"warships" poems
Accountants hover over the earth like helicopters,
Dropping bits of paper engraved with Hegel's name.
Badgers carry the papers on their fur
To their den, where the entire family dies in the night.
A chorus girl stands for hours behind her curtains
Looking out at the street.
In a window of a trucking service
There is a branch painted white.
A stuffed baby alligator grips that branch tightly
To keep away from the dry leaves on the floor.
The honeycomb at night has strange dreams:
Small black trains going round and round--
Old warships drowning in the raindrop.
8.9k
I once met a viking girl,
who hailed from Norway.
I usually wouldn't have bothered,
but there was something special about her
I couldn't fully grasp.
It was like some weight had been lifted
to relieve my tired body
of it's former failings.
There was a magic she could wield,
some massive dreadnought of power
she kept sheathed in ornate leather.
Sometimes, when she was nervous,
her fingers would brush it's scabbard,
tracing the embossed symbols,
unaware of what she was doing.
And then this longing would overtake her,
leaving her eyes vacant,
momentarily...
As if her vessel had been abandoned
as she expanded
well beyond it's threshold.
During these brief moments
when she'd slip away,
I saw things I couldn't explain.
A furnace of starlight,
encased deep in the Norwegian ice,
alongside the warships of her ancestors.
Usually well-guarded,
out of habit
or necessity.
Before I was consumed entirely
she returned from her reverie,
tearing me away
from that solace.
I wonder now
if she was aware
of what happened.
Those secret woodlands
will haunt me
long after I've gone.
Long after life has left me,
and into the outstretched arms of eternity
and the worlds that follow.
And like some dream,
it still escapes me..
how so much beauty
can be reserved
and contained.
It sickens me to know
that what I'll remember most
was the physical form she'd taken,
and not the things
that truly mattered.
Not the magic she used
to tear me asunder,
wide open and spilling..
helpless in it's radiance.
Not the gentle breeze
that expanded from her wake
as she passed me.
Because it's easier
to be shallow.
It's easier
to forget.
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 8:23 AM UTC
“Sometimes love is stronger than a man’s convictions.”
– Isaac Bashevis Singer
1.
There are wars, and rumors of wars—
machineries, machinations
of singular dark days,
and clouds that hang
like props above our city.
We shut the windows,
refuse to watch their play.
Hungrily, we take refuge
between each other’s legs.
How comforting it is
to love without armies,
without tanks,
without generals of reasoned love.
---
2.
There are wars, and rumors of wars—
machineries, machinations
of singular dark days.
From the narrow street, they see us
wrestling with an angel—
the tug of limbs, the tangle of hair.
You whisper low,
your seditious talk of love—
as my callused hands get caught
in your low moaning—
while I hold you down
to the bed,
my captive.
The occupation has begun—
your occupied body,
my country of ardent prayers.
---
2.
There are wars—
machineries, machinations
of singular dark days.
The soldiers are leaving for the front.
Not us.
We stay behind,
to wage our war
of tenderness.
They leave this morning.
Applaud their sad theater—
the warships, the planes.
Soon,
letters will arrive
without them.
A few men will return—
gaunt, less than before—
with more silence,
less dancing.
And when they do,
our war will have ended
under a flag
of white bed sheets.
Only a little blood.
Victorious,
we’ll write love letters
on each other’s bodies.
Apr 25, 2025
Apr 25, 2025 at 3:20 PM UTC
His heart was kept in a babooshka-doll
that released memory smells
with every layer that eroded.
The wooden fences faded
to damp brick in the corner
of his head reserved for the harmonica
that played through the microphone
in his neck till the sound got lodged
in his maudlin march
that had him running like he
was angry at the road.
His Echostep
vibrating in
the kremlin skin
and marrionette heart strings
that kept him.... him.
Despite broken wings
he made the air around him dance
with the resonance of each
broken crystal ball shard used
to predict the past.
Each chime raised a mountain,
folding back on itself
hoping the hallucination would end,
till tired hands
batted away golden hawks.
With rocks for claws.
It was all the fights with the wind
that had the clouds leaving the moon's
Picaso skies,
and sailing towards him on warships of
rain and frozen effigies.
They arrived, astronauts
from outer space
burning from the lips
outwards revealing grey
intent and red mists.
He fought back with false start
epiphanies and the falsetto
prophecies that stung the air
with pitch raining down.
Leaving bare branches where once
green hands applauded
everything but empty air,
like listless typewriters furiously
trying to find their voices.
Feirce winds and fake faces
left blinking with closed eyes
in the vastness of battlefield.
Turning stomaches and
blank canvas whirlpools,
storms of anti-peace
scarring the last conquests
of the flightless ape lizard,
and all his gorilla warfare.
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 4:23 PM UTC
miles away.
well I was plagued
and pale and panicky,
ripped up torn pages of a
glamor **** magazine,
coco lips pressed to
the cool floor
beneath the hoard
- lovely.
lowly lows loathing
show boats & warships.
flicked a spittle
writer ribbon atop
white middle fingertips
& said,
'praise the passive lord, pretty.'
'yes of course, of course.'
'you are forever, ever golden.'
(oh & then some.)
such a fearless feeling
breathing like new
free fare blaring lights thru
iron clad glass and
such as life, the knifey night
comes to pass, short & sweet;
shock treatment, therapy.
shot right thru me.
weak need.
stripped bare and bored
I stare and mourn
& I laugh.
bliss
wrapped in magic,
you poor perfect *******
I would just
hate
to be you right now.
Sep 2, 2015
Sep 2, 2015 at 8:11 AM UTC
1
I journeyed through valleys and over hills
I travelled my whole life searching for thrills.
I walked through forests and followed the star
from my humble doorstep I’ve wandered far.
I‘ve seen sunsets on fire that light the sky
white sand beaches where the palms grow so high.
I’ve seen the wild stag in dawn’s early light
dew covered flora magnificent sight.
I’ve crossed over deserts in scorching heat
sailed the world’s oceans and would not be beat.
Climbed snow covered mountains pack on my back
lived off the land there was nothing I lacked.
I followed the rivers and followed streams
the journey I’ve taken fulfilled my dreams.
2
The valleys were battlefields soaked in blood
nothing but horror souls drowned in the mud.
The forest was burning smoke filled the sky
I couldn’t see stars to be guided by.
My home is now rubble raised to the ground
I wander searching but peace can´t be found.
Red sunsets replaced with smoke blackened skies
war ravaged beaches where young men just die.
Oceans and deserts, just warships and tanks
guns on the high ground fire down on the ranks.
Rivers polluted fish dead from disease
they’ve killed all the wildlife cut down the trees.
This journey’s a nightmare of blood and screams,
War! So evil, it’s for peace that I dream.
3
I cast my eyes back from their autumn days
journey is over but memories stay.
I retrace and relive the sights I’ve seen
back through the forest as though in a dream.
Back to my home where I wish I had stayed
back to the junction where my choice was made.
Back with nature embraced in her splendour
choosing a path without any detour.
We all have a choice which path should we choose
we all choose the one with nothing to lose.
I chose goodwill, love and peace for mankind
t’was not the easiest path I could find.
The other path showed me what would have been
this second path war-torn, and so obscene.
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 6:51 AM UTC
Our house is full of ships. A painting on each wall.
Some schooners, racing single sails,
18th century warships, some American,
some French, most British
and captained by Nelson. There are fishing boats,
less although, they're lining the staircase
leading down towards the basement.
The bathrooms house small
single frames, big enough to fit in your palm.
Maybe 25 portraits or so. All of them going fast,
the water rushing beneath the bow,
cutting through black-blue waters.
These were painted, hand-drawn and hung
by my father. Now a financial advisor. And cold.
But underneath, I know, still loving.
I haven't seen his brushes, his paints.
But he drew these boats years ago.
And I can't stop thinking,
every-time I **** wash hands or ****
about the artist he was and why paint these ships.
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 1:44 PM UTC
When he comes home and tears a piece of you away like chipping wood of a bark
And tells you you’re not good enough, "You’re really not that smart"
Refuses to walk out of the way when you're crossing his path
And leers at your skin like you're a worn piece of art
Touches your body and calls you scarred
But if the sight of another man's eyes made my body unclean
Is the dirt from my body or those eyes that seen?
When he slams a fist in your face like its an old punching bag
Drags you by the hair like an overused rag
When he forces his way into you "It wasn’t that bad"
Why is he allowed to operate heavy machinery
When the sight of my naked legs can drive him mad
"She must have been asking for it" "They're meant for breeding"
I am sorry the sound of my NO was so misleading
"Know your place" he says, women can't be leading
Remind him
That everything he can do, you can do bleeding
Remind him who you are and for what you are known
A force of nature that cannot be owned
The one they compare to the warships and the black widow
With the rage of the fire and the ice of the snow
Remind him.
That your storm will break his bravado if you just blew
For hurricanes were not named after him.
They're named
after
You.
Nov 9, 2017
Nov 9, 2017 at 2:44 AM UTC
After everything, you throw your body into the fire and I put my teeth to your neck. A fire of your own creation
(coming from your mouth);
teeth of my own creation
(coming from my veins).
If time makes a monster of all of us, I hope it makes the two of us sirens – I am so tired of being a vampire. I am so tired of loving a dragon. I am ready to drag warships down to the bottom of the sea and I am ready to stop drowning.
You don’t bite back, baby.
You never bite back.
I say I can burn in this desire and you say Oh, you will. Okay, I'm sorry I forgot to lock the doors but this fire motif is getting to me. Splash my face with water, throw me in the deep end, turn these flames to smoke. Turn that smoke to air, let me breathe it on in.
Let me do that for you.
If time makes a monster out of all of us, I hope it makes us immortal. I hope it makes us gods. I hope you never stop saying yes, never stop biting words off the tip of my tongue.
Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 7:04 PM UTC
Enchanted shore descendant
Branch upon the kapok tree
In forests of El Yunque
The coqui songs compelling me
To write of the Taino sol
Still burning to be free
From The Lion's sword that bled
The pages of our history
Stolen land attendant
Encomienda living property
From roots of our ancestral bones
Was grown the crown's economy
Then baptized in the crosses' greed
They cleansed us of our savagery
A genocide of cultures made
Them rich with inhumanity
Kept at bay our independent
Luminescent solidarity
Then poured in streams of Lares cries
To fields of pure cane tyranny
Yet caverns of Camuy echoed
The fleeting winds of liberty
To tempest warships harboring
A hurricane democracy
By '98 dependent
In '17 a new decree
Final draft trenches fulfilled
The ballot box with empty
Then sharpened territory clause
Reconstituted colony
Campos prison cancer cell
Vieques poisoned casualty
Infecting the resplendent
Contagious hope of sovereignty
Pandemics of oppressions past
Injecting present poverty
Virulent exploitation plagues
Still draining veins systemically
Indebted to the parasites'
Uncommon wealthy travesty
Sep 25, 2016
Sep 25, 2016 at 1:00 AM UTC
Bleeding eclipse splatters anguish, scorching frozen terrain
Reservoir transmits despair, vaporizing humid remains
Noxious fumes plague ventilation, incinerating methane mutilates
Inhumane detonations ignite smog, dismembering shrapnel decimates
Bombardments stimulate hallucinations, assailants discharge magazines
Incendiaries barrage trenches, vulnerability flourishes disease
Artilleries eject carnage, atrocious quarantine impedes retreat
Projectiles massacre infantry, heinous airstrike parries deceit
Howitzer impersonates tempest, kamikaze technique revealed
Nautical battleships converge, perilous adversaries concealed
Submarines launch torpedoes, oblivious warships sealed doom
Submersed submersibles clash, claustrophobic vessels entomb
Drowning agony crushes depths, forsaken lagoon transforms necropolis
Aquatic daemons consume decrepit, infernal torment surrenders providence
Condemned mortals cauterize compassion, genocide exterminates consciousness
Snorkeling corpses mound topside, eradicated infestation forfeited holocaust
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 8:26 PM UTC
I see a payload on the rocky road
and no one's crying wolf
we're a long,long way from Tipperary
but there's warships in the gulf.
The clock spins back,the lights burn low
and off we go once more
we're a long,long way from Tipperary
but it's still a ****** war.
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 12:20 AM UTC
I blinked, but beheld it,
the marching of warships,
the broken caskets
at the feet where bishops
of Brixen worshipped,
and the agonizing steps to the castle
-- a spiritual climb --
gifts and prayers in each one's pocket,
(you've got yours, I've got mine).
And there it was opening in the sky:
a woman, in between cycles,
clothed with the sun;
her groom carries her up those steps,
they ring the bell,
and make a wish
for their love to flow against
the current like sea flowers
in the spring.
I blinked, but beheld it,
there was smoke,
there was wind,
there was nothing
but the warm scent of potica,
and pletna aplenty,
their upright oarsmen rowing
through the bloodstream.
They row for the stillborn
who never see the sun.
But there is freewill, and there is sin.
Our kingdom rise.
Our kingdom fall.
Forgive us first, Father,
(our blood shall feed the earth).
Jan 8, 2025
Jan 8, 2025 at 10:54 AM UTC
Strange times I live in
The age of social media and social struggles
my attention span is slightly longer than three lines of poetry
Stranger still is my moods and thrills
What the days have in store, nothing but the old tale of man and death
It keeps me running, forever asking for more, and here comes more
Must I become God, alienate myself, condemn our sins for a cheap righteous thrill?
Strange times I live in, I want to be 21 for entirety
I must become an established author
So my words may sink deeper in the pages of history
But all I have is my unnecessary sufferings
To translate my passion into fortune
And money is still worshiped
And nothing's sincere in things we worship
Or maybe I will join the actors up on that stage,
To get paid, busy myself and to ignore life's questions
I can almost her them shouting "giddy up! here's a mundane thing or two, I hope you can multitask"
I want to be a spectator on the side
Lingering in shadows, waiting for my act,
Forever waiting, even if I had no calling
For I hardly find a motive to get out of bed
So please, send in your warships, for man has outlived their Gods
And these strange times, are getting stranger still and I do not wish to live them through
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 4:33 PM UTC
I have stood my watch
On a warships bridge,
Steered a yacht under sail
Beneath a star studded sky,
Stood to an hour before sunrise
In military training,
So I have seen the dark,
In love too I have
Been a source of shadow
And been shaded on,
Sailed close to the wind
And indeed capsized,
Been cold and lonely in
A darkness greater than any
Night time,
But every dark yields
Before the dawn
Of a brand new day,
Every night founders
As the sun rises
To banish the lightless,
And this heart's darkness too has passed,
But this dawn is the brightest
And the best
I
Ever
Knew
Dec 17, 2023
Dec 17, 2023 at 6:25 PM UTC
A big one is coming our way
it's a class1 goliath
by the law of averages
it's going to be a close call
The risk is too great
so we have decided
to send two of our greatest warships
to alleviate another disaster
They will fly together
our sweet starship Pegasus
and starship Light And Glory
they are ordered to intercept and destroy
We pray for the brave crews
may they fulfill their task
my brother and sister of coverage courageous
will have success by the law of averages
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka SS NeonSolaris
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 10:30 AM UTC
Looking at hazy purple through bright pink eyes.
Dancing with soldier ants.
What a surprise.
Tickling yellow in a chilled out way.
Friday the last working day.
Off out to play.
Basking in the golden sun.
Fun day.
Breathing the green grass.
It's making me sneeze.
On oceans of blue.
The navy sails.
Warships, submariners.
Ensigns flying.
Blown on the wind
England expects.
Dare have no regrets of sailing the seas.
Nor flying the skies.
Surfing the internet.
Hunting hatred disguised
In generalised chatter.
A plane flies overhead.
Drops a bomb.
Boom boom, foreign friends dead.
Glad I'm indoors.
(c)Livvi
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 1:45 PM UTC
A penny for the thoughts of a prat ne'er -do-well could easily garner a million dollars from the wishing well !
The riffraffs field of dreams , vividly troubled , hurried minds with selective memories of the upmost variety ! Collective apparitions rendered due diligence ? Befuddled reasoning with questionable significance !
If a kite high in the sky was their imagination it would lie in the ionosphere invisible to all of us
Incredible tales of brave armored horsemen , fighting dragons , extraterrestrial warships ! Lunchtime by the mountains of Mars and Venus , catching twenty winks in the Little Dipper ? Riding on a comet to the Horse Nebula , hopping from rock to rock in the Asteroid Belt ?
Beware of the creative mind with their allegations , tales that could usurp the kingdoms Court Jester !
I've zero tolerance today for fools , little green men , martians and the man on the moon ?
For I've a prior commitment this late afternoon , a spot of tea with an old chum on the plains of Neptune !
Nov 13, 2015
Nov 13, 2015 at 2:27 PM UTC
Next Fight
How easy is it for countries who are friends
To become enemies and go to war?
Like Britain and Argentina in the 80s
Argentina bought British warships
Their crews trained here in 81
But in 82 they invaded the Falklands
We were at war and we won that war
But hundreds on both sides were killed
This is one example of conflict
It can and will happen again
Who will we fight next?
Nov 20, 2021
Nov 20, 2021 at 4:02 PM UTC
where and when justice is done
all the sun has faded and grey moonscape
reflects faint shadows
is more or less
the 15th time
i have thought of you today
i welcome it
i want it
i wish it more
you are my world and i wish to keep
all the important moments
with you
i want to whisper the things i
worried about previously
they are real and you can keep them
i never bother to lock my doors anymore
you can keep anything i have of value
you've stolen me
caught me
and i am happy
happy you are with me now and later
in all the world i only fear
losing you
but this is where and when justice is done
lawyers and judges do their job well
not to say they can keep me from you
or they are an enemy
they do their job well
and there is power in ink
dark spotted conversations fire starter
lint form a dryer
all goes up so quickly and the damage is all but irreversible
in short don't burn me but keep our fire
our love won't fall into birthday candle blow out
it will be a lighthouse
keeping our warships in the harbor
sailing out together
always winding up
back in port
keep these promises and may they be wind in your sails
yours forever and always
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 6:09 PM UTC
Red Alert Red Alert Red Alert
All Hands and bodies on Deck
Our warship has been hit
The enemy’s missiles did it
The warship is going under
SOS has been signaled
One Soldier sounds a whistle
Many warships in the area
Communications retrieved
They have been transcended and received
The warship is steadily heading for the bottom
The enemy above in war planes still attacking
The Warship was able to fire our missile, and we hit one of the enemy’s war planes
Our warship no longer remains
Soldier’s loss
The enemy’s missiles were the force
Down below the warship goes
The fearless and the brave
Jul 17, 2023
Jul 17, 2023 at 2:04 PM UTC
My skin goes up in flames
Incinerating the fine fibers
That hold too much history.
Too much pain!
The water rushes down like a modest waterfall
By the rocks, cleansing the shiny soapy edges.
The rocks hold their breath
Until bubbles germinate.
Those dews of contradicting virtues
Flow off my burning skin, gently crossing each other out.
Like warships in full reign,
They torpedo ragingly, missing their marks,
Bombing themselves. The ash suffocates the sea.
The fishes gossip and their ryes burn, burn, burn.
Oh, the agony of a misfire: incineration, gossip, untimely death.
Too much pain!
Shalini Nayar
© 2002
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 9:29 AM UTC