"tern" poems
Willets cull the seawall
snapper on the grill
rock ***** swoon
in shallow lagoons
long boats pass
under quiet
palm shade
Plovers dance and flutter
handrails frayed and torn
graffiti spots
at lovers rock
frigate-birds fall
from a high
noon sun
Thatched roof on a mud wall
fish flags settle score
anchors arch
in front line march
pillar cracks form
under rust brown scars
Elegant tern and grebe
watchmen fall in cue
children play
on crested waves
whimbrels and notchers
perch above Tentaciones
Striped pelícanos
the bandits of the sea!
merchants grow
in steady flow
siblings jostle
in a tide cooled sand
Heerman gull and boobie
durango smoke in yurt
boiler shrimp
and puffer blimp
castle buckets and scrapers
under a dusk light cheroot
Six pulls on a lead line
painted toes in sand
shearwater run
in a rainbow sun
the portly mexicano
flaunts his tacos
and wares
Rooster house for swordfish
bamboo shoots and sails
broken shells
and ocean swells
rise
on the
perfect
La Ropa bay
Apr 14, 2017
Apr 14, 2017 at 2:22 PM UTC
your hart is like a star
shining so bright
hiding behind all the light
imagene what you would be
not what you could be
makeing all the haids tern round
dont you here that soud
some peaple brack peaples harts hopes and dreems
well at least that what it seems
well what do i know im gust the girl in the back row
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 10:49 PM UTC
The glamour and glistening, the perfect touch,
the sound of applause at the runway strut.
The cloths the fashion, I love it all,
my favorite past time; the shopping mall.
when I go out into the light,
my looks tern heads. oh what a plight.
Dec 23, 2012
Dec 23, 2012 at 2:54 PM UTC
Petite arctic terns
navigate the sky
on epic migration
wings clocking
45,000 miles each year
it seems they know
how to go
with the flow
by thumbing a lift
on atmospheric airways
that crisscross the planet
adding thousands of
seemingly needless miles
to an already
arduous journey
flocks congregate
in open ocean
to rest and fuel up
on fish and krill
for the last push home
these tenacious birds
understand
the cliché
it's all about
the journey
they synchronize
with invisible currents
because to beat
into the wind
is a futile expenditure
they pause
in community
to re-energize and feed
on unfathomable
bounty
four ounces
of feather
and hollow bone
instinctively holds
these truths
there is much
to be learned
from an
arctic
tern.
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 1:57 PM UTC
*Her eyes appeared as dazzling as the sea,
When she was bathing underneath the sun,
Splashing water upon her precious face,
With her tiny hands .... laughing having fun.
She was a bundle of joy,
Playing with her adorable white furry pet,
On this beautiful sizzling summer day,
And it was quite difficult to forget.
With her little bare feet,
Covered in greenish-blue waters slightly below her knees,
As I observed,
Near the lovely tropical coconut trees.
Along the shore was a small tern,
Dressed in white with yellow legs and bill,
And a black patch above its forehead,
Dancing in happiness, as we watched in thrill.*
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 2:11 AM UTC
~
*Windsong breeze
Playing to the tune of migration
Flight of the Arctic tern
Pushing the boundaries
For greater hemispheres
Internal clocks sound a message though
It is indeed time to go
To wing forth in formation
As they were designed to do
Their wanderlust tempered
By an annual returning*
~
Oct 3, 2021
Oct 3, 2021 at 2:51 PM UTC
Her cheeks a'blooming
Fresh petals
Assuming a charm
All their own....
Flesh roses
In a flute of bone.
Her arms are strong wings
Ethereal beauty, poised
For her journey, as a
Tern is
On its long feathered flight
From the North
She wings her way
To the South
Only to meet
The arctic waste
Once more...
Yet the flesh roses never fade
For they are
frozen with tears.
Catherine Jarvis
8/19/2019
Aug 20, 2019
Aug 20, 2019 at 1:34 AM UTC
The rain always comes from Wales
and the river tern flows fast,
we're told 1066 started it all
the Castle and promulgated plantation design
the rise and fall
time and time again.
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 7:13 AM UTC
[Click]
…
*"Welcome back to Story Hour on PBS. Today we have a very special guest, who’s going to read us a very special story. Do you kids know anything about Greek Mythology? No? Well, you’re gonna learn some today. Everyone… say “Hello” to Bill."
“Hiiii Billlll”
“Now, children… he can’t hear you…”
“HIIII BILLL–”*
Hear the voice of the Bard!
Who Present, Past, & Future sees;
I am the Dean
of Cosmic Beans
That grow to poetrees
Then every man will ever clime
to he that sits upon
atop this rhyme
this mythic vine
Dwells the giant Albion
The giant of the sees,
his jealousea and fierce
bid him to seize
an Odyssey
assisted by a Circe
Circe, in play, did then, inturn
the shipsmen of his Highness
and with a Feast
did tern to beasts
not one of them a tygress
As Circe distracted with the beasts
Did Albion then turn
He stole the Fleece
from Circe’s niece
and left it to the terns
The terns, in turn, interned at sea
did little to digress
flew fleece of ram
into the hands
of swift and mighty Tigris
From Milton’s tale of sim’lar tree
that of Eve and Adam
With fearful sea
and symmetree
The Tyger ate The Lamb
*“The Tiger ate the Lamb?”
(crying)*
[Click]
Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 6:04 PM UTC
Toad sand and frog pebbles,
warted rocks kicked and toed.
Tease the ocean with chocolate dipped feet,
spiced and salted teas.
Taper off mid-sentence, paragraphs tepid
long arms and zebra stripes, a crosswalk tepir.
Tocsin alarm clocks poison innocent bystander’s sleep,
slipping things in their drinks, filling their ears with toxin.
Tie a scarf around the forehead
of the middle child. Teach them beginning syllables of Thai.
Throes and spasms of overachievers
motivate for longer strides, faster throws.
Tense shoulder muscles
hide in sleeping bags, badly pitched tents.
Told injuries snuck in when the door opened,
we heard the miniature silver bells as they tolled.
Ticks count every second second, punctuated by tocks.
With each, a twitch, conscious nervous tics.
Titan tool boxes hold spare screws,
on Coeus’ threaded axis, we spin and tighten.
Terne sardine cans filled with mercury,
pollute our science tests, killing tern.
Tied red string around our pinkies so we don’t forget
when to go to the beach looking for clams at low tide.
Tacks pin talented teens to cork boards,
alongside instructions on regretting the harmonised sales tax.
Tire prints border the country,
left by jeeps that never tire.
Tails directing orchestras,
swarms of swan swim, tattling and telling tales.
Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 12:32 AM UTC
walked across the dunes
to the light house to
clear my thoughts.
the windsailors were
riding the sky,
my son calls them the teabag people.
but to me they are like those seed pods that coast upon the
wind in search of something
beyond.
the grass soughs and if you sit
quietly enough,
you can hear the hungry cry of
the little tern chicks.
hidden in the dunes nearby.
the sand trickles through twining, grasping, tenuous grass roots,
single grains multi-hued,
flow like minature snowboarders down the dunes,
steep slippery slide.
little metallic black ants have the herculean task,
of working this slope for
seeds and other oddments of food.
i watch one stumble,stomp past, sherpa-like, precariously balancing a potato crisp's crumb.
while scaling the acute angle of sliding sand.
the pittering of the sandy ground indicates the presence
of giant skinks, sleek glassine skinned lizards that are at home in the area.
their track patterns, remind me of those old teach yourself
to dance charts seen in black and white films,
you would now find them mostly in antique stores.
the tide is in recess
and the terns are hunting,
mottled little sand *****
in some killer, crazy
game of tig or redrover.
where to lose is to looose!
the windsailor above is surpassed by
the big old seahawk
as he stretches his wings.
it is a comparison of true mastership,
over a poor and gaudy parody.
the hawk with practised disdain, dives,
through the breakers emerging,
with his fish dinner.
as i turn toward home.
i wonder,
was it the fandango the lizards, were trying to master?
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 12:32 PM UTC
i fall in love every day
whether it's with the soft kiss
of the ocean spray on my
sun red cheeks
or the delicate coo
of the least tern
the belting vibrato
of some teenage girl
lost at sea
or the way his eyes dance
every time he glances at me
Jan 7, 2016
Jan 7, 2016 at 5:56 PM UTC
I’ve written my prayer
upon the wings of this tiny tern
And she shall fly up there in heaven
Carrying my fervent, perpetual dream
To heal the bruise I daily wear
for the painful loss
our fate ordained
Apr 23, 2021
Apr 23, 2021 at 12:26 PM UTC
Rising guano smokes the white birds.
The North winds homing, ave, a long
Besieging sea and ferries the prince
Of waves pass pacific and the fair isles.
With javelin eyes, aloft, blue streaks
The seething air, headlands draft
Grave embattlements, red rivulets
Paint on the raining wing, black art
Ticks the tern, marked minions and more
Dread. Once you were a foundling
Dropped from sovereign doons, scree
Of sky, air of wizard, your image late
Spikes from the lake, taut talons train,
Your breast a speckled main, rapier
Of dreams, arisen, sheathed in stone.
In the frosts of autumn, leaves do tell
In storied colours, yellow and red,
Round the shores your kingdoms table,
Battle cries break, a silence of wails,
Though they fall they shall burn again.
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 11:52 AM UTC
Rising guano smokes the white birds.
The North winds homing, ave, a long
Besieging sea and ferries the prince
Of waves pass pacific and the fair isles.
With javelin eyes, aloft, blue streaks
The seething air, headlands draft
Grave embattlements, red rivulets
Paint on the raining wing, black art
Ticks the tern, marked minions and more
Dread. Once you were a foundling
Dropped from sovereign doons, scree
Of sky, air of wizard, your image late
Spikes from the lake, taut talons train,
Your breast a speckled main, rapier
Of dreams, arisen, sheathed in stone.
In the frosts of autumn, leaves do tell
In storied colours, yellow and red,
Round the shores your kingdoms table,
Battle cries break, a silence of wails,
Though they fall they shall burn again.
Jul 18, 2012
Jul 18, 2012 at 2:16 PM UTC
The water laps the dock
Giving sweet nose, bay redolence flown by the cracking whips of tuffed air,
Listen to the roiling and embrace the soaring perfume
Drumming the song of the deep against the old trees, now pilings
Old trees now legs
That want to kick and splash and enjoy their bosom neighbor
And run into the depths
But are sadly anchored .
Hear the tern’s silence broken
while the fish break chains of water entrapment
Breaking surface, momentarily flying and shattering back home.
Splash, they all splash.
Splash the tree, splash the silence, splash the sky
Splash is the serenity
Splash is the soothing commotion of the dock.
Jan 23, 2017
Jan 23, 2017 at 7:10 PM UTC
Rising guano smokes the white birds.
The North winds homing, ave, a long
Besieging sea and ferries the prince
Of waves pass pacific and the fair isles.
With javelin eyes, aloft, blue streaks
The seething air, headlands draft
Grave embattlements, red rivulets
Paint on the raining wing, black art
Ticks the tern, marked minions and more
Dread. Once you were a foundling
Dropped from sovereign doons, scree
Of sky, air of wizard, your image late
Spikes from the lake, taut talons train,
Your breast a speckled main, rapier
Of dreams, arisen, sheathed in stone.
In the frosts of autumn, leaves do tell
In storied colours, yellow and red,
Round the shores your kingdoms table,
Battle cries break, a silence of wails,
Though they fall they shall burn again.
Jun 21, 2013
Jun 21, 2013 at 2:32 PM UTC
Eye fink
hive fourgotten
two tern
mi
whoretoe
cowrecktore hon
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 9:47 PM UTC
Just remember, the next one you choose
Choose wisely-
Be selective,
Of the habits and disguised demons you allow to occupy
Your space
Because truth be told,
As women, we will be their emotional home
And this home is sacred.
Build your pillars high and strong
Made concrete of love, humility, sensitivity, empathy
Radiating an identity of beauty
A distinguished strength.
All may want a glimpse, but--
Only you know the labor of building this foundation;
Brick by brick,
Bare hands,
bleeding day and night,
And you cried yourself to sleep thinking of all you lost
To gain what you have in front of you today.
The one you let in to your sacred abode
Will come to you at day’s lay with all his sorrow,
Vulnerable, expressive, head held low.
A cruel punishment from society to think he does not have the tools
that you have and you are the only one who holds the power to soothe
His battle wounds.
Love this man--
But if one day there is a crack in your pillar
And you are feeling weighed down from pulling a boulder to the top
Every day like Sysiphus;
Crawling out of a pit of despair on your hands and knees
Needing a place to lay your head,
Make sure your man is a man
That understands the strength of your emotions
And his own
To carry and lift you both up without a word,
Like the wind beneath an arctic tern.
Helping you secure your pillars before you fall completely apart
As he knows this is his home too,
So he must care for it like his own.
Jul 24, 2020
Jul 24, 2020 at 4:47 PM UTC
Strangely
everything stopped
An Oystercatcher paused
orange beak stuck
in the sand
Curlews stood
their long beaks curling
back to the land
A Sandwich Tern caught
mid-dive
also stopped
Even the noisy Ravens didn’t
tumble down
Satellites and stars unseen
held
as the tides
almost
rocked
Slowly we made our way
hand
in hand
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 3:35 PM UTC
Rising guano smokes the white birds.
The North winds homing, ave, a long
Besieging sea and ferries the prince
Of waves pass pacific and the fair isles.
With javelin eyes, aloft, blue streaks
The seething air, headlands draft
Grave embattlements, red rivulets
Paint on the raining wing, black art
Ticks the tern, marked minions and more
Dread. Once you were a foundling
Dropped from sovereign doons, scree
Of sky, air of wizard, your image late
Spikes from the lake, taut talons train,
Your breast a speckled main, rapier
Of dreams, arisen, sheathed in stone.
In the frosts of autumn, leaves do tell
In storied colours, yellow and red,
Round the shores your kingdoms table,
Battle cries break, a silence of wails,
Though they fall they shall burn again.
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 11:22 AM UTC
Rising guano smokes the white birds.
The North winds homing, ave, a long
Besieging sea and ferries the prince
Of waves pass pacific and the fair isles.
With javelin eyes, aloft, blue streaks
The seething air, headlands draft
Grave embattlements, red rivulets
Paint on the raining wing, black art
Ticks the tern, marked minions and more
Dread. Once you were a foundling
Dropped from sovereign doons, scree
Of sky, air of wizard, your image late
Spikes from the lake, taut talons train,
Your breast a speckled main, rapier
Of dreams, arisen, sheathed in stone.
In the frosts of autumn, leaves do tell
In storied colours, yellow and red,
Round the shores your kingdoms table,
Battle cries break, a silence of wails,
Though they fall they shall burn again.
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 12:57 PM UTC
sea wake
shale rake
snipe & drake
winters slake
tern & turn
rush & fern
grey dawn
a wings return
moons caul
weasels maul
muted toll
wicked all
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 4:27 AM UTC
tern, how do i burn half my body
just to return home without crumbling
robin, how do i whistle these lacework trills
above the steel demands of garbage trucks
pigeon, how do i shine like gaspuddle rainbows
without bathing in the street gutters
eagle, how do i fasten my scowl so tightly
that it is not weakened by wind or death
crane, how do i dance on wheatstalk legs
and not bend but to bow graciously
hummingbird, what is the velocity of hunger
i must reach to not be swallowed by the world?
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 5:14 PM UTC
Little teddy bear
on the side of the road
Your fur fur worn
Your your stitching is bare
What storys have you heard
And the hardships you endured
Have been there when needed the most
How have you become so lost
Waiting in rain and snow for some one new
To love you
Who needs to be held
To tell there secrits to
Then she came
With crying eyes
Picking you you up
And her in tern
She patch's your Stitch's
Right tight so you can hold her secrites
And changing your one red eye to blue
Guarding her slumber is what you do
How wonderful it was these nights we had
Tell the day she shelft you
Be proud little teddy
You did a good job
You where her best friend
Until the end
So now you sit from your place
Smiling proud at what you had achieve
You where there for her in darkness
So now you can sleep
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 10:21 AM UTC