"promenaded" poems
This harbour was made by art and force.
And called Kingstown and afterwards Dun Laoghaire.
And holds the sea behind its barrier
less than five miles from my house.
Lord be with us say the makers of a nation.
Lord look down say the builders of a harbour.
They came and cut a shape out of ocean
and left stone to close around their labour.
Officers and their wives promenaded
on this spot once and saw with their own eyes
the opulent horizon and obedient skies
which nine tenths of the law provided.
And frigates with thirty-six guns, cruising
the outer edges of influence, could idle
and enter here and catch the tide of
empire and arrogance and the Irish Sea rising
and rising through a century of storms
and cormorants and moonlight the whole length of this coast,
while an ocean forgot an empire and the armed
ships under it changed: to slime **** and cold salt and rust.
City of shadows and of the gradual
capitulations to the last invader
this is the final one: signed in water
and witnessed in granite and ugly bronze and gun-metal.
And by me. I am your citizen: composed of
your fictions, your compromise, I am
a part of your story and its outcome.
And ready to record its contradictions.
6.5k
Profound!
Settling to doze.
Catnap called for.
Hand in hand.
They'd strolled through time.
Short in eternity.
Through darkness into light.
Bright green forest.
Streaming sunlight ,
Splitting sky.
Clear day.
Scent of the forest carried through the atmosphere.
So warm.
It was so very warm.
In a blanket of compassion.
Felt like they were twelve again.
With childlike vigour.
They promenaded.
From the forest floor the scenery changed.
Juxtaposed....so strange.
They could smell the sea.
With renewed crystal clear senses.
They could hear the oceans roar.
Collected seashells while they walked.
Justified dancing on the shore.
To be young again.
Feeling release.
Skimming stones of memory across the rolling tide.
Vivified in minds eye.
A pebble for their children.
One each.
One, two, three.
Wandered into waters edge.
Last drifting breaths to the edge.
Door clicked open.
There they lay.
The happy couple in eternal slumber.
Pill bottle placed neatly by the bed.
For heaven's sake both were dead!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 6:17 PM UTC
"look at all the lonely people"
i waltzed into the desolate church on the corner of a street in a town i didn't know the name of. i've turned into one of those people who spends time in cathedrals on their days off in towns i've never heard of, due to loneliness, mostly. to my surprise, there was a young lady halfway sitting and halfway standing in a pew next to a stained glass window. her breathing was heavy, i could hear her across the room. she had a somewhat horrified expression on her face, which was pale and almost ghostly. she looked so dejected, it was absolutely heart-rendering. once i took a step towards her, the priest of the old church appeared and told her she had to leave her sad state and her pew next to the stained glass window. her melancholy expression remained as she walked slowly out of the church, letting the wooden door slam behind her, never once looking up at me or the priest. he took his place in the exact same spot this young girl was in, and began to write words in a small leather journal with a quill pen. i turned around and left, and decided to come back at the exact same time i did the next day, in hopes to relive the past few moments.
--
as promised, i promenaded down the center aisle of the pews in the church, the carpet crackling under my feet, due to old age, adding to the sense of eeriness that lurked through the establishment. the young girl was not there. i sat in the pew she sat in the day prior, in hopes of her walking in once more. i waited for hours, and she did not show. i faintly heard the sound of a violin just as the priest walked through a door near the altar. his hands were covered in dirt, and i was curious. i approached him.
"hello, father. might i ask why your hands are so *****
"ah. you're the man from yesterday." he said, a slight glimmer of fear in his eye.
"yes, that is correct."
"you seemed to be quite fascinated by miss eleanor." it's almost as if he knew how intrigued i was by her, although i didn't know her name until now.
"eleanor? the lass from the day prior?"
"indeed. well, it upsets me to break this news to you, but my hands are battered with dirt because i've just come back from burying miss rigby in the cemetery."
"you mean there was no formal ceremony to celebrate her life? what is the matter with you?! how did she die?"
the priest looked me dead in the eye, and spoke the chilling words in a completely monotone voice.
"she was one of the lonely people."
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 9:54 PM UTC
I heard a voice
It called me from the deepest greens of the ocean,
It allured me.
It called me again from the distant vortexes of darkness.
It sounded so familiar, so intimate.
Silver ***** promenaded along the shore, scribbling poetry on the wet sand.
A distant Gandharvan threw light on them, their shells gleamed.
There is silence all around, and darkness.
The air is filled with nothingness.
In me froths a cold sea.
The waves roar against my eyelids and die a shameful death.
A million dreams swim in them.
Days pass by,
I stand here waiting.
Alone.
Come closer, dear voice.
Apr 1, 2021
Apr 1, 2021 at 12:52 PM UTC
As we nose dove into placid waters,
time and the sea froze in remembrance;
silhouettes of men, women and children
paraded towards the horizon,
their bodies, limbs and organs made of
the sand that made the beach
with each step taken west
they dissolved,
the air was thick with salinity and tenderness.
The Sun grew with warmth,
at the exuberance of this melancholic loop,
a helpless witness;
it etched this moment in time into their skulls,
a back-lit memory to never return to what broke them.
The Sun grew louder,
with omniscience.
Time and the sea unfroze,
and we delved deeper
into the mystic in search of ourselves.
The waves retreated in reprieve,
promenaded caskets of their past to the shore.
We realised we were more,
than just survivors in the sea of broken hearts.
Sep 24, 2016
Sep 24, 2016 at 12:36 AM UTC
When rooster crow at forenoon
my eyes opened
I saw the sun glow with bright loving colors
and beheld a blue sky with a white cloud
moving slowly
I felt cold winds blowing from west and south directions
as I promenaded I heard a crowd
dancing and rejoicing for a child who had just been born
I rambled farther I heard another crowd crying and weeping of a child who has just died
then I asked myself what is our mission on
this earth
why we were born into this world
is it all about lives and dies or we are here in exploring of something
Apr 15, 2018
Apr 15, 2018 at 9:19 PM UTC