"seascapes" poems
~~~
Quivering horizons
A palette of picturesque love
stipples weary seascapes
in amethyst ribbons,
pink carnation reflections
blush upon lip glossed beaches
caressing blue skies' gaze
and flip flop yearnings,
quivering horizons
of bougainvillea blooms
drench our hearts,
so we pause silently
as a poetic sunset
paints a masterpiece
in twilight brushstrokes
inspired by our
euphoric daydreams
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 7:08 PM UTC
on a farflung corner of the world
beyond the frosty Urals,
past the Saharan desert yonder,
and the Himalayan walls of ice,
and then a little while longer,
there you’ll find me sleeping.
or if you would ride a comet
and streak through the Atlantic,
land on the East Coast,
and head west some more
’till you arrive at the Western shore,
find a seastar and befriend it.
Then traverse seven horizons
across the infinite Pacific,
there you’ll find me resting.
here beyond the furthest dream
beyond the faintest clouds
i stand on sandy seascapes.
away from all the broken people
with their broken frowns and towns.
this is a land of smiles and sunny skies
where darkness and death cannot harm
the relentless light in
the brown of everybody’s eyes.
on a little archipelago of pearls
suspended from the stars by strings
like a toddler’s mobile as it swings,
the heartbeats of London, Paris,
New York, LA, or Rome:
pictures in a fairytale book here at home.
I am very very far away
where all my life is an echo
sounding in tropical sunsets:
rosy and pink and sinking
like a reverseblooming rose
lighting up the Manila Skyline.
Dec 15, 2012
Dec 15, 2012 at 12:16 AM UTC
Herein, laying dormant,
veils of reposed
secrecy 'neath
foamy seascapes'
frenetic passages,
languishing below
sunken treasures'
false facades of
reticently rolling
shrouded bluffs,
shaded of darkly impetuous
hued blood in
unceremoniously
bound convolutions,
a million ancient
undisclosed shadows hidden,
notwithstanding combative
rumblings of death's
unwelcome sycophancy,
depths of centuries'
old unparalleled stories,
whence hush-hush
undulatory influx
of defiant upsurges
and turbulence reside,
that of which only the
winds of indiscretion,
clandestine spirits
& gods could surmise
...as privileged moons watch over amaranthine skeletons
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 6:57 AM UTC
*You remind me of the earth,
like deep burnt umber woodlands
mid downpours' fresh aroma
& spring's foliage lushly reborn,
twinkling explosive pinpoints
grazing beyond dark ether,
sparkles dappling 'pon depths
of eternal seascapes's nature,
amidst breath of relentless airy winds
gusting above her majesty's hazes
beyond purple mountain's apex
and streams of meadows' wildflowers in
deftly painted horizons after moonbows,
vivid consciousness' uttermost reminisce
of all things recollected in the long ago
essence of your memories' presence*
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 4:49 PM UTC
Birds of a feather
Migrating to better weather
Through these clouds
Our hearts are tethered
Through storm and bliss
Landscapes,
seascapes
Perched wherever the sky scrapes
Gazing afar for where to fly next
But with this clip in my wing
Racing rats all around
Four walls are all I see now
Yet each time I accept my fate
I see the clouds move in heartache
Perched wherever the sky scrapes
I used the clouds as a staircase
Mar 4, 2019
Mar 4, 2019 at 5:21 AM UTC
Where God passes
The edge of forever where raw power is displayed
Walk the seascapes enter the story told in timelessness except for outer space it is the only place where man finds his mind freed so steep is the unending awe that without question he finally is able to present his self
as the tiny speck lost is all ego all self importance he is open to the quest for ultimate truth. You perfect you’re thinking at the sea shore it is a storehouse that lends itself to grand thoughts no limitations hamper
your endeavors aliveness engulfs you totally. Subdued moods excavate every shallow you start a down ward decent the deep cries out to your soul the part that never can be accessed on shore. The ground a
foundation for raising up temporal structures your needs are served in waters that open as a mysterious gate the deeper the fathoms the more understanding is released. To abide in calm surface features of the
sea what a waste take off the restraints become a voyager drift with churning twisting pressures they will give great reward for accosting your accustomed staid and uneventful living. Go deeper the mundane the
so called important will be forced through your very pores as you continue calling the unknown manifest itself with great scrolls hidden beyond reach to those that plod along the sunny quiet banks. Life test all
men you can face them unafraid armed with years not minutes of preparedness found alone in the struggle only found at sea. Pondered Plumbed in inexorable conditions that stretches changes a person’s character
his stature tempered fired as steel in the caldron. We need leaders vibrant thinkers people who can and will accost hell in the very near future and come away victorious. They will have found their way through
the untold deadly entanglements figuratively and real their not accustomed to ease and know perils at close quarters they learned them in great waters not in pools that have not the ability to stir you to your
core you’re going to pour out your life in one form or another do it with sand and grit leave a scarred an effectual trail for others to follow not the light untraceable light footsteps of one who has never lived.
Nov 17, 2011
Nov 17, 2011 at 4:44 AM UTC
I always hear about the “one”
How amazing she is
How fantastic my life will become
I wonder what she will look like
I just wonder
If she really is the “one”
She will have lots of tattoos.
She will pretend she doesn’t care about me.
If she really is the “one”
She will have piercings
She will paint seascapes and listen to ska.
I will see her walking down the beach
She will be on the arm of another man
But if she really is the one,
Ill still make a move
Ill stop her as she walks by.
Ill comment on her beauty and ask her to coffee.
The guy she is with will knock me on my ***
But she will be concerned for me and yell at her man.
She will bend down to make sure I’m all right,
But slip her number into my pocket.
If she is the one,
She will tell me what to wear.
If she is the one,
She’ll cook for me while I clean.
She’ll tell me what I’m doing wrong,
She’ll try to fix me and I will resist.
She will make me a better person,
Without changing me.
She won’t care when I forget her birthday,
Because she forgot it too.
She will want an elegant an expensive wedding,
But she will want to leave early.
She will be my world.
If she is the one,
We will grow old together but never stop being young.
We have two boys but still go to concerts.
We will cause havoc and toilet paper our friends.
If she is the one,
When I try to slow her down, she will just sped up.
She won’t listen to me even though I hang on her every word.
We when have gone gray, I will take her to the beach where we first meet.
The sun will be going down,
And another man will comment on her beauty and ask her out.
I have learned, so I say thank you and we will continue to walk.
This will all happen if I ever find the one.
Sep 23, 2012
Sep 23, 2012 at 10:14 PM UTC
of chocolate moons,
dried, well-preserved seascapes,
A-Tisket, A-Tasket
none of which he had ever seen,
understood,
but nonsense alliteration garners
fast and vast attention of the interned masses,
for somehow easier to comprehend
the silly notions of what does not exist,
chocolate moons, dried, well preserved,
museum-quality wet seascapes and word-plays
that require no Hail Mary passes or penitence
so let us rose compose of frosted flaked flowers
of folklorish hobgoblins,
ice cream coated,
of Crunch 'n Munch Sweet Gourmet Popcorn,
a ConAgra "Food" grown only on
Arizona highway-crossed landscapes,
where babies, snatched from above, into moving cars,
taken from, then to, the lost and found
of kidnapped earthlings
are awaiting your reading pleasure
if nonsense pleases,
nonsense scrip'd and delivered,
all we aim for is temple offerings
of what crowd-pleases,
around the tepee fire
we peyote ancestor tales
mostly glorified white men's defeats, legitimized,
ignoring the concentration camp existence and
USDA excess garbage food,
a god, with love, delivers
the components of sewing needles,
a hole and a little sliver of silvered steel,
stitch word worshipping poets into frenzies
of imagined images that cake bake the crowds
with football arena'd pleasures,
their brains all the while,
being measured for a casket,
A-Tisket, A-Tasket,
this poem making
perfect sense to those
who sleep no more
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 8:30 PM UTC
The edge of forever where raw power is displayed
Walk the seascapes enter the story told in timelessness except for outer space it is the only place where man finds his mind freed so steep is the unending awe that without question he finally is able to present his self as the tiny speck lost is all ego all self importance he is open to the quest for ultimate truth. You perfect you’re thinking at the sea shore it is a storehouse that lends itself to grand thoughts no limitations hamper your endeavors aliveness engulfs you totally. Subdued moods excavate every shallow you start a down ward decent the deep cries out to your soul the part that never can be accessed on shore. The ground a foundation for raising up temporal structures your needs are served in waters that open as a mysterious gate the deeper the fathoms the more understanding is released. To abide in calm surface features of the sea what a waste take off the restraints become a voyager drift with churning twisting pressures they will give great reward for accosting your accustomed staid and uneventful living. Go deeper the mundane the so called important will be forced through your very pores as you continue calling the unknown manifest itself with great scrolls hidden beyond reach to those that plod along the sunny quiet banks. Life test all men you can face them unafraid armed with years not minutes of preparedness found alone in the struggle only found at sea. Pondered Plumbed in inexorable conditions that stretches changes a person’s character his stature tempered fired as steel in the caldron. We need leaders vibrant thinkers people who can and will accost hell in the very near future and come away victorious. They will have found their way through the untold deadly entanglements figuratively and real their not accustomed to ease and know perils at close quarters they learned them in great waters not in pools that have not the ability to stir you to your core you’re going to pour out your life in one form or another do it with sand and grit leave a scarred an effectual trail for others to follow not the light untraceable light footsteps of one who has never lived.
Sep 28, 2012
Sep 28, 2012 at 4:39 PM UTC
Taken on a trip through the why don't I slip through the net?
set back from the light in the shadow that might be the shadow of me and
who is free is he who can see the night shift its shape,
landscapes on canvas and seascapes in galleries, it's no wonder to me why Valerie went over to the other side.
Positive thinking in the tin where yesterday is chinking its chains does my brains in,
Weary,
eyes bleary and nobody hears me,
it's that kind if say you get lost on the way, but I'm used to it.
On the tube.
I stand can't sit and these people just look and don't give a **** about me which all sounds like Valerie.
If this is the day and I am who I am, who's got the script
where is the man that I used to be
' why don't you come on over Valerie'
At the point where the afterburner turns into the foreground I look around me,
there is no Valerie and
only what's left if the dream wasn't right,
the night shifting shape
the rim on a wheel,
sometimes I feel
unreal.
Oct 25, 2016
Oct 25, 2016 at 2:20 AM UTC
missing: in quiet a place that’s green
where neon seascapes are all smiling
and the white windmill barely speaks
where diamond panthers lie in violet
and the weeping moon never sleeps
suspended by shallow light
between two holy giants
named first suicide then grief
laying in a fish net made of stardust
with an overflowing cup of angels blood
to comfort and fill my empty veins
and all you can feel here is warmth
all u will feel is warm
vampire queen
snowwhite
Moloch of restless sleep
the planets here are ghosts waiting
behind the black screens of broken TVs
pass the ****
ill be smoking here with them
when you come to resurrect me
Jul 19, 2015
Jul 19, 2015 at 11:15 PM UTC
**everyone knows doubt & fear
it's a roll of the loaded dice
my heart wafts along whirling waves
currents of turmoil and crescendos
surfing tranquil seas or taken asunder
like ripples illuminated under stardust
and dark moons illicit pathos
i drift along emotion's seascapes
serendipitous cascading commotions,
waiting for sand's salvation to be set free**
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 12:45 PM UTC
pale as a whispered winter wind
she sat in the amber glow of the streetlight
with her cascading delicate blonde hair disheveled
her blue eyes distant
gaze out the window to the fierce winter night
between theatrical sobs spins out the tale
of her sorrows
pointing with a trembling hand at the
windswept streets
the story of a perfect love frail but pure
the story of beautiful ways and warm embraces
but along the way she had lost him
and all track of her intimate dreams
now she paints seascapes grey and foreboding
now she sketches raindrops on a summer day
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 6:17 PM UTC
missing: in quiet a place that’s green
where neon seascapes are all smiling
and the white windmill barely speaks
where diamond panthers lie in violet
and the weeping moon never sleeps
suspended by shallow light
between giants named suicide and grief
in a fish net made of stardust
with overflowing cups of angels blood
to comfort and fill our empty veins
and all you can feel here is warmth
all we feel is warm
vampire queen
snowwhite
Moloch of restless sleep
the planets here are ghosts waiting
behind the black screens of broken TVs
pass the ****
ill be smoking here with them
when you come to ressurect me
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 12:50 AM UTC
I dream of tangerine skies
And endless seascapes,
Seamlessly mended by yellow threads-
Prepared to be veiled
By crushed blue velvet.
Serenity
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 4:02 AM UTC
Everything will be color and
Crystals sound off, as you remove
the drop cloth
revealing
paintings from yesterday
and weep to fill the oceans
found in a picturesque seascapes
Seashells mark the paths where
to drown the hearts of peace loving
beings
We'll swim for daylight in this
tranquil twilight scene
Find the definition of love
within the sea
The shadows seek walls
to gain your attention during the
burning light of day
And everything spins
around to
push the shadows back into
the ground
Her heart is a bright lighthouse beam
guiding me past
sharp rocks and dangerous reefs
And gives me purpose
to see
That this is the life
I wish to be
Aug 15, 2016
Aug 15, 2016 at 2:09 PM UTC
Each time she looked at paintings they came alive
yet the worst were always seascapes whose
rage spilled over the corners of their frames
It would be more romantic to say paintings cried
and battle scenes raged with war and bedlam
or dead kings must be rolling in their graves
knowing their immortalized wives gave flowers
to twenty first century Davids
She needn’t touch when a gaze is as golden
but tell that to the staff of the Louvre Prado or Rijksmuseum
who put her face on wanted signs
The Mona Lisa was the final straw who witnessed
with ancient eyes the world’s sole painting whisperer
stain marble floors not with tears but blood
But why not
Who wishes to know that all they really know is
that much of what they know is wrong?
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 5:53 PM UTC
Houses held up like puppets.
Pylon-wire branches spread out;
assuring the land wont drift far out to sea,
or melt into the earth with subsidence.
Cotton-wool-candy-floss caught up in cranes,
wind-whipped, white-wash, wispy, whippy clouds.
Do you remember when we waited in line for 99s?
The sky was busy with boats, the sea so blue. No, I mean...
And I had strawberry syrup dripping down my cone
and a multi-coloured sticky chin.
We watched the boats going out, coming in;
then we joined the rest to say goodbyes.
All the hands were wagging; electric flapping.
Water splashing up against the dock.
The arms propelled the ship.
Gemmed fingers dancing farewells;
the jangle of bangled wrists;
waving in the air, propelling the ship away
to retirement paradises,
honeymoon bliss,
champagne seascapes.
Always in the middle this place,
on the edge of a million-gazillion other worlds.
The rumble rattle of engines as I walk along
to look out at the reeds; on search for quiet idleness.
Leaves rustle, tickled by the breeze.
A train passes in-between;
on its way, on its way...
I sit on a bench nearby and hear a hum of life amongst the hedges.
Then,
walk back
with orange light bouncing in and out
of windows' winking eyes;
watching the chalk line,
aeroplane trails in the sky
cut through the blue.
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 7:01 PM UTC
I have been around for a little while,
Skies have screeched an eternity of a mile
Tracing the paths into exile
On maps drawn on parchment,
Grease pencils smudging inky black recklessness,
That wonder bewitched my eyes in questioning,
Never able to get enough sleep
To wake every morning to dazzling dewy seascapes
Slumber with swirling scent of burning firewood,
Moss and grassy hilltops, a band of lost boys
Shivering with anticipation, a crew of stellar girls
Glistening salmon lips and unpainted complexions
I have been around a little while to know
My heart thumps to escape like pirates
Like those lovely, lovely pirates
Hunting for treasures beyond the wilted horizon
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 8:42 PM UTC
meaningless application
blowing in warm summer breezes
flittering to and fro
as the updrafts interact with rotating currents
creating a moment
encompassed
in the instantaneous now
that never lingers
but can only be remembered
his words live there too
floating forever in the blurry past
fading into the background of time
yet, never completely leaving
consciousness
incoherent ramblings slide away
as eternity and infinity combine
and just as instantly
dissipate
tracers trail into the distance
expanding and contracting
with my breathing
long slow exhale as I try again to forget
dying words of wisdom
passing fancies
frozen stare of a dead icon
troubled, watery eyes seek refuge
in washed-out seascapes
and smudged portraits
faceless
lifeless
without movement
or
joy
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 5:50 PM UTC
We are all touched
By each hand
Good
Evil
Believing
Not believing
Always a choice
Merciful
Unmerciful
Always a choice
each demon exists inside of us
growing out of its mouth
arms made of serpents
fingers made of ivy
finger nails made of lace
softly caressing us
so we can’t tell the difference
seascapes upon our minds
like sand pulling away from our feet
as we walk close to the surf
happy feelings
until they’re not
so we wait until the sun sets
and walk away from the surf
but not too far
just far enough to find cool dry sand
and we are alone now
thinking of someone
maybe we know them
maybe we want to know them
they were somewhere
out there
Or did we just imagine all of it?
We all hear voices
Some call them thoughts
Others hear things like God
It’s so different to them
There’s no way to tell us
Nobody believes them
So they die on the inside
And forget how to smile
They master anxiety with surrealistic disguises
No place left to go
“what type of hat?”
“what type of cloth?”
“flowing?”
“yes, flowing”
Who cares, we think
There’s always someone who does
How many times though do they care enough?
What does that even mean anyway?
Care enough
Enough for what?
For the sand to cool?
And then there’s tomorrow
To live
To die
But is that a choice?
I won’t choose to live or die
I will see what happens
Just like this morning
Listening to someone lie to me
Listening to someone trying to make me feel wrong
I’m not wrong
I have an opinion and I know why
The difference is my opinion speaks freely
Their opinion is an order from someone else
It’s how they are paid to think
I’m just paid to do
But I’m not wrong
I just live a certain way
But who did I hurt today?
Only myself
That's ok
I mean, what difference does that make?
It's just me
It's me stuffing snakes, ivy and lace back down my throat
Invisible snakes
But I know they are there
Just like yours
Except you are too afraid to discuss it
You just want to be paid
Don't you?
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 9:29 PM UTC
she smells like honeyed storms –
meaning: we are all a mess of light,
we are bitter and raw; a drunk train,
a daring locomotive, a dream ship;
we are also summers and bedsheets
and nectarines and rain, old maps,
deep with creases, but also brittle,
paper like moth wings, easily torn;
we are fast like wax, lazy like roses,
full of madness and malice, of motion
like clockwork; we keep those faces
and hands because we are not in time;
we are in-understandable –
meaning: we are all in a mess of infinite,
we are limitless; an acceleration,
an unwinding expansion, a runaway,
a struggle; we are all in a mess;
we are the holy that you will not find
in a temple or church or stained glass
or ancient passage; you will not see us
in any book, or on walls or at windows
or along skylines or across seascapes;
no, we will not be findable at all –
meaning: perhaps, just this; perhaps,
that is the way of the metaphor.
Apr 27, 2017
Apr 27, 2017 at 1:29 AM UTC