"quarrels" poems
Oh blue eyed baby accept this ring.
Make me the happiest human being
5 years have passed and our quarrels far dwindled
But our fire still burns from the pile we kindled
10 years and 10 more; I will always adore
My blue eyed baby, forevermore
“Till death do us part”, we said long ago
Now 50 years past right out the window
My eyes start to twitch and twinkle with mime
But my love for you only grows deeper with time
As my thoughts start to dwindle and turn into chime
I’ll always remember, my blue eyed baby will always be mine
Your memories fading and hair color too
And our hearts are still red and your baby eyes blue
Grasp tight of my hand and don’t let it slip
I feel my life tripping out of its tick
The morning rays shine through the pains of our room
In our beds we await for our call to our tombs
The time is not far; it’s coming soon
But the blues eyes of yours baby will continue to bloom
Forever and ever.
I mean it
I do.
Dec 12, 2012
Dec 12, 2012 at 4:32 PM UTC
Wild rose, aggressive usurper,
relentless conqueror of attention, quarrels
wants to make me jelous,
pretends she is nothing but poetry distilled,
stops at every table and whispers:
"He is hard prose, the syntax, I can't grasp"
Unmindful of sly looks from various corners,
that in fact suggest, I had good riddance,
I am concerned about the clutter on my desk,
that escaped my notice during the days I was in that chasm
I was deeply in to Dostoevsky,
my cleansing ritual on such occasions: the Russian masters
when she passed my cubicle she spies Chekhov
lying on my table, waiting his turn
"The lady with the lapdog"* she reads aloud, with suspicion
would she ever understand, what Dostoevsky to me,
would have told?
Aug 16, 2013
Aug 16, 2013 at 12:06 PM UTC
Hollyhocks, sandals with socks
Knickerbocker glories
Salty air, old caravans
Magical bedtime stories
Fish 'n' chips, sticks of rock
Climbing fragrant evergreens
Endless hikes, stunning views
Sandwiches with sardines
Long car rides, minor quarrels
Enid Blyton audio tapes
Forever etched in my memory
Our annual escapes
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 8:48 AM UTC
(To my sisters and brother)
I will always miss …
Our sunset ending quarrels
Our never-ending teases
Christmas’ shared carols
Warm hugs
Through sweet gazes
The sarcastic smiling faces
The growing-up races
Revenge taking chases
Greed over goodies to be hidden
In unpredictable places
And I will always miss …
Competitions and crazy bets
Singing hilarious duets
Of made-up songs in the shower
This innocence
Of our childish humor
Screamed from a room to another
That art of tricking eachother
To cleverly stay in control
Or wrestling over the remote control
And I will always miss …
Decades of shared history
Amplified joy and divided misery
Bursts of laughter on old tapes
Creatively imagined games
Of whirlpools in drapes
And goalkeeper leaps
Random costume parties
Daily role-play stories
Sega sagas from dusk to dawn
Alliances and conspiracies
Sisters, my lovely sisters
Wise, you have become
Loving wives, caring mothers
Soon, you will become
Make sure your kids relive
What we used to live
Their uncle will make you proud
Just like you fill him with pride
Brother, dear brother
I secretly looked up to you
As I grew older
I kept resembling you
It doesn’t matter
If you’re a little far
Brotherhood’s a matter
Of unbreakable bond
And I will always admire, respect, love and cherish …
Every single one of you
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 12:06 PM UTC
*Some are jealous of my life
because it is the single strife
No kids to to clean up after
No roles for the actor
No husband to answer to
No nightly deja vu
No cooking and cleaning that must be done
No filled minivans, on the run
No soccer practice, no paintings to hang
No afternoon quarrels of who should pick up the 'tang'
The grass is always greener
I always say
For my nights and days are filled with gray
I cook and clean for myself
For these are the cards I've been dealt
No one to answer to
No quarrels or games
This life alone is such a shame
The pictures I hang are of my travels
But all I want are crayonned marvels
A family of which to call my own
More than a dog to fill my home
I pray on my knees
to give me all of these
That which is greener over sees*
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 11:14 AM UTC
Timbeck Tyu, Timbeck Tyu
Great City Timbeck Tyu
Coloured Walls Nicely Painted
Arts and Drawing Everywhere
Artifacts on every crossing
People's representatives feel like king
Magnificient buildings here and there
Bridges and flyover everywhere
Toll tax booth here and there
Statues standing everywhere
Banners hanging here and there
Hoardings, posters everywhere
Malls and Hotels here and there
Dance Bars and Casinos everywhere
Citizens always in Crisis
Struggling with poverty
Economical condition bad
Politicians has gone mad
Nationalism in Slogans
Here and there hooligans
Real nationalist are renamed
They are called anti-nationals
Corruption is on the peak
You need license to speak
Crowd imposes censorship
System respects the crowd
Mouse catches the Crow
Everything on the show
Real news not covered
Real issues are untouched
Fake news are implanted
Press and Media on sale
Laws are being twisted
Burden of proof shifted
Culprits are honoured
Innocents are hanged
Farmers are in debts
Their families are starving
They can't even pay their loans
Neither Principal nor interest
They either commit suicide
or land in jail for not paying loans
Hospital competing with hotels
Doctors busy in making money
Patients treatment is on Sale
Get cured only if you pay
Stray Animals on the rise
What you can do if you cry?
Black money in circulation
White money is called pollution
Rapes, Murders and theft on rise
Law and order is on the papers
Lawyers are with Politicians
Politicians are with Criminals
Criminals are with the Police
Police is with the Capitalists
Only the God is with the victims
That too only, if he really exists
Population almost exploding
Environment full of pollution
Fights and quarrels here and there
Religion and faith always on stake
Caste and Classes everywhere
Race and Religion everywhere
Common people struggling for food
Saints consuming wine and drugs
Rallies and protests uprising
The system has turned deaf
Goddess of law weeping and bleeding
Judges busy in process law and rules
Timbeck Tyu, Timbeck Tyu
Such a great city Timbeck Tyu
Have you liked Timbeck Tyu?
Want to live in Timbeck Tyu?
If you liked, Timbeck Tyu
Want to live in Timbeck Tyu
First apply for passport in your country
Then apply for visa from Timbeck Tyu
Hurry Up, Hurry Up, don't be late
Visa's are limited so take care
May 16, 2019
May 16, 2019 at 6:28 AM UTC
Orcas in Puget Sound
Along the road, abandoned wild apple trees bend
with their heavy loads, dusty skirts of blackberry bushes
purpling fingers, piercing flesh
mouths ringed with berry juice, vampires all.
Along San Juan Island salmon leap clear
out of the briny water, just yards ahead of their predators,
Orcas, dorsal fins curving shiny black, sluicing and slicing
the surface like sharpened knives
They have bred with one another for 10,000 years
trolled these waters through famine, earthquakes, world wars
through shifting continents, glacial avalanches,
through the extinction of whole civilizations.
Standing on a cliff, my daughter and I
watch the Orcas churning the water - studies in grace
the largest gem on the necklace of a great food chain
and when we sleep we too chase
the great King Salmon of our deepest dreams,
the fathers we lost, the currents that bear along children
Translucent jellyfish, palm sized, breath below
sideways exhale, convulsive inhale
umbrellas opening and closing a thousand years or more
sliding through forests of brown kelp where mollusks cling
We have clung like this to one another, with my body
thrown over hers for protection and her exhaling away from me
If Mama Orca keeps her young close, so will I
If there are salmon to chase and harbor seals to command, so we will
Arcing in the late August sky
slapping and parting the surface, over and over
the whales, lords of the Sound, swim in our brains as we sleep
sparkle against blackening waters
You are of my body from my body cleaving there for 10,000 years
Whatever quarrels there are on land vaporize
In the presence of these creatures,
arcing against all that is temporal, vicious, small,
studies in power and grace
The tide pulls out, skimming across rocks and oysters in their muddy beds
But this need to care for you remains as big as an Orca
your appetite for adventure as voracious
and I watch you, my child, disappearing with summer
into high school, into womanhood, into
the salty, light-dappled ocean
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 4:15 PM UTC
Sometimes I wish I was a taxi driver
Because I don't believe there is
A more honest person on earth.
They hear the apologies of
Intoxicated teenagers
On their way home from the clubs
That they used fake ID's to get into.
They hear the quarrels between
Frisky lovers
Who drank too much on their dinner date
And can't wait to shed their clothing.
They hear the ramblings of
Elderly folk
Complaining about gas prices
And the brand-name stores that
Put the local businesses under.
But sometimes, they hear the confessions of
Lonely travelers
Who were wandering the streets
At 3 in the morning, contemplating
How they would like to take their life,
Until they saw a taxi cab driving past
And realized it was their sign to go
Home.
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 1:35 AM UTC
Australia takes her pen in hand
To write a line to you,
To let you fellows understand
How proud we are of you.
From shearing shed and cattle run,
From Broome to Hobson's Bay,
Each native-born Australian son
Stands straighter up today.
The man who used to **** his drum",
On far-out Queensland runs
Is fighting side by side with some
Tasmanian farmer's sons.
The fisher-boys dropped sail and oar
To grimly stand the test,
Along that storm-swept Turkish shore,
With miners from the west.
The old state jealousies of yore
Are dead as Pharaoh's sow,
We're not State children any more —
We're all Australians now!
Our six-starred flag that used to fly
Half-shyly to the breeze,
Unknown where older nations ply
Their trade on foreign seas,
Flies out to meet the morning blue
With Vict'ry at the prow;
For that's the flag the Sydney flew,
The wide seas know it now!
The mettle that a race can show
Is proved with shot and steel,
And now we know what nations know
And feel what nations feel.
The honoured graves beneath the crest
Of Gaba Tepe hill
May hold our bravest and our best,
But we have brave men still.
With all our petty quarrels done,
Dissensions overthrown,
We have, through what you boys have done,
A history of our own.
Our old world diff'rences are dead,
Like weeds beneath the plough,
For English, Scotch, and Irish-bred,
They're all Australians now!
So now we'll toast the Third Brigade
That led Australia's van,
For never shall their glory fade
In minds Australian.
Fight on, fight on, unflinchingly,
Till right and justice reign.
Fight on, fight on, till Victory
Shall send you home again.
And with Australia's flag shall fly
A spray of wattle-bough
To symbolise our unity —
We're all Australians now.
3.5k
Spacious and resplendent,
Summoning people only once,
Words replete with beauty,
The voice of the imam like music to our ears,
Performing Hajj,
People from faraway,
Come to pray,
In the house of God for seeking His light,
Forgiveness and prayer on their tongues,
Regret and guilt shedding from their eyes,
Quarrels and worries aside,
Not caring about colour and creed,
My eyes seek only forgiveness,
And guidance,
For making things right,
O God please forgive me !
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 2:24 AM UTC
truth be told,
the ticking hourglass will never be our friend.
cos it keeps pushing my milky way
farther away from yours.
somewhere along the way,
you found dharma.
leaving me to waltz on that dance floor alone,
like i did to you, millenniums ago!
back then, i became
poet, philosopher, king and the lord of the universe.
while you stayed behind,
a shy country lass with lotus eyes
pining for my love.
in the quarrels of love and life,
you hid my golden flute
and threw away my loaded dice,
which helped me win
the mundane games of *** for tat.
leaving me now with an inexhaustible quiver of karmas eager to fructify.
as i stand here in a tree pose
regulating my incoming breath,
i the yogi
eagerly await for our galaxies to turn,
perhaps, even collide and kiss some day.
© 2023
Oct 8, 2023
Oct 8, 2023 at 9:45 AM UTC
Sixteen sweet years
Of pink promises kept
"I dos" and tender, gentle vows
Wedding rings of gold
A wedlock between two lovers
Trailing wedding veils of sheer lace
Love within a burning flame
Kept alive throughout the years
Hard times seen through together
Quarrels and misunderstandings
Even tiny little differences of opinions settled
Never interfering with the love you share
Your days of love will never end
You kept your promise ever since that day
When you both held hands and said fervently
And wholeheartedly "I do"
Then two hearts joined and became one
~Marian~
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 11:38 PM UTC
Why is this night different
from every other night?
Is it because you are now
here lying in my arms?
The mirage of you conveys beauty
which I have longed for,
you did make me weak
that moment you walked through that door,
and I thought you were not coming back.
The wind serenades us,
trying to elude and forget
the war we had,
leaving every tearful fight,
nonsense arguments,
never-ending quarrels
for the paradise, we yet to have.
I do love you, and I am so sorry,
now I have in my mind
that for every Superman
there is always his kryptonite.
Mar 24, 2012
Mar 24, 2012 at 2:26 AM UTC
I grew up in a family
Where there was more
questions than outcomes.
The pain numbing me
for a change to come
Learning from the gist of things.
I still feel from all my learning
I am not the brightest but far from dumb
I am not going to fail my son
Trials in traveling
I am facing everything
I am in need to become.
They pray and they plot
My soul will not rot
I am going to the top
Sit back and watch.
Get in the way. Get dropped.
Albums coming in stock.
Stories will hit the block.
Don't test me. I lost a lot.
None of it's fake it's no mirage.
Mirror me back, and blend in
without camouflage
I go hard as Smith
You will get Rocked.
I will steal my own life
before you take all I got
Nah I never stop.
Never feared any op
You over here looking lost.
Fools think I'm soft.
You just full of talk
You wanna go with me?
We gonna run through roadblocks.
You ain't ready to walk
Don't make yourself a mark.
I'm silent as the dark.
Quarrels with my absent counterpart.
Obliterate. I am shattering
your mind from a far.
I burn with the shine of a star.
I got the key for you
if you lacking the heart.
Reminder to my child
make the moves that are smart!
Real talk.
Jul 27, 2022
Jul 27, 2022 at 4:38 AM UTC
It is another Sunday in the winter.
I am properly tucked in my quilt.
I browse through the top headlines of the hour.
It says the temperature outside is two-degree centigrade and I quit
all ideas of leaving my quilt.
Sundays in winter were my favourite days
and letting me play on Sundays my cookies
for reading properly for six days.
Those Sundays, which seem to be distant memories,
are some of my best memories.
Saturdays were the days of preparation.
Arranging bats, ***** and bicycles, at least, four,
deciding time and venue for the action,
making strategies to sail us ashore-
were some important tasks to be completed before.
I used to sleep a bit early after setting
up a thousand alarms, in case I missed a few,
to ensure I woke up in the morning.
and then I would make a few
calls to wake up the crew.
Though while gearing up,
I would move as little as possible
my Mom would always wake up
and then I had to wear all the clothes ‘cause cold air made you susceptible
to sick and sick made you feeble.
Before I could leave home, I had
to close the door as slowly as possible
because I didn't want to wake up Dad
for he was predictably unpredictable
and it was too risky a gamble.
We dared not look into uncles 'n aunties'
eyes while asking our friends to come to play
for their looks could terrorize
anyone. We'd then go to the decided play-
ground on the shared bicycles without delay.
Quarrels to bat at the top,
the endless running around to save a few runs,
‘barking’ on fellow players lest catches they drop,
heated discussions on run-outs-
these memories still give me goose bumps.
The celebrations after winning the matches and
blaming each other for losing were
the customs of the day and
mom made ‘chicken’ and a good after-
noon nap - a perfect finish for a day to remember.
A lifetime has gone by
since we last played together
and bade each other goodbye
but those memories still lurking somewhere
inside our brains adhere us together.
I usually do not write about myself or my memories, which makes it special. Those days are some of my best memories. And in a cricket crazy country like ours, many definitely have similar memories.
© Devashish Kumar
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 8:09 AM UTC
Alabaster Archipelagos
Benevolent Beauty Beaming
Constructive Contradictive Creative Contemplations
Dante's Darling Dances Deliberating Denominatives
Effervescent Escapisms Endearingly Emerge Elusive Edens
Fantastic Flamboyant ******** Flamed Fabulous Fiery Flickerings
Gorgeous Garden Gim'memores Gaudied Garnishing Gasps
Heavenly Hues Humming Heart's Harmonies
Immortaly Impregnated Inspired Ideals
Jessamin Jargon Jacuzzi Jams
Know-how Knacking Knurls
Light-spirited Lovers
Merge Magnificent
Naked Nocturno Nights
Omnipresent Ousia Over Odeons
Palpitations Perfect Peaks Pi Paws
Quintessential Quality Quarrels Question Quarks Quietness
Rododendron's Richameters Rescued Raw Reeling Ruby Realms
Sentient Syllabic Sapfo's Splendidly Spirited Semantics
Turning Turner's Timeless Timeless Twinklings
Unified Undulatory Unsolved Unicorns
Velvety Venice Voyages
Wanton Wantings
Xsylophone Xsantiphas
Yearnin' Yuki's Yen
Zed's Zealous Zen-it-hall Zeppelins
Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 9:26 AM UTC
How blest the land that counts among
Her sons so many good and wise,
To execute great feats of tongue
When troubles rise.
Behold them mounting every stump,
By speech our liberty to guard.
Observe their courage--see them jump,
And come down hard!
"Walk up, walk up!" each cries aloud,
"And learn from me what you must do
To turn aside the thunder cloud,
The earthquake too.
"Beware the wiles of yonder quack
Who stuffs the ears of all that pass.
I--I alone can show that black
Is white as grass."
They shout through all the day and break
The silence of the night as well.
They'd make--I wish they'd go and make--
Of Heaven a Hell.
A advocates free silver, B
Free trade and C free banking laws.
Free board, clothes, lodging would from me
Win wamr applause.
Lo, D lifts up his voice: "You see
The single tax on land would fall
On all alike." More evenly
No tax at all.
"With paper money," bellows E,
"We'll all be rich as lords." No doubt--
And richest of the lot will be
The chap without.
As many "cures" as addle-wits
Who know not what the ailment is!
Meanwhile the patient foams and spits
Like a gin fizz.
Alas, poor Body Politic,
Your fate is all too clearly read:
To be not altogether quick,
Nor very dead.
You take your exercise in squirms,
Your rest in fainting fits between.
'Tis plain that your disorder's worms--
Worms fat and lean.
Worm Capital, Worm Labor dwell
Within your maw and muscle's scope.
Their quarrels make your life a Hell,
Your death a hope.
God send you find not such an end
To ills however sharp and huge!
God send you convalesce! God send
You vermifuge.
2.1k
Drinking at the bar, I suppose it was that time of night
When the Drink itself starts doin' most of the talking
And the guy says "I've been through the **** man, in this life, I've waded knee deep through it... the deep ****
And the other guy says "What **** you talking about ?"
So he told him, yea! He spins out his tale of woe
Of hurts and grievances, injustices and false accusations, bruises and batterings received both physical and mental
A whole sorry catalogue of troubles, of fights and quarrels, anxieties and illnesses, struggles with various multiple monsters..."
When he's finished the Other says rather dismissively "You call that **** that ain't **** that's ******** Sure my **** was bigger than that, much bigger
The **** I went through, Man! Some of the **** I seen...indescribable man'
So then he starts to spin his tale of woe... more ****
And when he's finished the Other comes back at him saying
**** You call that **** that's horseshit!
My **** was bigger than that, much much bigger!!
Your **** it's just... it's just *****
And so, there they were the two of them, at the bar arguing to and fro
About whose **** was the bigger
Till suddenly over in the corner, out of the shadows, with his face half obscured
This man, he clears his throat rather loudly
Causing them both to momentarily stop their bickering and look over
He then slowly raises a glass of JD (Jack Daniels) to his lips and takes a long sip
Then he says "What do you know about... the **** ?
Huh! (said in disgust) You don't even know what **** is
Why, my shit's bigger than both your two ***** put together"
Then he smiled a menacing smile and said "You wanna hear my **** story"
So he spins his tale of woe, a real shitstorm...
A real Moby **** of ****
The others they listened in awe
When he'd finished, One said very impressed
"Man!..Man That's... that's some ****
Then another said "That's Big **** !"
And another "That's real Elephant **** Man!"
Then silence reigned in the bar
Until one sighed and said wearily
"It's all **** this ***** isn't it?
Nov 23, 2022
Nov 23, 2022 at 7:53 AM UTC
Who’s to say how
He might come back for a second
inhumanely heaped-up helping,
if we grant that immensity
of our assumption He did come
kingly first into this inside-
out size from a do-you-miss-me-
yet’s mirthfully mythical realm
I have seen Him
lurking in a particle-board fine
finish on the thin outer membranes
of our estranged and better faces;
He’s Higgs-boson omnipresent,
but far too theoretical
for our broadly practical, turned-
away gazes to rediscover
There He is now
rising in the favela’s gap-
toothed grins with fabulously naughty
corners this glee-pawed grandpa twists
using cur jests his ***** charges
imagine as flightless quarrels
grey-hooded pigeons would gaggle
were they over-stuffed on golden grain
And there again
on a Calcutta mound’s cluttered
conic end, smog-like He slowly lifts
with the crust-gnawed, razor-wire crimps
of a soup-can’s unconsummated lid
as dainty fingers crawl in toward
a gelatinous glob still clinging
to the powerful pretense it’s meat
And there once more,
conceding oms, He restless flickers
at the margins of blocky beige
Beijing screens as crisply clicked clacks
circumnavigate the darkling
smooth patches and spit-spark a few
conscious drips to squiggle out from
the babble of noxious red seas
Emerged, this welp
won’t toddle off to dribble-stain
the dressy linens of a made-up
nanny’s well-mannered and ornate
evil; it will curl up instead,
a swaddled yawn with no yearn to
suckle under His real mother’s
gaping wide and grungy bloused best
Oct 20, 2010
Oct 20, 2010 at 11:04 AM UTC
Nothing calls for morals, like lovers’ quarrels
Though all is fair in love and war
I have one law, for all clenched jaws
Don’t fight in metaphor
“You’re always the martyr” one may brand the other
In passive aggressive verse
Mere iteration, through metaphorical filtration
That truly reveals the reverse
Here’s one I despise, that utters love’s demise
“Honey, the door swings both ways”
It’s an image projected, of love infected
Spat in pseudo poetic haze
It’s a double edged blade that ought to be stayed
Though a wonderful figure of speech
It does not pay, to duel this way
Nay it is to love, but a leech
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 12:16 AM UTC
I wish you were a pleasant wren,
And I your small accepted mate;
How we'd look down on toilsome men!
We'd rise and go to bed at eight
Or it may be not quite so late.
Then you should see the nest I'd build,
The wondrous nest for you and me;
The outside rough, perhaps, but filled
With wool and down: ah, you should see
The cosey nest that it would be.
We'd have our change of hope and fear,
Small quarrels, reconcilements sweet:
I'd perch by you to chirp and cheer,
Or hop about on active feet
And fetch you dainty bits to eat.
We'd be so happy by the day,
So safe and happy through the night,
We both should feel, and I should say,
It's all one season of delight,
And we'll make merry whilst we may.
Perhaps some day there'd be an egg
When spring had blossomed from the snow:
I'd stand triumphant on one leg;
Like chanticleer I'd almost crow
To let our little neighbors know.
Next you should sit and I would sing
Through lengthening days of sunny spring:
Till, if you wearied of the task,
I'd sit; and you should spread your wing
From bough to bough; I'd sit and bask.
Fancy the breaking of the shell,
The chirp, the chickens wet and bare,
The untried proud paternal swell;
And you with housewife-matron air
Enacting choicer bills of fare.
Fancy the embryo coats of down,
The gradual feathers soft and sleek;
Till clothed and strong from tail to crown,
With ****** warblings in their beak,
They too go forth to soar and seek.
So would it last an April through
And early summer fresh with dew:
Then should we part and live as twain,
Love-time would bring me back to you
And build our happy nest again.
1.9k
MAY God be praised for woman
That gives up all her mind,
A man may find in no man
A friendship of her kind
That covers all he has brought
As with her flesh and bone,
Nor quarrels with a thought
Because it is not her own.
Though pedantry denies,
It's plain the Bible means
That Solomon grew wise
While talking with his queens.
Yet never could, although
They say he counted grass,
Count all the praises due
When Sheba was his lass,
When she the iron wrought, or
When from the smithy fire
It shuddered in the water:
Harshness of their desire
That made them stretch and yawn,
pleasure that comes with sleep,
Shudder that made them one.
What else He give or keep
God grant me -- no, not here,
For I am not so bold
To hope a thing so dear
Now I am growing old,
But when, if the tale's true,
The Pestle of the moon
That pounds up all anew
Brings me to birth again --
To find what once I had
And know what once I have known,
Until I am driven mad,
Sleep driven from my bed.
By tenderness and care.
pity, an aching head,
Gnashing of teeth, despair;
And all because of some one
perverse creature of chance,
And live like Solomon
That Sheba led a dance.
1.9k
She stands at the wall reflecting
on those who were lost at sea
names and poems and words connecting
her to those poor souls and to me.
Beyond those memorial walls
the mighty Columbia into the Pacific spills
whose depth and wealth have called
so many to sail from Oregon's green hills.
From the safety of their home
they left for the great unknown
where writers and poets travel
every time they pen their spirit in word
to explore what God and life has unraveled
what pain, sorrow and joy have stirred.
Her kindness and her reflection move me to write
my poems of wandering from a safe and tidy home
to regions of imagination’s heights
shadows, sorrows, or oceans’ foam.
She reads and lives life’s poetry
knows its canyons and desert sands
she yearns only to be free
of the noise and anger of badlands
to smell the freshness of a cool and gentle breeze
feel the air brushing her arms
to look up and see the greenness of trees
to be free from crushing and brutal harm.
I see her standing and watch her reflection there
with seafarers, poets and lovers at peace
where God’s creative breath stirs air
and torments, terrors, and quarrels cease.
Author’s Note: My sister Genie who lives in a large urban area visited Astoria, Oregon where the Columbia river ends in the Pacific Ocean and local citizens have erected a memorial park with several walls of polished black granite that display the names of mariners lost at sea. There are also sentiments and poems about those lost souls one of which Genie photographed and sent to me. As I examined the photo I could see her reflection on the wall as kind of a background for the poem. That photo and my sister who loves nature and trees inspired this writing. I wish I could post the pic here for you to see why and how it inspired me.
Below is the untitled poem on the memorial wall photographed by my sister.
Weep not for me that I go to sea.
I shan’t be lonely, though vastness surround me.
The brotherhood of the sea shall be my family.
The kinship of the deep my company.
Weep not for me, nor worry over harm.
My heart stays with you, still and warm.
In sunrise and starlight my hearth and home
I carry you with me wherever I roam.
Weep not for me, whether bad luck or good.
Tossed about in a shell of steel and wood.
An ancient salt sea sails within my blood –
I but follow its tide through ebb and flood.
Weep not for me that I go to sea:
in the limitless ocean I am free.
Jun 14, 2019
Jun 14, 2019 at 10:40 AM UTC