"submarine" poems
Muted warning
red-line horizon
submarine morning
a full moon wanes
by nature, earthbound
yet of the heavens
meant to transform
those seeking sky
forget the ocean
how stars appear
upon reflection
celestially untethered
navigating the wild
uncharted reach
Jul 13, 2017
Jul 13, 2017 at 8:08 PM UTC
Are we fated to dance to the same tune alone in our separate universes?
Is it true that we must silently keep to our preordained curses?
Are we destined to swoon at the beauty of the moon at differing time slots?
Why were we given invisible ink to connect our lives' dots?
Must it be that our lives revolve around the whims of the sun?
Isn't it ludicrous that we won't see the intricate webs we've spun?
Was it the plan that we exist only in our minds and hearts?
Why do we have to tolerate starting when the other's ending and end at the other's starts?
Has it been written that we can only afford to infinitely chase each others heartbeats?
Was it foretold that we're trapped in a singular notion that never really fits?
Is the game set as such that we can never emerge as winners?
How is it that the ocean was made out of our tears that flowed from rivers?
Why is it that with our entirety we believe but do not know?
What's the reason for the path made clear but we're too afraid to go?
What does it entail to possess the very least but yet you covet it the most?
How do you pride yourself in something but not allowed to boast?
Why do we frantically scramble to piece together jagged shards?
Can't we just play this blasted deck of lousy cards?
Is it destiny or cruelty to have found then lost?
Why does it seem absurd that we have all its takes but can't afford the cost?
Is it the thoughts that **** or the emotions that debilitate?
Is it the challenges we take on or the curveballs we anticipate?
Why bother when sheer folly is all it seems to be?
Why tarry when the heart is free and the mind is ready?
Is it ridiculous to have found myself still very bothered?
Is it wrong to question fate that had always bound us tethered?
Why is the good always bad and the bad becomes worse?
Is it true that the harder we fight, the deeper we immerse?
Has life turned to be but sad little rhetorics?
Are we but performers on stages coerced into theatrics?
Is it time for me to surface this one-man submarine?
Will it be so that if I do, my journey would then begin...?
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 8:38 PM UTC
I remember a time when time was just a number,
where the only times where school and dinner.
When I didn't have to grow up to be what I want,
but I could act it out in a secret lair or a parking lot.
As you become old, they try to rid you of you imagination,
well I say nay as I fly my submarine in a train station.
You know what take my wallet, live my life,
because I am a ninja hiding in the night.
Go ahead, try and catch me if you can,
Big old stupid corporate man.
You might be sophisticated and civilized,
so what, I am a 50 foot spider that can freakin' fly!
Mar 17, 2010
Mar 17, 2010 at 12:50 AM UTC
Deep down in the inhospitable gloom
Monterey Canyon welcomes an expectant mother
Unnoticed in the distance a whirring sound
and two parallel laser beams
Miss Cellania finds a nook
That instinct suggests is right
A place to nest and brood
A place to guard and wait
1.4 kilometers up a research institute
Guided the unmanned submarine
Correlated masses of data
Stared at live video feed
A unique event unfolded
Capturing such a moment
in this dark abyss
Clinging to a vertical rock
Her precious babies waiting to hatch
Her final duty to
Wait
Wait
Wait
Wait
Wait
Protect from predators and the icy cold
And so she began the
Inky black wait
Detached
Alone
The research crew returned later that year
Miss Cellania dutifully kept her vigil
They returned again month after month
Still she stubbornly stuck to the task in hand
The months turned to years
And still she protected her unhatched young
Clung to the same vertical spot
With nothing to eat
Alert, defensive
Motherly
Patiently waiting
Wasting away
Waiting
Waiting
Untill
F i f t y t h r e e m o n t h s l a t e r
Four and a half years
Finally her wait ended
With a flurry of independent life
Then death.
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 5:17 PM UTC
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Marshmallow factories
Are covered in goo
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Not all of these
Are going to rhyme
Roses are red
Violets are purple
Whoever wrote that
Was an idiot
Roses are red
Violets are blue
My favorite is Discord
Who used to be Q
Roses are red
Violets are blue
If you count in binary
You'll never have 2
Roses are red
Violets are blue
MEEP
Roses are red
Violets are blue, da ba dee da ba daa...
Roses are black
Violets are black
Everything is black
I'm Batman
Roses are blue
Violets are red
Something is wrong
With my head
The Math section is red
Social Studies is blue
I have too much homework
I want to cry
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Please don't get stuck
In the spilled glue
Roses are purple
Violets are green
I'm just here revving
My limousine
Roses are red
They have thorns
Don't touch them
Roses are red
Violets are blue
I want to turn this
Into a haiku
Roses are crimson
Violets are the fairest blue
And so fair are you
Roses are red
Violets are blue
That was pretty good
For being written on the fly
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Ridiculous Inflatable
Swan Thing
Roses are red
Violets are blue
I need to sleep
No
you are so And
sweet is Sugar
blue are Violets
red are Roses
Roses are red
Violets are blue
There is no try
Do not or do
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Dab on those haters
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Think I'll paint them
On my shoe
Roses are red, dilly dilly
Violets are blue
Is this copyrighted, dilly dilly
I have no clue
Lavender's blue
Lavender's green
I store my sanity
In a canteen
Roses are red
Violets are blue
I'm too cynical
And yet too cheesy
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Spellcheck doesn't know meep?!?
Roses are rosy
Violets are violet
I want to be
A submarine pilot
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Something something
Pikachu
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Illuminati
They're watching you
Gryffindor's red
Ravenclaw's blue
WHY IS IT AN EAGLE
NOT A RAVEN
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Be mine
I'm desperate
Roses are red
Violets are blue
I don't want romance
Stop asking
Roses are red
Violets are blue
I'm running low on ideas
We're almost through
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Sugar is sweet
Don't eat too much
Roses are red
Never mind
Life's too short
Eat all the sugar you can find
Roses are red
Violets are blue
You're still here?
Good job you
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Happy Valentines Day
Bye
Jan 28, 2019
Jan 28, 2019 at 9:41 PM UTC
Along the sea floor
The choral beds your
Topology of dreams, sure
As any submarine lore
Between the blades of sun rays
An octopus parades
Happy in the shafts of light
It is not wrong or right to be an octopus tonight.
Aug 10, 2012
Aug 10, 2012 at 3:34 AM UTC
Among the market greens,
a bullet
from the ocean
depths,
a swimming
projectile,
I saw you,
dead.
All around you
were lettuces,
sea foam
of the earth,
carrots,
grapes,
but
of the ocean
truth,
of the unknown,
of the
unfathomable
shadow, the
depths
of the sea,
the abyss,
only you had survived,
a pitch-black, varnished
witness
to deepest night.
Only you, well-aimed
dark bullet
from the abyss,
mangled at one tip,
but constantly
reborn,
at anchor in the current,
winged fins
windmilling
in the swift
flight
of
the
marine
shadow,
a mourning arrow,
dart of the sea,
olive, oily fish.
I saw you dead,
a deceased king
of my own ocean,
green
assault, silver
submarine fir,
seed
of seaquakes,
now
only dead remains,
yet
in all the market
yours
was the only
purposeful form
amid
the bewildering rout
of nature;
amid the fragile greens
you were
a solitary ship,
armed
among the vegetables,
fin and prow black and oiled,
as if you were still
the vessel of the wind,
the one and only
pure
ocean
machine:
unflawed, navigating
the waters of death.
5.4k
Asleep alone
I got the light scare
Of a nightmare
With my plight there
Which wouldn't fight fair
Awake awaits
Chirping is all I hear
Dragging life into focus
Getting the lens clear
To see things are hopeless
My aches and pains
Are my body's refrain
To remind me of existence
Despite my mental resistance
I am lucid
I take my shoelace
And loop it
To run a new race
Timidly trembling
The violence in my dreams
Matches the silence and screams
That defile us and our team
Making the nightmares real
And the pain I can feel
So it's love I steal
A devil's deal
Hell unsealed
I can hear the vultures chirping
Or maybe they're just burping
Out the demons I ignored
My forgiveness they implored
To meet a silent scorn
Like a muted tribal horn
Banishing them to another realm
With my ostracism at the helm
Until the lonely are overwhelmed
And I see the error of my ways
Once I'm part of this chaotic haze
Practically paralyzed
I am lost
In this game
I've met the boss
He and I the same
He is a voice
Chirping in my ear
Saying I have no choice
I should give in to fear
And just drink beer
Until the end is here
Carelessly comatose
The birds that once sang beautifully
Now retreat dutifully
When they see my thoughtless anger
Turn me into a ruthless stranger
Creating danger
For those living righteously
They start fighting me
Trying to enlighten me
Which is only exciting me
Because I lack the sight to see
What the world could be
If we could harmonize
Like the birds
Not using argent lies
But soothing words
Yet there is no tax exemption
For my reluctant redemption
So my mind invented
No incentive
Soul slaughtered
The tear jerking
Birds chirping
Constantly remind me
Inside my sleep they find me
Thrusting me into a life unwinding
Through my window the sun is blinding
When I start to fear my brother
After seeing mirrors in others
Reflecting my attitude
Of ingratitude
I had a nasty nightmare
Of Camp Crystal Lake
Filled with misfit flakes
Paying for their mistakes
With pain and suffering
As deep as a submarine
Being torn apart
For every decision
Hiding their heart
To avoid incisions
And once all these losers are slain
The birds chirping start a new day
Jun 29, 2018
Jun 29, 2018 at 4:14 AM UTC
The shadows have their seasons, too.
The feathery web the budding maples
cast down upon the sullen lawn
bears but a faint relation to
high summer's umbrageous weight
and tunnellike continuum-
black leached from green, deep pools
wherein a globe of gnats revolves
as airy as an astrolabe.
The thinning shade of autumn is
an inherited Oriental,
red worn to pink, nap worn to thread.
Shadows on snow look blue. The skier,
exultant at the summit, sees his poles
elongate toward the valley: thus
each blade of grass projects another
opposite the sun, and in marshes
the mesh is infinite,
as the winged eclipse an eagle in flight
drags across the desert floor
is infinitesimal.
And shadows on water!-
the beech bough bent to the speckled lake
where silt motes flicker gold,
or the steel dock underslung
with a submarine that trembles,
its ladder stiffened by air.
And loveliest, because least looked-for,
gray on gray, the stripes
the pearl-white winter sun
hung low beneath the leafless wood
draws out from trunk to trunk across the road
like a stairway that does not rise.
4.7k
chocolate fireguard, teapot,
or fender, icecream sofa, dry sea
or wet towel, glass hammer,
waterproof teabag, newspaper
raincoat and umbrella, lead parachute, ashtray on a motorbike,
handbrake on a canoe,
vote in a dictatorship,
loudhailer to a deaf mute,
grief at a wedding,
****** in a monastery.
inflatable dartboard,
spoon in a knife-fight,
screen door on a submarine,
wooden soap, shortbread tires,
knitted light bulb,
bread boat, plasticine wire cutters,
paper hole punch, water hat,
custard floorboards,
ceiling tiles made of gravy,
portrait of a bowl of soup,
a stone cigarette,
syrup knickers, hole in my bucket,
plastic oven, wax truss,
liquorice bridge,
false teeth made of soap,
lemonade roof,
jelly boots,
jam cardigan,
paper bicycle pump,
ice-cream saucepans,
soluble drain pipe,
packet of rubber nails,
see-through mirror,
revolving basement restaurant
roll-on hairspray, rubber pencil,
****** with a hole in it,
limp **** pockets on a lettuce,
**** on a fish, lolly pop van in Hell,
one-legged man in an ****
kicking competition,
meaningless life,
unnecessary death,
forgotten words and deeds,
ignored needs,
this poem.
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 4:11 PM UTC
The oyster. Her oyster,
I've been dying to see the pearl,
the moment I and she,
went to swim together,
our eyes, with intense emotions, half closed.
I'll softly touch her with my long, trembling fingers,
swiftly, when I touch,
it would open like a jewel box,
I'll peer inside at all the treasures,
exotic it would be, never forget,
through obsessive nights,
I thought and kept awake, bleary eyed,
I wanted to tell her this,
but then, froze on my tracks.
The oyster, it glows in mind,
she, too pulsates with excitement,
we'll be together, in this submarine adventure.
In that night, our hearts didn't even wink,
sauntering through the still moon lit terrace,
when, one by one stars
fell in place and adorned the sky's coiffure,
the waves of the sea, softened
moved in languid salaciousness,
then, at that precise moment,
we came face to face.
The rough grains of sand, under our undulating bodies,
sighed sweet, sang a ***** night gull's song,
searing feel of salty wind mingled with blood
oozing from love bruise, bites that hurt,
enhanced the pleasure of frothing blood ,
thirsty mating tongues, twirled and twisted.
*Oyster, her oyster, I remember every moment,
tapering in to gentle whispers,
dissolve and be the light, playing with the humming waves.*
Sep 30, 2012
Sep 30, 2012 at 1:53 AM UTC
Hell shimmies when I am blunted ;
When I take a knock to the senses
When I am skinless,
singing stings
and misdirected by pain
If I had trained better
I'd be deep sea
Sussing distant messages
Operating with slight tremors, vocals and movement
and only when correct...
I'd be home
I'd be instrument
Not an act
Not a pet to society
No mood fool ;
flaked,
flooded
and littered
Rapped at by experiences
Attack reacting
An embarrassment
Watching my own pattern spooling
the same sums
and spoiling with repetition
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 11:29 PM UTC
My hair stood on end
And I strongly felt my pride bend
I was afraid you could hear
As my poor heart beat frantically with fear
That I would not please you
That you would overlook me
On that first day I saw you.
Walking in springy steps like a fairy
And wearing a smile that melt my heart
Met in a handshake,
Felt the tender touch
I still couldn’t out make;
“Aren’t you hugging me?” Ouch!
On that first day I saw you.
Hoped that the handshake
Will go above the elbow
Felt my mansion of desires going loose
My submarine of hopes going afloat
My dove of love on the shove
On that first day I saw you my love.
Jun 23, 2012
Jun 23, 2012 at 5:31 AM UTC
When Mr. Apollinax visited the United States
His laughter tinkled among the teacups.
I thought of Fragilion, that shy figure among the birch-trees,
And of Priapus in the shrubbery
Gaping at the lady in the swing.
In the palace of Mrs. Phlaccus, at Professor Channing-Cheetah’s
He laughed like an irresponsible foetus.
His laughter was submarine and profound
Like the old man of the sea’s
Hidden under coral islands
Where worried bodies of drowned men drift down in the green silence,
Dropping from fingers of surf.
I looked for the head of Mr. Apollinax rolling under a chair
Or grinning over a screen
With seaweed in its hair.
I heard the beat of centaur’s hoofs over the hard turf
As his dry and passionate talk devoured the afternoon.
“He is a charming man”—”But after all what did he mean?”—
“His pointed ears…. He must be unbalanced,”—
“There was something he said that I might have challenged.”
Of dowager Mrs. Phlaccus, and Professor and Mrs. Cheetah
I remember a slice of lemon, and a bitten macaroon.
3.5k
There is noone above me
Beside me
Infront of me
I am my own anarchy
My inner soul of
Wisdom for that I have lived
For long and
Suffered twice as much
I wandered through the
Gazing abyss,
Flashlights of every submarine
I swim with my inner coward
The color of your eyes
Has been withdrawed
In the arms of sleep on a
Moonless night. On a
Windy day
Thunderstorm took me away.
Apr 12, 2019
Apr 12, 2019 at 9:24 AM UTC
I am perching
I am searching
Sitting still
My mind filled
With the vigilance
Of a militant
Looking to invade
By throwing grenades
And committing atrocities
At a high velocity
Yet I'm made to lay and wait
My love feels like hate
Stuck in this crate
It's getting late
My feral fate
Makes me shake
Like the love intake
That makes me break
When you're raising the stakes
I see your fin in the water
Moving in for the slaughter
Acting like a shark
You go dark
Like a silent submarine
You float near the bottom
Your gun is submachine
That's how you caught them
Now it's my turn
For a bullet burn
Treat me like a ***** distractor
You're a fractured compactor
Leaving me partially intact
But most of me I lack
After your attack
I should thank you for taking out the trash
But I could've done without the clash
Because now I'm just a pile of ash
Stuck in a bird cage
At an increased age
If I become a phoenix and rise
It'll be an imprisoned surprise
I thought I had prepared
Yet now I need repairs
When it's my love I share
And it's casually broken
To be used as a token
You must be joking
There's no way I could've ever prepared
For the fact that no one ever cared
Nov 30, 2017
Nov 30, 2017 at 5:14 AM UTC
Many creationists view the duckbilled platypus as an enigma that evolution cannot explain.
Super-Platypus attempts to escape from aliens.
Am I one of yours? Little Platypus?
In August of that year the Submarine Support Depot
platypus debate began.
Out of a large cloth travel bag,
Diana pulled the furry platypus hand puppet
platypus-in-a-can.
Boba Fett told Darth Vader, "As you wish," he was really saying, "I love you."
I took a quiz once that told me I was a platypus in a past life.
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 1:17 AM UTC
Why does my heart still race when I see you?
I saw you walking today, with your friend, and all I could think was "Wow. Is this what a heart attack feels like?"
Because I can't believe it, I was done. I was OVER you.
And instead my heart goes "Beep... Beep... Beep. Beep. Beep. BEEP. BEEP. BEEPBEEEPBEEEPBEEEPBEEEP," every single time you come around, like a freakin radar.
I am not a submarine.
I do not NEED for every single cell in my body to alert me when you're within 20 feet of me because, like I said before, I WAS DONE.
No! Don't you dare smile at me with your crooked mouth and shining eyes.
Because then I feel gross.
I DON'T LIKE THE THOUGHT OF BUTTERFLIES FLYING AROUND IN MY STOMACH.
That is disturbing and physically impossible.
My stomach acids would've killed them on contact. Don't try to make this crush cute.
So please, for the love of a Jesus Christ Super Toaster, don't do THAT anymore.
And by "THAT" I mean, don't make me love you anymore.
I can't stand it and I won't for any longer.
In church I was taught that having idols was bad, but that's exactly what you are to me.
A forbidden fruit
So I am praying to God that you are a mango because I hate mangos.
Their insides are too thick and outsides way too thin.
Which is exactly like you because you are a haywire of emotions, but I can easily peel you away to see who you really are.
Maybe I do like mangos...
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 11:52 PM UTC
Sick Psalms in my Submarine
Praying to Neptune
At the center of the earth
Submerge and converge
My thoughts from my head
Isolation in a cabin bed
Weeks in solitude
The comfort of radars beep
Check the periscope
Eat Sleep Repeat
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 1:22 PM UTC
my date with thc,
serendipitous and sublime,
like the first time
curious george killed
the black persian *****
got me sky-hiking
in a cloud of delusion
and creativity,
climbing ladders of abstraction
for nine mystic rungs
from mundane muse,
regrettable
like drunk ***
with an octogenarian
to lucid peaks of eccentricity,
a vaunted house built by
jimi and john,
long gone,
but resurrected
this date
we split a dime
into 3 nickels
and rolled every penny
into a top-5 billboard joint
we sprayed the submarine
purple
with haze
then made the wind cry
mary
as we gazed at two
giraffes making babies
on the serengeti,
laughing hysterically
like schoolgirls watching
riding miss daisy
then the cbd kicked in
and I toodle-ooed
my two
ungratefully dead hippy
stoneheads
and crashed from
the ninth rung of
the last ladder
onto grandma's bed,
clutching the first lines of
my date with thc,
serendipitous
and
sublime...
~ P (#Pablo#hcgktbpp)
(8/12/2013)
Aug 12, 2013
Aug 12, 2013 at 7:51 PM UTC
I rolled in Michigan
strapped to a kayak in the namesake lake
vision obscured by freshwater
I plunged under the blue surface
out of my element
panicking as a fish out of water- in water
I reached for the release and
missed
but grasped swelling panic
Dread thoughts of
the end...
my family…
last words…
Still submerged- somehow a semblance of sensibility surfaced,
unlike myself
frightening fantasies flitted-
shot like skeets in the sky and
peace prevailed.
I stretched through the moist blindness,
found the release- my sweet release.
Gasp air.
Freedom from death's clutches
I see
my unpreparedness for death,
ability to survive
Fifteen seconds to find my inner calm, my inner panicked strength, the depth of my composure
fifteen seconds for reevaluation
Fifteen seconds
submarine style
to find who I really was and am
Arguments are made
that safety and tranquility are the best mindsets for
education
But,
safety lacks motivation,
tranquility lacks demand,
Life's trials breed introspection.
Jun 22, 2013
Jun 22, 2013 at 4:51 PM UTC
A deep thought?
Or a rhetorical analogy?
I raise my hand to answer
Realizing that no answer is supposed to come out of me
Cookies and milk
A childhood memory
World War II
A part of history
Ice Cream and Bagels
A random combination
The submarine
A scientific invention
A grumbling stomach
It seems im hungry
I turn to ask for food
Realizing my parents are still yelling at me
What a daydream.
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 12:42 PM UTC