from Jersey
leans out over the
rail looking down into
the brown swill
rolling under the
weathered boards
The wife remarked
“Belmar's water
is much nicer.”
on the Gulf’s edge
unhappy gulls convene,
plaintively gazing
over gray waves
ebbing at their feet
Brown Pelican crews
fly in long
ordered formations
incessantly circling
in widening rounds
seemingly reluctant to
plunge into the
endless depletion
of this aquatic
dead zone
I speak with a
Jefferson Parish employee
working a shovel
to regrade disturbed sand
boasting a consistency
of moist drying cement
“How did the Gulf oil spill
affect this place?” I ask
“It took evarding.” she said
With a slight Cajun accent,
“dig down a foot or two in da sand
you hit earl. It nevar goes away. Nevar.
“I live down bay side
near forty years.
Had’nt been in de water fer
twenty five. The ******
******** took evarding.
They should go back
to Englund”
She went back to
tilling the sand.
Deepwater Horizon
yet festers a short
forty miles out to sea
is now covered by
an advancing storm
swelling in the Gulf
standing at the end
of the long pier
my hands grasp the
sun bleached lumber
straining my eyes
peering into a
dark avalanche
the serenade
of bird songs
have been replaced
by the motorized drone
of tenders servicing
offshore rigs
sounding
a constant refrain
filling my ears
with a disquieting
seaside symphony
the taste of
light sweet crude
dances on my tongue
the pungent sting
of disbursements
climbs into nostrils
rends my face
prickles my eyes
grandeur is a
conditional state
never permanent
forever temporary
Music Selection:
Cajun Music:
Hippy To-Yo
Grand Isle
2/20/17
jbm
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 5:52 PM UTC
I think with my heart;
not my head
in my hand
or buried deep under the sand.
Because when everything comes from the core,
i don’t need to wonder any more.
Thinking is not a chore:
like folding laundry into a tidy drawer.
But that’s what draws our glass floor,
and causes us to continully snore.
But what we chose to ignore,
should be infact, exactly what we adore.
Then maybe we’d ask for an encore
instead of a 24/7 drug store.
________________________
To you, i may be a boar,
but we must bust down the door.
Stop fighting the war!
Live for evermore(
if we wish to soar).
_____________________
But today our biggest sore
may be the us marine corp.
i hurt for their souls, scattered galore.
it is i who they fend for,
it is why their blood continues to pour.
But that doesn’t effect you,
because it happens on another shore.
Your questions? i have answer for,
but please don’t ask me the baseball score.
Those fact are not in my houses’ decor,
all forms of politics, i choose to ignore.
__________________________________
You can call me a dinosaur,
regardless, I am not a cannibalistic carnivore.
_______________________________
I know you may ridicule,
but i prefer to be the recluse,
only coming out, when looking for a spruce.
So, when i do explore,
you will not find me with the busy bodies,
you will find me with the mircoscopic spores.
After all, it's we they provide for.
After this adventure, i know they swore,
they could create me a commodore.
On our yaht, somewhere offshore.
There would be no more war.
just hugs, tugs, and kisses galore.
Before, I was a skeptic, ********
i now believe holeheartedly in folklore.
My faith in prewar,
is now eternally restored.
Because mother against man always out scores,
that is why i look no more.
Nature is my only mentor.
___________________________
now, i see myself as a matador.
i can be anything,
that is the underscore.
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 10:37 AM UTC
love
dove
bird
hurt pain rain
washing laundry dryer shrunk
too hot summer beach tanned skins
bikini girls lifeguards bodybuilders
Schwarzenegger
robocop criminals politicians votes
lobbyists corporations special interests
stock exchange oil price pipelines
pollution profits leaded water oily shores
banking wall street 99percent
wealth CEOs distribution education defloration
exploitation union struggle macjobs
Walmart amazon tax evasion offshore banking
islands caimans reptiles alligators walruses
snapping turtles manatees albatrosses
birds
dove
love
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 1:10 PM UTC
.......
In the bend of my road
That way offshore
Call me with my old name
What song I sing for her
Someday in some moments
Did I leave something!
In this dusts of the way
Maybe in the monsoon of May
Or my empty way can say!
What that I couldn't understand
Wanted to understand
How all is lost
In the wheels of time
And why today all those
Cast me
I'm a tired traveler
Sitting in the shade of shadow
At the time of sunset in the meadow
What causes of an illusion!
What I have lost
Behind the mind
Does she come back certainly!
In that lost obsessed path!
I think the day has turned
Lost in the bend of road
Maybe taken the new way
In the bend of the road
.....
@Musfiq us shaleheen
Jul 21, 2016
Jul 21, 2016 at 4:06 PM UTC
*Influenced by the Moon,
You push me offshore,
You swap to a different mood,
You applause for a last encore.
I comply, I am your slave,
To you, forever I am tied,
'Cause I am a loving wave,
Prisoner of your tide.*
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 3:05 PM UTC
This was my sand yesterday,
Hot and gritty,
Yet comforting, embracing
Under my towel.
Troves of precious shards of shell
Mapped into mind
With the jellyfish abandoned
By the tide
Just out of reach of cool waters
And a pool carved
With ramparts and towers,
An ambitious child's construction
Proudly pronounced eternal.
But we took pictures
To remember,
Anyway.
Now, after breakfast,
Into blue too perfect
This morning's sun rose
To a sky spilled
Cloudless and clear
Over new land
Reformed by night swells
Gulls and terns blown on,
Friends' footprints cleared,
The castle lost
By waves or wind's gusts.
It seems alien now.
My toes dig ever deeper
To discover if warmth
Is still here, hiding below
The surface of what I can see.
Morning's winds fling
Biting bits chipped
From far-off mountains
Cheek and legs sting
In force of anger born
Far offshore,
While the children nestle
My jacket for shelter
It can't give them today.
The tourists left - the sand is ours
To reshape, imprint with feet again.
And plan for tomorrow -
Umbrella, blanket, pails,
Embrace sea's eternal rhythm.
We'll stay.
Sep 19, 2009
Sep 19, 2009 at 3:36 PM UTC
hush,
hear it?
listen.
all those waves
rolling in,
out,
dragging all you hate,
all you fear,
in tides
offshore.
no pen can trace ink
faster than the sea
can wash it
all away,
promise.
your words are water,
dissolving in the saline sounds
of neap and spring,
rise and fall;
lunar rhythms.
eye the sky
and wait for everything,
the whole god ****** world
to take a breath
and quiet down
so you,
with shaking hands,
might find some peace
below the seabreeze scented winds.
just wait for it.
now,
a moment.
a cosmic pause,
and even nature waits
for what should happen next.
recede.
gradual fade
of throbbing veins,
and wet skin tingles
prickles
with delight
of marine air.
you
are safe;
free.
Jun 27, 2021
Jun 27, 2021 at 10:10 PM UTC
You all know how I died,
And I do not.
But I hope it was a fantastic
Spectacle of how to make your heart stop.
I hope I died flying backwards
in a crimson ball of flame,
Or fighting off a tiger
that never could to tame.
I hope I died with a smile on my face,
Beaming from ear to ear,
Or laughing so that everyone around
Could hear.
I hope I died doing something
To which my mother always said “No”,
“But if we don’t try,
How will we ever know?”
I hope I died not waiting for
Air to no longer suffice,
Lying in a bed with a tube
In every orifice.
I hope you did not let me age
And forget you,
Because I would be
Filled with regret too.
So I hope it was a spectacular expression
Of more than just existing,
I hope they oohed and aahed while
I flew through the air a-twisting.
And I can see some of you are grieving,
yet I know not why,
Because this is a celebration of
Life having been lived
And not a sombre lullaby.
So fill your glasses,
Cups and jugs,
And let’s see a smile on those
Ugly old mugs.
There’s a lesson too be learned,
and that is clear to see.
So without much further ado,
“Here’s to me!”
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 7:30 AM UTC
A Lighthouse to light beyond the Reasons
An Astragal to tone down the Passion
A Lantern to bright beyond the Horizons
In that permanent Love's Peregrination
Some wished him to be an Anchor
He is just a moored Beacon, offshore.
Jun 28, 2016
Jun 28, 2016 at 12:45 PM UTC
from here you can see the ocean
a distant dulled blue mesa
standing still, yet running
an offshore marine layer clouds the horizon
dark gray cumulus with fluffy white tops
mimic snow capped mountains
clean bright sunshine illuminates the earth
a cheerful contrast to yesterday's rain and gloom
the city is alive with light
as morning fills the room
awakening my mind
with expanding consiousness
a feeling that I AM
gratitude and thankfulness abound
rising emotions remind me
thoughts become spoken words
"I love life"
"I love myself"
"God, I love myself"
Oct 8, 2011
Oct 8, 2011 at 11:19 PM UTC
I think with my heart;
not my head
in my hand
or buried deep under the sand.
Because when everything comes from the core,
i don’t need to wonder any more.
Thinking is not a chore:
like folding laundry into a tidy drawer.
But that’s what draws our glass floor,
and causes us to continully snore.
But what we chose to ignore,
should be infact, exactly what we adore.
Then maybe we’d ask for an encore
instead of a 24/7 drug store.
_______
To you, i may be a boar,
but we must bust down the door.
Stop fighting the war!
Live for evermore(
if we wish to soar).
_____
But today our biggest sore
may be the us marine corp.
i hurt for their souls, scattered galore.
it is i who they fend for,
it is why their blood continues to pour.
But that doesn’t effect you,
because it happens on another shore.
Your questions? i have answer for,
but please don’t ask me the baseball score.
Those fact are not in my houses’ decor,
all forms of politics, i choose to ignore.
__________
You can call me a dinosaur,
regardless, I am not a cannibalistic carnivore.
_________
I know you may ridicule,
but i prefer to be the recluse,
only coming out, when looking for a spruce.
So, when i do explore,
you will not find me with the busy bodies,
you will find me with the mircoscopic spores.
After all, it's we they provide for.
After this adventure, i know they swore,
they could create me a commodore.
On our yaht, somewhere offshore.
There would be no more war.
just hugs, tugs, and kisses galore.
Before, I was a skeptic, ********
i now believe holeheartedly in folklore.
My faith in prewar,
is now eternally restored.
Because mother against man always out scores,
that is why i look no more.
Nature is my only mentor.
________
now, i see myself as a matador.
i can be anything,
that is the underscore.
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 8:40 PM UTC
*Palm trees swaying leaves
Beach-comb is its foundation,
white long sandy beaches,
Emerald sea on the shore,
Turquoise sea of offshore coral reefs,
and blue sea at the depths
rich in marine life; diversified,
is my island in the sun,
Paradise
is my Island Home.*
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 11:52 PM UTC
"Are the gods angry?"
she said with a laugh
as Vesuvius rumbled
with warnings advance.
I cuffed her behind,
but gently, and laughed:
"Lady bring me more wine
for my morning repast."
I had sup'd with old Pliny
just the evening before.
Admiral of the fleet
anchored safely offshore.
My vineyards are fruitful,
a source of fine wines.
and the olives, when pressed,
make a spread that's divine.
My Villa is handsome,
and I own many slaves.
so you see I've no use
for their Jesus who saves.
The top of the mountain
disappeared in a blast
Our homes are laid siege to
with pumice and ash.
The women are screaming
I hear a child cry.
I hear prayers vainly offered
to an uncaring sky.
The air is quite thick
My lungs are oppressed.
My Villa is burning
along with the rest.
With a cloth on my mouth,
I race to the shore,
hoping, dear Pliny,
to see you once more.
I look on with horror
as burning stone blocks my path
I crouch by a wall
as my last moments pass.
* * * * *
The Archeologist tutted
"Well, who have we here?
"Clearly no slave
from this ring it appears."
" I am Lucius Flavius."
My Lemure would remind.
but I'm like a statue
and mute for all time.
Apr 28, 2012
Apr 28, 2012 at 5:10 PM UTC
A lame boy; they say I be
Low-pitched guy?; yee' that's me
been a lame boy since I was three
Dull and placid; unsatisfactory
been a quiet boy; since I was born
Psychopathic; and somewhat tough
Sail your ship up-north; I go offshore
A prodigal son;...
left by his mum; at the age of four
Sometime I'm cool; sometimes I'm warm
Father wasn't sure; if I was sane or not
Thought my abnormalities; equals 'dull
So he left Up-North where he'd be bother-not
Father's gone; mum's living rough
Doing enough stuff to rid the boy off.....
the black hole living in the boy's thought
Cos' everyone gets lost; crossing the boy's port
Afterward; I was left in this dungeon
Life raised me to this lame strong boy
A lame boy; raised by rain of dirt
All he's ever taste was the opposite of joy
This lame boy will soon find joy
I'm lame for sure; but my feet are strong
My mind find words when my hands are bored
My heart finds love when my head's at fault
When you bring me stress; I'm turning blind
Cos' this lame boy seems to find
Peace in the loneliness of his mind
Seeing the path ahead and behind
This lame boy is ****** enshrined
Prodigal and divine; a boy you can't confine
Cos' money or ******* doesn't define
his mentality and the way he grind
I'm that lame boy; that you hiss and judge
For my writability and use of words
While you nuisance spew sh*t and sort
I do my lame stuff; Yea; I sit and jot...
And then I pour.....; my state of mind; in a distinctive thought
Well; I'm a lame boy; I only look upfront
I don't care if my root; is clean or not
Don't mind if my boot is filled with mud
Only focus on my dreams and things I sought
I'm a lame boy; I've seen the sea and shore
Crawled this earth from south to North
Been in this world before 94
Before Abacha ruin the course; of this Nation more
Lame boy this; lame boy that
'Lame boy 's shit'; 'lame boy 's bad'
"He's lame and dull; he can't attack"
"too rough and poor; he's not my type"
Well; this lame boy doesn't care 'bout
Words from your lilly-filthy mouth
Cos' this lame boy is now an OG; yes!
An Original Gent; who is God-blessed
Jun 9, 2021
Jun 9, 2021 at 2:04 PM UTC
Those like David McWilliams tried to make us see the light,
but our politicians were quick to tell us everything was all right
It’s grand they said; sure our economy is booming,
though now it appears they knew disaster was looming
It seems the easy credit and ridiculous property prices,
left the banks owing billions, facing a financial crisis
and one night our politicians agreed the bank guarantee,
borrowing billions from Europe, selling our sovereignty.
The billions owed by the banks were to be paid by you and me,
which meant we all faced years of austerity
The money disappeared almost as quickly as Fianna Fail,
we were at the mercy of the Troika, Angela Merkel and all.
We owed billions in the form of a promissory note,
with billions to be paid each year, by rote
The banks and the developers washed their hands of it all,
some even representing us now in the Dail!
Yes the banks and bond holders who were mostly to blame,
did not lose a penny, they knew how to play the game
But for us there’s no help, it’s an absolute shame,
and the politicians reasoning sounds completely lame
We had our politicians and the business world to thank,
but they laughed all the way to the nearest offshore bank
Swiftly followed by developers and entrepreneurs,
all this country got from them was a collective Up Yours!
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 9:33 AM UTC