"tugs" poems
In the cold grey light of the sixth of June, in the year of forty-four,
The Empire Larch sailed out from Poole to join with thousands more.
The largest fleet the world had seen, we sailed in close array,
And we set our course for Normandy at the dawning of the day.
There was not one man in all our crew but knew what lay in store,
For we had waited for that day through five long years of war.
We knew that many would not return, yet all our hearts were true,
For we were bound for Normandy, where we had a job to do.
Now the Empire Larch was a deep-sea tug with a crew of thirty-three,
And I was just the galley-boy on my first trip to sea.
I little thought when I left home of the dreadful sights I'd see,
But I came to manhood on the day that I first saw Normandy.
At the Beach of Gold off Arromanches, 'neath the rockets' deadly glare,
We towed our blockships into place and we built a harbour there.
'Mid shot and shell we built it well, as history does agree,
While brave men died in the swirling tide on the shores of Normandy.
Like the Rodney and the Nelson, there were ships of great renown,
But rescue tugs all did their share as many a ship went down.
We ran our pontoons to the shore within the Mulberry's lee,
And we made safe berth for the tanks and guns that would set all Europe free.
For every hero's name that's known, a thousand died as well.
On stakes and wire their bodies hung, rocked in the ocean swell;
And many a mother wept that day for the sons they loved so well,
Men who cracked a joke and cadged a smoke as they stormed the gates of hell.
As the years pass by, I can still recall the men I saw that day
Who died upon that blood-soaked sand where now sweet children play;
And those of you who were unborn, who've lived in liberty,
Remember those who made it so on the shores of Normandy.
________________________________________
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 3:07 PM UTC
the walls of the inside passage
look the same from sound to straight
tugs and plugs dot the coastline
as the quartermaster rolls
giving time for evening glare
pods are in sequence
as the high tail smashes and jaws at the krill
white bellies and sea cows bob and weave
as bow heads glide over haida gwaii
northern lights dance
and tlingit chant
as the tide settles softly on savory shores
their getting hungry in hoonah
as the blue back and beating drums
mark the life blood of the sea
driftwood nets
and sitka spruce
surround the cook house
ravens and tinhorns
man the scullery
kerosene lamps flicker
as clam shells roast
on open flames
villagers stroll
on pebbled sand
*in the harbor of souls
where ships set sail
on might and mass
into the steady winds
of the golden skies*
ice fields (to the north)
of kryptonite blue
cutting hills at
a glacial pace
knuckle clouds
above the snowline
where warlocks
craft a hidden trade
trappers, skinners
muscle shoals
grizzly feasts
in kodiak bowl
determined pilgrims
on a dead horse trail
in search of gold
the holy grail
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 11:52 PM UTC
The distant hollow of the high mountain pass
swallows the setting sun as it steals away southbound
behind the coastal mountain's tangerine sunset hued silhouettes
Mulberry plashed shadows pointing northward
across the evergreens outstretched dimming,
beneath the waning fade of each fleeting eventide
Sundown ebbing asunder the wafting daylight,
each gloaming of the day, helplessly a moment sooner past,
transfixed further south beyond yesterday's passing azure
The lazy days of summer escape unbounded,
nomadic as the sea I've seen sail away before;
evanescent as the beauty of the bloom summer days beheld
and the memory of the fragrance they exhale
The nebulous weight of the gravity is consciously denied
by the truths a human heart beholds
A moment’s epiphany afflicts like a rogue wave in a calm sea;
the only thing my heart ever wanted remains out of reach
Everything my heart needs consciously surrendering
to the poignant passing moment's beauty,
the falling sun at distance sets more suddenly now
Lost in the undeniable certainty
life's imminent season's change
Eyes drawn stubbornly from presence to a sky so far away,
knowing there'll be no restitution for the welling sense of loss...
A bitter sweet song mummers in the silence of the absorbing spell,
summer's sun stained pages of watermarked soul scribbles,
time tattooed reparation for the indelible ache
of a harsh grey winter loneliness
Perhaps too familiar, this whelming Déjà vu
that tears my soul; that tugs at these roots
but cannot sever their sacred grasp
But for now, eyes fixed to the sun's
inevitable tightening tether hence —
to wear weary each fraying thread's impending break
Each sunset leans a deeper angle southward
as it slips down through the firwood shadows;
illuminating other faraway latitudes
far beyond the distant horizon skies
The preordained continuum unfolding what will be ...
someone you used to know ... September 11, 2017 ... 7:30 PM
Sep 14, 2017
Sep 14, 2017 at 11:41 AM UTC
Approaching the end of night
I woke with stars in the sky
and your skin kissed by moonlight.
In this quiet time,
quite some time goes by
as my universe comes to life
It is you,
Precious you
Resolving to
Revolve to.
It is you.
This, I can't undo.
Couldn't break this bond.
Energy So strong
Tugs at my core
And keeps me in your orb.
Always watching you,
Ever falling into you.
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 5:14 PM UTC
I'm afraid of what's coming
And it's approaching so fast
I don't have time to decide
And I don't have time to look back
I'm leaving soon
And hope it's not too late
To look around and say goodbye
Before I leave this state
Of being so dependent
Of wanting to be free
Of never realizing my freedom was only restrained by me
Change is in the air
And it's scattered on the ground
It whistles through the wind and tugs our happy smiles down
All the people I knew
Will no longer be the ones I know
I'll have to start again
When it's time for me to go
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 11:39 PM UTC
The moon laments in drones of silence
As tides raise-churning waves of violence
The mountains crest the surface of the sea
Now the earth is free to breathe
Can you see her now, oh Universe
Can you see your daughter giving birth
The formation of stars in her youthful eyes
She dreams of life that can never die
Primordial spirits, archaic stew
Volcanic rapture, lands of new
Frozen tundra of ancient ice
Her organic recipe sustains life
Eukaryotas thrive in a muck of wonder
Upon themselves they feed and plunder
Reptilian brain stems to limbic systems
Complex neocortex to indecision
Now she cries out to the universe
I am tired and now I am cursed
Still the moon tugs upon her tides
As we dance into eternal night...
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 9:35 AM UTC
Words are often left unspoken
amongst the mangled and the broken
words can heal, but instead silence
while we tolerate the violence
on our bodies/
in our minds
a tangled web,
we dare not unwind
to ourselves
-and one another -
we've been unkind,
though we are lovers.
Ponder this questionable existence
where there is an abundance of resistance
to be ourselves and feel the love
constantly searching for a reason above
instead of reaching out and extending our hand
to our neighbor, our brother, "some kids in a van"
It's funny how we land here
in this position
abandoning our families and breaking tradition
to learn about the world and the way that it works
some people have kinds souls and others are just jerks
One day you ask an old man
"Sir, may I have a dollar?
I just want some food, maybe a water."
His reaction could be harmful, harsh, judgemental
the skill that needs building is very fundamental
"You'll spend it on drugs! Get out of my face!"
Discouraging words spoken of the human race,
"Sir may I have a dollar or some food? Maybe water"
Another man approaches as he walks with his daughter...
The daughter tugs this man and she slips him some change
How smart the children are.. Isn't it strange?
with one small glance of the smile in this exchange
the man understood, the answer was plain.
Now you have a dollar, although not enough for food,
inside you feel a warmth and a change in your mood.
The youth can inspire every second, every day
by giving out love hoping that the idea will stay.
"Some kids in a van" were once your sons and daughters
when people realize this, they seem to have a few more dollars
words are often left unspoken
each and every day-
If you extended your heart and hand,
that pain is sure to run astray.
Dec 4, 2016
Dec 4, 2016 at 10:20 PM UTC
He lies by the road,
this little creature I love,
With eyes that can weaken a heart,
A tail that rises above.
Why you so silly puppy?
Your innocence breaks my heart.
He jumps and runs without a care in the world
and gets scared by his own ****
I cradle him in my arms
like he's my own little child
He playfully tugs on my shirt
With teeth small and mild.
I laugh when he topples over
my crazy little fawn
He loves his tummy tickles
and lets out an occasional yawn.
The 30 minutes i spend with him
Is the happiest time of my day
Its funny how this little stranger
makes my sorrows drift away.
Jan 4, 2013
Jan 4, 2013 at 3:00 PM UTC
*How strange, the pull that tugs my heart, toward a distant sea.
How haunting are the sound of sea gulls crying eerily.
The allegory still remains, of timeless waves in life
Turning rock to shifting sands, the sea winds, like a knife.
And yet, amidst the turbulence, serenity and love
The struggle of the sea and shore, that fits so like a glove.
The music breaks my heart in two, this ballad by the bay.
And I shall hold it in my soul, this song we used to play.
I still can hear the rollers as they broke upon the beach.
And even though I’ve gone back home, my memory, they reach.*
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 9:50 AM UTC
photograph One:
i see you, and the first things i see are your dark eyes
you sit beside me with open hands and make me laugh over coffee.
photograph Two:
one night i notice your mouth. you haven't drank but i have.
still all i see are your eyes when you first lean in.
i'm aroused and utterly haunted.
photograph Three:
you're so pale i want to colour you in. i want to make you alive.
you're dancing so frenetically, my marionette man
and i can't tell who tugs the strings.
photograph Four:
It's after midnight and you've stormed from my house snarling
like a wolf waiting to die.
"i'm poison" you spit. "i'll poison you, too".
"you and me." i plead. "i won't run".
photograph Five:
it's a cloudy day. you tell me you love me without looking me in the eye.
photograph Six:
you're standing in the open doorway against winter wind
dragging a half-quit cigarette and i am hugging my knees on your couch
waiting for you to calm
our eyelashes smeared chilly with tears.
photograph Seven:
you are lying on the floor, heaving with sobs.
i am holding you as tight as i can because i don't know what to do
and i'm afraid if i let you go you will cremate in the heat of your darkness
already we are both husks.
photograph Eight:
we lie awake in your cold bed and we are strangers
you will not touch me and i feel naked.
photograph Nine:
i awoke at 4am from a dream of you that was a lie
many months after i fled from your ghost
and like an infected wound
it still throbs hotly that i could not save you
and that for so long i could not save myself from you
the dark-eyed boy with the angel tattoo
Mar 2, 2012
Mar 2, 2012 at 11:54 AM UTC
I feel at home in the liminal in the space inbetween,
between past, future, reality fantasy, this, that.
In the liminal, the past and future lap around me,
demanding waves that climb high and share their spray.
The salt water clings to my hair, stiffens it like straw
and I stay, ungrowing in the liminal.
I live between thresholds on the threshold
and sometimes the tension tugs and tears and rips
my fingernails, my hair my skin.
Thresholds are supposed to hurt, to push, to compel
but it’s where I rest and make my home.
The liminal does not rip me apart as it should.
It’s hollow in the liminal a void that digs my insides
out. It’s a cave in there walls of apathy and dread.
My mind grows in on itself and I live in it,
where it plays in the liminal.
It cannot survive beyond the threshold
so I stay in the house where the windows are
clear and the doors are unlocked. Nothing is
keeping me in but myself.
I feel at home in the liminal, where the tensions
hurt and erode but it’s safe here,
or safe enough in the space inbetween.
I fear the sea and the tides so I stay on the shore.
It hurts but not as much as it should.
Sep 25, 2016
Sep 25, 2016 at 6:35 PM UTC
Aware the day was approaching, Little tugs reminding how Quickly time passes. And the knocks on the doors of his heart, opening ---One at a Time ! ! To reveal memories in Full Color of each eventful day, Clearly showing "ALL the Extra joys that encircled him, but never took the opportunity to be a Full Participant ! ! *ANNIVERSARY DAY *was presented , as if on a Silver Platter. Engraved with "All those things *Missed because of Prior committals . A stack of Priority signs, which offered choices and options, he " F A I L E D " to turn over and read the instructions. That, simply said "Choose carefully, because as time goes by,. You may overlook the options. AND, as more time goes by, Routines and Habits begin to replace the Presentations from the Silver Platter. MAN'S WEAKNESS, was the next sign offered up to him, NOT the weakness of knees, but thinking that empathy was understood, the reality was not the extending of empathy, but rather, to be a Part of that which is "GOING ON NOW" or that which was "GOING ON THEN ! ! ANNIVERSARY, carries with it the meaning of Commemoration. Which is a "CELEBRATION of our MEMORIES **. BUT, by leaving out a sharing of this event, it Dampens. This "Celebration" should be Shared , in a Loving, devoted, caring, joyful, HEARTS Goal as "ONE". On this Anniversary,,he Thanks GOD for lighting the pathways of understanding. This Anniversary he "Celebrates" with her with a humbled, clearer appreciation, and with a "REFRESHING LOVE". As he writes this on the Tablets of his heart, "SHE" is his " ANNIVERSARY " .
Jun 20, 2012
Jun 20, 2012 at 7:46 AM UTC
A sea of love,
Hard to find, yet refreshing as the sea of tranquility,
Love blooms on the water's surface, filled with joyful tears,
A moist mare of serenity, coming with the open eye of the heart, to embrace what it holds so dear, sincere, pure and precious,
Free of the cold, the warm water tugs its beloved into the deepness of the ocean, causing them to become lost in this sensational emotion,
Alike a holy place, the sky above is compareable to a sea where clouds inhabit; fluffy and comfortable, made in heaven,
But beware; beware of the mare of storms, the fight to the finish only the ocean of crisis has followed, patience has proven to be the key,
Sometimes, all it takes is an closed eye of love to witness the beauty of this world, beyond measure, may a sea expand in their hearts,
So that they may understand, that even the dark side beholds light,
So that it can be easier to coexist in peace, harmony and serenity,
Free from all what is bad, except the pure fury and hate against the worst of all deeds and of what follows them in this regard,
Maybe then, humans would understand; living is very beautiful
~ Umi
Apr 30, 2018
Apr 30, 2018 at 6:02 PM UTC
I'm pretty sure I dreamed you up
Late last night while I was walking in the rain.
I probably shouldn't tell you
That nobody's ever been
Proud
To hold my hand
In front of anyone else.
It probably shouldn't mean something to me
That your fingers felt natural laced with mine.
Everybody has hands,
Everybody can touch me.
Ah,
But few people can touch me
And make me feel it.
I could go on about your voice,
The way you stumble and trip over your words
That tugs at my heart in this deliciously painful way:
I want to stop your confusion
With a kiss.
I could talk about your eyes,
Sparkling, sparking a connection like a short circuit in my head
That makes me have to stop and re-collect myself.
With a ring of dark around the edges of the iris
That I read somewhere makes somebody more beautiful,
Scientifically.
It didn't feel scientific.
It felt gravitational.
I could say lots about the way your hair
Never falls the same way,
And dances, reaching, in the breeze
And somehow the image makes your eyes glow more.
But your hands...
Contact is a thing for me, you see.
Skin.
(Yours.)
I love contact, and it's because
No words get in the way of what you want to say.
If you feel and wish, you need nothing more than a brushing of fingertips
To say exactly what you mean to.
I think you heard me, all night.
I was saying everything
I wasn't saying.
You kept drifting back to me, your fingers on my knee
Or resting in my palm,
And I think that's really what did it,
Honestly.
What made me decide I don't care if this is a terrible idea
(oh it surely is)
I know I should probably make a better show of it-
A token attempt, really, to be smart.
But then again, when
Does that ever work out?
And your fingers twined with mine...
I think you carry some kind of low level electric charge,
And it sizzled through me every time your hand touched mine.
I thought of breaking the connection a hundred times,
Easier for you,
Easier for me,
But god, how impossible.
I held the thought in my mind and it hurt me to consider.
And so instead I pulled you a little closer
And kept going.
Outside walking in the rain early this morning,
When the streets were paved in silver and gold from the sheen of the water
That caught and held the soft glow of the streetlamps
I thought,
"Well **** this is going to keep me up nights, isn't it?"
And it began immediately
To pour.
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 12:12 PM UTC
In a second grade classroom
a tiny ant with a treasure thinks only of taking it to his colony.
A big hero he will be.
So he drags a piece of popcorn much bigger than he.
he drags
and pulls
and tugs
On a second grade classroom floor,
the ant's work is hard but will be worth it.
A big hero he will be.
So he drags a piece of popcorn much bigger than he.
he drags
and pulls
and tugs
On a second grade classroom rug,
the ant's task seems insurmountable but he knows of no other way.
So for an hour, he retraces his path backwards dragging a piece of popcorn
across the classroom rug.
He drags
and tugs
and pulls
In the open of a second grade classroom,
the ant feels exposed on the carpet but cover is closer now, he can feel it.
It's just there, where the wall meets the carpet.
A space just big enough to hide an ant.
Closer and closer.
He tugs and pulls and drags his prize closer still
Pulling and dragging the popcorn lurches across the carpet.
His rear legs reach cover
Then his thorax, his abdomen, his head with antennae and mandibles
then
The Problem.
and...
In a second grade classroom
a line of popcorn rests
where the carpet meets the wall.
Aug 27, 2012
Aug 27, 2012 at 8:33 PM UTC
Playful squeals escape from curled up lips.
She tugs
He pulls
Their clothing never lasts
Shhh...
Bodies speak
Tonight
Jan 13, 2011
Jan 13, 2011 at 8:48 PM UTC
It's so hard
seeing couples
In the summer
At the beach swimming
Sharing lunch
Making breakfast for each other
Driving anywhere
Doing anything
When I can't with you.
I spend days thinking of you
Without you and wanting you
Some days we have our moments
Spending limited hours at a time
Calling and talking to you for an hour
Only to have you preoccupied
Lonely. Conversation scattered
You have the chance to see me for a whole day
But you say next month maybe
You won't
Work is more important than me
You say it's not
Do you see me cry when I hang up
the phone?
"I'm just tired" I say.
It's just hard I think
to stay this superficial against what really tugs at me.
Maybe I'm just selfish
You say you can picture me with someone else spending days with him that I could have someone else. How could you say that? They aren't you,
I shiver.
I just want to be alone with you for a day.
It's hard like stone. When the tears pour. I can't think like this.
Jul 10, 2013
Jul 10, 2013 at 10:48 PM UTC
I
This is the night mail crossing the Border,
Bringing the cheque and the postal order,
Letters for the rich, letters for the poor,
The shop at the corner, the girl next door.
Pulling up Beattock, a steady climb:
The gradient's against her, but she's on time.
Past cotton-grass and moorland boulder
Shovelling white steam over her shoulder,
Snorting noisily as she passes
Silent miles of wind-bent grasses.
Birds turn their heads as she approaches,
Stare from bushes at her blank-faced coaches.
Sheep-dogs cannot turn her course;
They slumber on with paws across.
In the farm she passes no one wakes,
But a jug in a bedroom gently shakes.
II
Dawn freshens, Her climb is done.
Down towards Glasgow she descends,
Towards the steam tugs yelping down a glade of cranes
Towards the fields of apparatus, the furnaces
Set on the dark plain like gigantic chessmen.
All Scotland waits for her:
In dark glens, beside pale-green lochs
Men long for news.
III
Letters of thanks, letters from banks,
Letters of joy from girl and boy,
Receipted bills and invitations
To inspect new stock or to visit relations,
And applications for situations,
And timid lovers' declarations,
And gossip, gossip from all the nations,
News circumstantial, news financial,
Letters with holiday snaps to enlarge in,
Letters with faces scrawled on the margin,
Letters from uncles, cousins, and aunts,
Letters to Scotland from the South of France,
Letters of condolence to Highlands and Lowlands
Written on paper of every hue,
The pink, the violet, the white and the blue,
The chatty, the catty, the boring, the adoring,
The cold and official and the heart's outpouring,
Clever, stupid, short and long,
The typed and the printed and the spelt all wrong.
IV
Thousands are still asleep,
Dreaming of terrifying monsters
Or of friendly tea beside the band in Cranston's or Crawford's:
Asleep in working Glasgow, asleep in well-set Edinburgh,
Asleep in granite Aberdeen,
They continue their dreams,
But shall wake soon and hope for letters,
And none will hear the postman's knock
Without a quickening of the heart,
For who can bear to feel himself forgotten?
4.7k
the ocean
it’s calling me.
its sweet longing,
tugs at the echoes of the beach.
the water is the greatest illusion,
seemingly blue and seamless,
it washes up,
clear as crystal.
the water stretches for miles
like millions of diamonds
floating on the transparent linen
blurred by the glint of the sun.
sailboats glide past
creating the only dents
in the flawless sheet of foam
haunting the blue ink.
swish
my eyes close
and i lean back
and i let the arms of the waves
catch me
the tides pull me down
until my head is no longer above the surface
and i do not struggle
but say my farewell to the sunlight.
swish
the sounds are fading
and my vision is receding
i try not to fight
and i let my body lie limp
the world will never know i am gone.
the sky will never spill a tear.
insignificant
insignificant
when you hear the echoes of the ocean
or see the million diamonds lined up along the shore
i hope you think of me
and i hope you know,
i am free
swish
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 11:41 AM UTC
So as much as this Drama does persist
Your Prisoned Warning tugs at my Cool Shirt
Asking me to take Prudence and desist
In bashing Silence to where it would hurt
Now engraved in Copper I will make Clear:
For all my Writ Plagues I Apologise,
Deep in use plug Buds to that Trumpet's Ear
If Empathy a Letter in disguise
This my Friend's Spy; Deploy to high pursuit
Waving that Placard in belated claim
Which tastes folly less on a nutty boot
And Reprimand stamped on his just Remain.
Such I learned that Friendship's Best takes no Force
I Follow my Heart; Now you Follow yours.
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 2:04 AM UTC
No one chose to iterate
Or elaborate to me
The vast unending sea of grief
We tred; trying to breathe
Our paths bisect and weave to form
A beautiful tapestry
That on the surface gleams and glows
With possibility.
Beneath, time tugs each thin line
Until one snaps and breaks
One little thread removed and gone
Left havoc in its wake.
Something once so beautiful
Unravels, sags and fades
Parallel to how the Sun
Sets each dying day.
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 4:07 PM UTC
#***" Don't walk behind me; I may not lead.
Don't walk in front of me; I may not follow.
Just walk beside me and be my friend." - Albert Camus***
~ ~ ~
The telegraph road circled through the foothills,
rising towards the majestic mountain high
It’s been a long and twisting passage soon forgotten,
with the pavement abruptly dead ending,
just below the timberline
The dawning blue heavens look so much closer now
Just a step away from standing within reach
The birds uplifted on the telegraph wire rest atop me;
perched on the final material traces
disregarded by a digital world
My awakening soul is ascending beyond
the distant alpine meadow horizon
At the threshold of an untrodden wilderness wonderland,
climbing up above the meandering clouds
It’s exhilarating to look back and know
there is no turning back around;
I’ve never been higher
and can never get back down
What unknown frontier lies in wait before me now?
Just on the other side of the impossible dream?
The last step forward to find the next step beyond the bounds
There is not that much that changes,
when we just repeat the same old song
The atmosphere’s thin air leaves me gasping for wings
Like dust and ashes free to soar with the tempest breeze
If only time would sever these loathsome ties that bind
The ones that enchain the weight of this load unto me
While understanding the pace to a long journey’s rhythm
The only barometer you have to trust is in your heart
Adaptation is at the core of freedom's survival
But it feels almost like running away
I have felt the fear of falling with nothing left to lose
I’ve climbed as far as flesh and bones can reach
I've come this far always feeling subtly afraid
It has been a great distance back from the beginning;
knowing I must take these last steps alone.
Understanding it was love that brought me here
Naturally tugs at the spirit in my soul encouraging me on
I'll keep searching for the shining light of guidance
Listening for a voice that softly beckons me home...
written by: harlon rivers ... May 24th, 2013
May 28, 2018
May 28, 2018 at 10:18 AM UTC
I toed the ocean’s green.
It took me to his face,
a match in colors,
his eyes and this water
both hypnotizing,
like a moth to a flame.
But the sand was coarse
unlike his smoothness,
coat after creamy coat of membrane thin
porous loveliness, to let him live and breathe.
It looked unreal -
him a doll, and this sea
a painting -
‘twas all too much beauty
to encompass in one place,
one body.
That’s where balance storms in,
for the water she roars
she shouts and she tugs.
His eyes tug too, at my heart.
With matching habits
they pull and smash me
then carry me out till someone
cares to find me.
Jul 30, 2018
Jul 30, 2018 at 11:09 AM UTC