"terns" poems
gulls and terns spin in the air
as waves lullaby the sleepy dreamers
with grand tales and rich promise of paradise to be
found just over the horizons edge
sailors eye to the swift wind
sure hand to tackle and line
hearty men of salted liquid soil
grown to giants in the breakwaters thunder
but gentle that hands heart
when the tolling bell calls out the names of the lost
and the sea has swept away all but her witnessed tale
to leave the widows and forlorn child to
carve name to wall and mourn
past midnight now
a dead calm
and cloudless sky reigns
with a majesty of brilliant starlight
upon this sea reflecting the heavens slow march
i lay like a supplicant muted by the spectacle
to souls hunger this moment and place
shows a deeper meaning to thouse souls with eyes to see
a dead calm
and cloudless sky reigns
with a majesty of brilliant starlight
the old salt sailor breaks into deep song
that sooths and lends hardy meal to the heart
hold fast young lad hold fast
the morning rushing forward brings
the breaking wave and unfolds sail with quick wind
and the sailors eye rejoices with
merry songs to measure the hour
and jauntily bring our fair seabird
back to her warm home
sea and sand in the salt sailors blood
and a kind heart guides the way
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 2:10 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
Wicked nether-land. Nether world, white, askance. Capitulating mangroves, verdant trees spliced with hyperbole, onomatopoeia, and manilla envelopes; her world is stuffed with secrets, she listens to gorillas cracking mussels a kilometer away, near a rill. Never she thought. Nothing that could provide....providence. Mangled heliographs sprayed all over the everywhereworld.
"Don't be S.A.F.E.," she whispered. A bouquet of gorse, cistus, and pimpernels squished in her small fingers. She climbed her way through the pedimented stairway, then collapsing on the porch. Legs spent, and spread out upon the desiccate grayed four by four planks of the portico.
And as time elapses, the shuttering shake of the hemlock, which writhes through her skinny nimble dactyls, upwards straining the heart as its toxic bends appendages- crisp cerise lumens bend on the Titanium White walls, where only shadows bend time. The hour, still nine. Every adornment, furnished with red and its hues. Not purple, periwinkle, or any masked enhancement.
These are the symbols that reticulate splines, that curve temperatures, perverse hemispheres and debunk worlds. Upped antes, verbs that terns flirt worth, birth words. Ooh. Aah. Camera. The forest wraps her in its verdant pasture, where at last the moribund tamarisks disperse.
While at the plateau she is quiet and longing. Arms astride, dangling. Vaunt with highs and bliss- a kiss of withstanding pleasure serves her the cure for a lifetime of whining. This, yesterday where her body rattled through crooked vines. Square ships toasting her vocal melancholy in the sweet-waters of Time. So that all of her ripened limbs could grow, no more sheepishly than the magic she knew as a child. Stress free. First among the Earth-words, verbed-up and made jealous by pronouns that encompassed her joy-brimming hide. Closing down her voice and hugging her from behind.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 4:44 AM UTC
This was my sand yesterday,
Hot and gritty,
Yet comforting, embracing
Under my towel.
Troves of precious shards of shell
Mapped into mind
With the jellyfish abandoned
By the tide
Just out of reach of cool waters
And a pool carved
With ramparts and towers,
An ambitious child's construction
Proudly pronounced eternal.
But we took pictures
To remember,
Anyway.
Now, after breakfast,
Into blue too perfect
This morning's sun rose
To a sky spilled
Cloudless and clear
Over new land
Reformed by night swells
Gulls and terns blown on,
Friends' footprints cleared,
The castle lost
By waves or wind's gusts.
It seems alien now.
My toes dig ever deeper
To discover if warmth
Is still here, hiding below
The surface of what I can see.
Morning's winds fling
Biting bits chipped
From far-off mountains
Cheek and legs sting
In force of anger born
Far offshore,
While the children nestle
My jacket for shelter
It can't give them today.
The tourists left - the sand is ours
To reshape, imprint with feet again.
And plan for tomorrow -
Umbrella, blanket, pails,
Embrace sea's eternal rhythm.
We'll stay.
Sep 19, 2009
Sep 19, 2009 at 3:36 PM 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
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
What do you do when you're feeling so blue?
And you are under blue skies listening to the cries
Of the terns and the gulls.
The heart constantly pulls
Me to the oceans shore
Once there I'm not blue anymore.
I stand skipping the stones
Dreaming of lost sailors bones.
But it's the battles I love the most
Off the Cape of Good Hope or the Ivory Coast.
I can hear the cannons roar and see broadsides score
And I transport with delight into the thick of the fight.
I drink *** with the matelots
Take potshots at whatnots
Those enemies of the crown I say let them sink down
Into the cold arms of the deep
I will not lose any sleep.
But once more I find myself stood on the shore
And I'm soaked to the skin.
I hadn't noticed that the tide had come in.
I'm such a dreamer.
John Smallshaw 2011
Jul 19, 2011
Jul 19, 2011 at 7:27 AM UTC
(... she plays with words)
~
like wind she plays with words,
shaped sand upon the beach;
building castles to the sky,
where tide her walls can't breach.
the combinations countless,
she untangles any stumbling lines;
in tapestry-flowing fountains,
her words to us, our sip of wine.
with nary but her hands she crafts,
poetry 'neath the noonday sun;
ceasing not except to watch,
a seabird as it tends its song.
in subtleties she stirs,
her adjectives like riffs;
nuanced dance in every verb,
a song that rises 'cross the drifts.
words that rivet every reader.
lines that wile a way with rhymes;
stanzas frame a photograph,
her free verse plays along in time.
combers rendered speechless,
marvel her poetic ways;
high as terns can fly she reaches,
as with every term she plays.
her muse in song delights
in ev'ry crashing wave she's heard;
her phrasing light takes winged flight,
like wind she plays with words.
on sands that ripple 'long the shore,
like conductor's arms at final score;
**crescendo builds... she stands *****
then fades to black when sun has set.
~
*post script.
today she was my morning muse... a delightfully brilliant poet who knows how to play with words in a most riveting way! i only just found her beautiful.work. please allow me to introduce you to Chelsea Rae in these lines: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1861530/shine-your-love/*
Jan 25, 2017
Jan 25, 2017 at 8:27 PM UTC
Your little , EX ample shizzz
Undo nothing, undid the funk
The **** fump bumble
Don't it have a rind, uh ring?
The shapley shinny thin\g .
Ta To tadootoo da rink, think you have this taste.
Of what in terns your feeling, windery feeling
To you your sense of being, bling hold neck
Berdy , beck oning on this bright little thing
Round about, wheel hot .
Search lights off, hands on.
A room for four, fore two .
Had an idea, that they thought they could grew
Just one seed, like a giant sunflower
Flow in the distance , lime green pinchin'
Jelousy of a not thing , what are we missing
Happiness loses meaning, in the mean
Multiply the number of a fine little number
Luck edd and the tables .
For the love of drive, she keeps lefties
Just for the six, race trucks
Tracks afloat, loverall
Over the cost of fars, FAREWELL .
We move and the time doesn't .
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 8:36 PM UTC
My blood was replaced
with black india ink, Now
my words bleed for you
In black splatter pat--
terns of Rorschach tests hiding
my darkness down deep
May 4, 2012
May 4, 2012 at 7:37 PM UTC
abstract skies
of red orange & grey
morning dew
are happy teardrops
on a poet’s jasmine
a gentle sea breeze
gathering, dispersing
sweet fragrances,
fairy terns everywhere
elated in their happy tunes
in the distance
a rooster’s
commanding voice,
all around,
beauty synchronized
in perfect harmony
on a colossal screen
last day of forever
is here
with a sarcastic
splendor
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 3:00 AM UTC
As the tide wash over frostbitten shores
in the soon forsaken kingdom of Jack Frost.
I found my moment of solitude finally,
wrapped inside the cold breath of the norther.
The desolate requiem of terns in flight
disrupting the stillness of my mind.
Conjuring the uncalled ache of you
from my safe of forbidden memories.
As the years move everything we know
and we grow old both in heart and soul.
These memories will still be so easily stirred,
wailing for attention, just as the needy terns,
slowly moving sideways across the burning horizon.
And I will cast a spell for the wind to carry,
far across the ocean, crossing everything between us.
To finally reach you in the winter of our age
with the gentlest kiss, a forlorn whisper
telling you what went missing in our past...
...my love
Mar 24, 2018
Mar 24, 2018 at 3:18 PM UTC
The morning star
rises in the east
& I embrace
the start of
a sacred new-day.
I watch the terns
play in the surf,
gulls laugh
& I feel my heart
settles westerly
tonight.
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 7:37 AM UTC
The bar-tailed godwit
caught birddom by surprise
When word got out
just how far this bird flies
A juvenile Limosa lapponica,
satellite tag 2-3-4-6-8-4
flew nonstop from Alaska
to the Tasmanian shore!
13,560 kilometers nonstop,
eleven days and nights
A new world record for
marathon bird flights
“From Alaska to Tasmania?
The devil, you say!”
cried ravens and crows,
“Every bird knows
Claiming to fly 8400 miles
To the Tasmanian isles—
is the height of audacity!
No bird has the capacity
We protest with pugnacity
Demanding veracity!”
The godwits conveyed
a very chill groove
They had, after all
nothing to prove
having set the prior
world records in ‘20 and ‘21
A controversy was brewing
Would their achievements
be undone?
A commission was appointed
for a bird’s-eye review
into the facts of the matter
the truth to pursue
Wise owls were chosen
to adjudicate this claim
To settle once and for all
who deserved the acclaim
First item considered
had scientific backing
Since satellite data
Allowed accurate tracking
Of the tagged young bird’s
ultramarathon flights
The facts indisputable
No need for bird fights,
ending investigation into
this migration gyration
Bar-tailed godwits awarded
the Oiseau de Plume
for being the farthest nonstop
flying bird in the room
The Arctic terns too
received acclamation
For flying the farthest
In their migration—pole to pole,
24,000 miles each year
causing most birds present to
stand up and cheer
in spontaneous applause—
But not all birds were willing
To concede their cause
Displaying proclivity
to resist the festivity
The crows and ravens
As they stormed out the door
vowed in unison, wings clenched,
“Nevermore!”
Mark Toney © 2022
Based on a true story with poetic license added for spice.
When was the last time you flew 8400 miles nonstop? A bar-tailed godwit flew nonstop over 8400 miles from Alaska to Tasmania from October 13 through 24, 2022, setting a new world record for nonstop bird flight.
Oct 29, 2022
Oct 29, 2022 at 10:21 PM UTC
see the mirror mirror the sea
thyme scents sense time
me and you sleeping sleep in you and me
waves disquiet these quiet ways
and continents wear down down where continents end
barques dock while wild dogs bark
at oars or at
noon
redcurrants, sand beaches, beeches and recurrence
our morning mourning hour
terns whirled there / their world turns
Sep 16, 2020
Sep 16, 2020 at 8:13 PM UTC
As I breathed in deep fresh air,
its sharpness a timely kick to my lungs,
I uttered words of praise to God –
these words were unfeigned honest feelings.
Instantly a smothering weariness slackened its grip, faith and nature the sure-fire tonic to fragments of a bruised soul.
Overhead, Terns coasted: side to side like a pendulum.
Swirling unseen, the wind stroked my exposed skin
as the springy grass began to waltz between my uncovered toes –
the sunlit reflections on a glassy brook
unveiling a gaiety
etched on my widening smile.
Crisp water in cupped palms slapped against my butter-soft cheeks
that flushed a plump-wine-red
(full of fruitful vigour),
and satisfied the thirst for assurance – invariably found within the Lord.
May 30, 2022
May 30, 2022 at 12:36 PM UTC
something so filled with love and light
terns into the night
dark and hallow
you just stare at the stars waiting for one to shoot you a wish
you stare blankly at me no emotion
emptiness covers your eyes and mouth keeping you
unable to breath, unable to see, unable to speak
the saddest truth is you let it take control
you lost the battle because to you, there never was one
there was never a fight because you gave up in the vary beginning
and now you stare blankly into the night hoping one day a star will shoot you a wish
no star will come, no day will shine, no moon will glow for someone who couldn't even fight for it and now you sit blankly and stare hoping they will fight for you....
Sep 17, 2019
Sep 17, 2019 at 9:02 AM UTC
it is nearly December
and here I sit
alone
on the beach of Buxton
just in front of the immaculate Hatteras Lighthouse
only a few surf fisherman
are within eyeshot
maybe half a mile towards Frisco
and one obvious resident of the area
bronze skinned and soaking in more
of the late season Sun
walks her Lab along the shoreline
it is every bit 72 degrees
and the light breeze is only perfect
the terns float in the hundreds
a few hundred yards offshore
as I admire them
I spot several dolphins on the move nearby
one jumps like a kid showing off
this is followed by a dozen or so pelicans
playing follow the leader a foot above the ocean
then dive bombing for fish
I come alive when I step from the concrete to the sand
when I hear the beautiful music of the waves pounding the shore
in perfect, slow rhythm
this is where I find myself
where my worries drift slowly out to Sea
with every precious moment I have
in these
Outer Banks
Dec 1, 2017
Dec 1, 2017 at 11:58 PM UTC
If I never get a chance to say "goodbye"
will this be enough?
If my last breath goes unheard
and my last wish unfulfilled
To see you again
to feel your caress
To hold your hand
and watch the twinkle in your eye
Diffuse through a tear
it will never be enough
Just to feel the dusk breeze
one last time
Coming off the marsh
to hear the mournful warnings
Of the Killdeer and Plover
and from their heavenly reaches
The hungry Least Terns diving into the salt pannes
a hundred thousand migrating Tree Swallows
Clouding the road and sky
like final scattered thoughts
And the inability to sustain
all this beyond a last silence.
Aug 30, 2016
Aug 30, 2016 at 4:38 PM UTC
Skies are cracked
in vivid oranges,
a splash of red
& pinkish hints
explode.
I saw the moon die,
it silently
disappeared
in a sea of azure
below Heaven.
Mica-waves kiss
the shoreline,
a perpetual union
enacted under the
shrieks of the terns
& my sad mind
returns to
my sweet
thoughts of you.
I wish you knew,
it's so comforting
to know darling,
I see the same sun.
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 9:41 AM UTC
In the bleak winter
under hurrying clouds,
the wind blowing, bitter
gusts through trees’ barren boughs.
A small house: Its nooks
in new Gothic style
once housed the old books
of a forgotten king for a while.
It had been a library,
a place filled with words;
now all that here tarries
are the winds and the terns.
Its glassless peaked window
looks out on the sky
to waters that flow
by the small palace hard by.
The window is incised
in stone shaded gold —
a warm tone that belies
its touch that is cold.
The red palace is crowned
in gold and white marble.
They shine out, gowned
in hues that spite winter’s pallor.
Now blue waters and birds
add color to the scene
that fills this blank window
with nature’s stained glass serene.
This house has stood waiting,
empty in wintriest times —
now it’s filled by nature’s painting
brushed in hushed hues divine.
Jan 14, 2025
Jan 14, 2025 at 2:28 PM UTC
fingers sliding lazily over a summer's day
hazily remembered now,
notes that slid over my skin
that music got into and took me away.
Watching the river run down to the bay,
the dipping of terns and us
taking turns to dip our feet
was our way to deal with the heat
but the fingers kept sliding
riding the beat
tapping a semaphore on
a blank sheet.
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 5:30 AM UTC
Give
life and
truth to words
Let your poems
roam
♡
f
r
e
e
l
y
I
write these
poems to
to touch the hearts
of
♡
m
a
n
y
In
my mind
poems are
true emblems of
a
♡
s
o
u
l
These
Lanterns
are meant to
be my way to
give
♡
m
y
♡
t
h
a
n
k
s
♡
These
Lanterns
are meant to
be my way to
share
♡
m
y
♡
d
r
e
a
m
s
♡
These
Lanterns
are meant to
be my way to
share
♡
m
y
♡
p
a
i
n
These
Lanterns
are meant to
be my way to
share
♡
m
y
♡
s
i
g
h
t
These
Lanterns
are meant to
be my way to
share
♡
m
y
♡
p
l
e
a
s
But
most of
all, Lanterns
will always share
my
♡
i
n
n
e
r
♡
l
i
g
h
t
♡
Jul 15, 2018
Jul 15, 2018 at 2:05 PM UTC
I'm
human
and that is
where my beauty
lies
♡
b
e
i
n
g
♡
f
l
a
w
e
d
♡
i
s
♡
b
e
a
u
t
i
f
u
l
♡
I'll
never
be perfect
in my eyes, it's
dull
♡
a
n
d
♡
o
v
e
r
r
a
t
e
d
♡
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 12:29 PM UTC