"rms" poems
"Unsinkable"
was a myth;
which no-one ever said.
But she was beautiful,
the most advanced,
the biggest,
the "floating city",
the greatest ever made.
This magnificent vessel
which slipped out
from Harland and Wolff,
it cannot be denied,
was a fine symbol,
of hard work
and Irish pride.
****************************
That fateful night
truly was
a night to remember.
A night of heroes,
as men willingly
threw their lives away,
that women and children,
may live another day.
A night of heroines,
as women
gave up their lives
to stay with their men
as lovers and wives.
A night of honour
as Thomas Andrews,
whom Titanic designed,
and Captain Smith, stayed,
to their fates resigned.
A night of cowardice,
as J Bruce Ismay,
took a lifeboat place;
from a woman or child
stealing a space.
A night of tragedy
as more than 1500 died,
and of miracles,
that so many survived.
*******************************
One hundred years on.
RMS Titanic lies
broken on the sea bed.
At peace, in pieces,
she lies there
as broken as the dreams
of those who built her.
The survivors
who numbered 700 and more,
have now joined
all those who went before.
But Titanic,
gives new life today,
as she is being eaten away,
In bizarre irony,
this beautiful lady,
who caused death and strife,
is now teeming with life.
Microscopic life
feasting on this tomb
has sealed her doom;
as into the mighty hull they bore,
By 2030
Titanic will be no more.
Gone
but not forgotten,
neither Her or her victims;
that no-one can deny.
The great RMS Titanic
shall not
cannot
ever wholly die.
Apr 15, 2012
Apr 15, 2012 at 6:05 PM UTC
The colors, they won't
Bright, bea t ful c l rs
Flash ng, exp nd ng, piercing
Red, green, blue
An ndless
CACOPHONY
Of meaningless
noise
The noise, it won't STOP.
Viol nt, grating w vef rms
Sq e king, screech ng, piercing
SINE, COSINE, TANGENT
Like play ng a ch lkboard on a t rntable
Like playing a KNIFE on a BREATHING RIBCAGE
n ndl ss
p m
Of m n ngl ss
Delete Her
Mar 6, 2019
Mar 6, 2019 at 4:33 PM UTC
.
•we sleep
swad-
dled
we manage tight•
somehow to wake late at
•and... cradled night•
the bed in the ci- we toss
ngle off cle of ea- and tu-
ms da- ch oth- rn•roll
our ar- er's a- away
sheets• rms• and re-
with the turn...•
our legs tangle
.
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 7:24 PM UTC
Went for a cruise on the maiden ship Titanic,
A wonderful ship everyone said would be epic
I was not scared because it was unsinkable
To be in fear would for me be unthinkable
Wanted to sail far away to another land
Where my life, I think could be quite grand
Unpacking my suitcase in a luxurious liner
This is the one yacht that could not be finer.
Passengers enjoyed dinner, dancing, and other entertainments.
All the days of the trip they would enjoy the embellishments
I heard that people like Astor, Guggenheim Straus, Thayer and Gordon
Would be on this ship including Stead, Fulrelle, Gibson and Morgan
On April 14, 1912 I was that evening returning to my room
Walking down the corridor I heard a deafening boom
Went to find an RMS crew member
When I was told on deck to assemble
He handed me a life jacket just in case
And to get in the lifeboat because there was space
Passengers were lowered down by the crew
The first little boat had just a few
A man started quickly paddling our tiny boat
Once far away he stopped and we would just float
Everyone watched as we heard screaming, crying and yelling
Amongst the chaos we heard music and saw the flares flying
In the early hours of April 15, the ship’s lights flickered out and then went straight up vertical
We all heard the moans of the iron and watched it break in half and it sank uncontrollable
From quite a distance I saw an ocean of people
Out in the middle of the sea, no one felt hopeful
Soon there was no sound
As we all looked around
Shivering crying and wondering
If we are going to live or die pondering
published in the Crawfordsville, Indiana newspaper
Copyright 2013
All Rights Reserved
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 3:55 PM UTC
A poem to my People:
"I love you all dearly,
but I know that you have gone;
I see you all here daily,
but I know that you have gone.
I don’t blame you, I understand you,
And I know that I bring shame;
But I also understand,
that I was not to blame.
I know I won’t be welcome likely
ever there again,
And although you may not believe me
I don’t want to cause you pain.
I hope for your forgiveness,
Although I did no wrong;
I hope someday you'll understand
that I did no wrong.
I have tried to make contact,
but you never spoke again;
And because you are so many,
this causes so much pain.
But I guess that you have gone now,
and forever that may be,
If he only hadn’t hung himself,
you might have believed me.
But now that I know,
that I’m not the only one,
I understand the "dark side"
more than anyone.
I understand the culture,
its different where I live;
And although I hope for change for all,
I as yet can just forgive.
I hold nothing against you,
as I said - I understand;
but I hope that in the future,
heads won’t be buried in the sand.
I rarely write poetry,
but this is all I can do;
as a way to get my thoughts across
to so many of you.
I live here in Scotland,
I don’t need to be ashamed;
here on this "Isle of Arran",
I am never blamed.
I hope that St Helena
one day will see it too;
that "there is no excuse for abuse"
no matter "who is who".
It’s sad to lose the RMS,
the most loyal Saint of all,
but she is serving us still by
opening the island to the World.
Opinions might be questioned,
from cultures far and wide,
but with that I hope you'll see
that I have nothing to hide.
Through my bad experiences
I have gained a lot as well,
I have an understanding of
all the people put through hell.
I know I’m one of many,
I know I’m not alone;
together we share this deep connection
to a place that some call "home".
I hope one day you'll forgive me,
as I forgive you,
for treating me the only way
that you knew.
The RMS is serving us,
by opening up this land;
If she stayed forever-
you might never understand.
She may be just a ship to some,
but to me she’s so much more;
She has a soul, a personality,
she had to leave our shores.
We have a lot in common,
both feeling as if "disposed of";
but I do hope we won’t end up scrapped,
and still receive some love.
I'll love you all forever,
even if I hear nothing again;
and I don’t regret my visit,
even though I "caused you pain"
You may not understand just yet,
but I hope one day you will;
and with more education,
the Island will be better still.
I stand by the others,
as they have done for me;
and I’m forever grateful
to my "extra family".
I wish you well for now,
as I’m tired and can write no more;
and I just hope that one day
Such darkness shall leave these shores.”
Take care,
love **
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 7:01 PM UTC
First-class lipstick,
like satin,
gently marking into history
sign-offs and signatures,
transcending boundaries
between land and ocean.
Nothing unwritten;
everything perfected
in the sweet subtlety
of marking names
and millions of ways
to say the same sentiment,
sealed up below the deck.
Traversing the sea,
unread letters wait
in the salt and the sediment,
that will soon wash over them;
the timelessness of tragedy –
of waters that lap
over delicate bodies on beachline shores.
These same elements,
clinging to life
within seawater-stained envelopes
find themselves
just a little too much,
almost a second out of time
with the world outside the ocean.
Now, timelessness has moved on,
and many ships have fallen since,
but there remains
a pocket of air,
huddled in the North Atlantic,
where love letters still muse
with writers’ delicate bones
and the sweet serenade of saltwater.
Aug 4, 2020
Aug 4, 2020 at 8:17 AM UTC
I feel like a sinking ship
RMS Titanic
the unsinkable boat
never completing it's maiden voyage
my maiden voyage.
It lays with it's belly swollen from age
at the bottom of the mid atlantic.
I lay in my bed
big blue headphones seal me off
from the scary world outside
my belly is swollen from comfort eating.
My journey is much less majestic
I never sank down in the ocean
thousands of lives were lost
to the icy see
but there is only one casualty in my shipwreck.
I try not to think
too hard about my life
my future
I read to escape from my own mind
I seek out distractions
from my responsibilities.
At night
the monsters under my bed are
failure
disappointment
tests
grades
lines to learn
social circles
scheduling
college.
A good man once said
the only certain things in life are death and taxes.
he could not have been more right
and frankly that scares the **** out of me
I'm a planner
I want my future to be set in stone
and if I weren't an atheist
I would pray for time to be static.
I am scared to death of what lies ahead
there is a fog bank over my future
that no crystal ball can decipher
my life is one big cypher
i can't crack the code.
I try not to expect people to understand me
because I can't even understand myself.
my mother tells me to walk
with my head up
my shoulders back
open my chest
stand tall.
When I look down I see the present
If I look out all I see is my future.
I'd rather hit a literal wall than a figurative one.
I am a sinking ship
but I sink slowly
and the RMS Titanic had survivors.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 9:27 PM UTC
oh wait wait... here comes the holy man, i'm about to be resurrected! i thought an ideal life with man synchronised with would do... instead i was told: favour the resurrection miracle instead of an a economic policy! or get employed by the church.
i really meant hey Daisy!
far from bouquet and
**** full into marriage;
we can't be friends...
no point abusing me for
worth of censorship,
dude, come on;
you were never going to be
radical or cool or romanian!
your
obd f siu.....
hs... your
algoym is acting funny in
rms fo spelling;
your... i can't be
bo
the
red;
you're all nazis to
me anyway;
your digital detox and diet
of vocabulary are all the same,
death camps ensue:
hey i got given
the menegele
treatment:
they were 6 million poles...
boorish *****
watershedhour
of typing to keep
t.s. elliot alive
for conversation.
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 9:43 PM UTC
the image of you
{owns my eyes}
play//rewind》replay
one _ thousand _ times
a [captured] moment
you. laying. there.
Sssssidewaysssss on the mattress
the ~ cur~ve ~ of your ~hips~
dip of your sp. ne
i
a>>>rms>>>
wrapped around
head on my chest
mybreathyourbreathmybreath
[how you] buried¡ yourself¡ inside¡
& i ' am ' stuck ' there,' / my dear
soblissfully
| con | tent |
time •○ stopped•○
thispicture. pre _ sides
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 5:40 PM UTC
it takes a minuscule bit of paper to start fires that burns down whole forests
One of the main features of Yoga cara's philosophy
is the concept of Vijayapati-matera. According to Lambert
Schmidt, the earliest live figure of this period is found
in chapter 8 of the Sad think ocona formula, which, unfortunately,
is found only in translations of Tibet and China
that differ in x and meaning. Bir is represented
as a response to wisdom. A question asking if images or symbols
are those that are the sources of communication *
are different from each other, individually or individually.
Buddha says it is no different, because the images
are Vijayapati-Mara. The text confirmed that this also applies
to common sense products. In relation to the existing sources
of Sanskrit, the word appears in Vishathiha's Vialatha
in the first verse, which is an element of the idea, says:
Vyapatimatram Vyattad Ardh Ardh Bhabhayath Yath
Taimikostasta by Sundaradhari Darshan is in this world
as Vijayapatima because it is its own. You have an infinite object,
such as looking at unmarried hair on the moon, like things
like cataracts. "According to Mark Cedars, Vassbundu means
that we only know
the images or the psychic influences that describe themselves
as external things, but" in fact, there is no such thing out of the mind. "Asaga Mahanasthangarh's classical skill word is not the root of Sanskrit over Tibati: this representation is Vijayapati-Maater's representation because it does not fit the meaning of abuse T ... as a dream,
even without something / element, in my mind, all things / things
like visions, sounds, flavors, flavors, tindibels, homes, forests,
soils and RMS / mountain images, and there is not yet something /
things to exist in that MGG 11.6 is sometimes used as the synonym
of "Sitar only", which is also the name of the school written
by Swrithasan, the first form of the word is in excellent form,
which states: o: Whatever is related to this world, Trittaku
has no mind or thought: * cittamatra, why? I imagine things,
how they look
Jun 4, 2019
Jun 4, 2019 at 2:35 PM UTC