"waterline" poems
At the third street on the left
from Bourbon Street,
the reddish brown waterline
follows us to the hotel
The sleek white walls appear
to be from ‘after Katrina’
like many here
In the spring sun
the pale green lies deserted
in the shadow of
a long line of soot
coughing cars
Where Sachtmo's park
seems forgotten
after cleaning and renovation
is the home of this
other musician with worldly
allure, like a fresh blueberry
on a flat beaten hill
full of loose ends
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 9:21 AM UTC
Doubt hung for a fleeting moment ,
Then you dragged me under the waterline,
Never to go up for air again,
Your hand never leaving mine.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 8:02 AM UTC
Her eyes transmit, his nerve ends become receptors.
Blood pumped in to his veins demands"Bring her closer"
His nostrils flare, lips get swollen,a tingle spreads all over.
A hotblooded woman, instinctively sense such moments.
Her eyes are now lit up by desire, laced with refined lust.
And lips acquire a luscious pout,colored a shade deeper.
Her eyes wink involuntarily,can't hold it there, they droop.
In a sudden weakness of eyes,both touch the waterline,close.
He could hear his heart beat faster,mercury rise is palpable.
From his inner sanctum,the beating of the drum is now louder.
Her eyes flare in the tremors that rock her to her very roots.
Those eyes are wet,the erupting spring of lubricious intent.
It's out in the open, neither him nor her could now pretend
Furtive glances do not ignite anything other than coy smiles
Jun 22, 2017
Jun 22, 2017 at 8:36 AM UTC
Here is Cedar Draw, a stream which
spills free from the dam upstream
and then slowly licks its way westerly
among the billowing cottonwood
and volcanic boulders that still appear red-hot,
flattening out, pooling here and there
where fat trout and perch can feed
on luckless grasshoppers and mayflies
blown into the water by the wind.
Here is Cedar Draw, widening into
lush shallows with bulrush and cat-tails
clicking in the wind, showy red-winged
blackbirds clinging to stalks high above
the waterline, and where snowy egrets
ply the mossy banks for frogs. The
only sound heard is the chittering of
birds and that warm summer breeze
softly moaning and sighing for you alone.
Here is Cedar Draw, as fine a place
a poet could every hope to find to relax,
meditate, sip a little port wine, tease the
iridescent-blue damselflies that abound
here, cool one's feet at water's edge,
scribble in a notebook disjointed thoughts
that may or may not make it into a poem,
perhaps to doze a little and finally to
rouse up and thank your muse for such
a great day and such a splendid spot.
--
Sep 18, 2011
Sep 18, 2011 at 11:27 AM UTC
from the void
the mountain speaks
the beat goes on
in these desolate peaks
moss covered stacks
of sea floor and mantle
embrace and fold
in metamorphic tangle
stunted fir clings
graying roots exposed
a rocky, barren life
is all this sapling knows
snowcapped elderberry
scale the crevice
where bear and wind
make raucous passage
avalanche chutes
gracefully recline
in verdant shades
to the waterline
lie in the meadow
to calm the chatter
make still the noise
to blunt the clatter
upon the coming
of soft night
undress this silence
angel mine
*I came to a point where I needed solitude and just stop the machine of 'thinking' and 'enjoying' what they call 'living,' I just wanted to lie in the grass and look at the clouds.
-Jack Kerouac*
Jul 11, 2016
Jul 11, 2016 at 11:55 AM UTC
Three evenings ago,
I blasted my music so sharply
that my melancholy heart
began beating to the rhythm of that old song
I used to play when I was trying to forget about you.
This is the second goodbye.
The first goodbye,
there were whirlpools in my heart and
tsunamis in my eyes.
My words were barbed with unexpected truths
that grazed deeply,
don’t worry your words in response required
medical assistance after as well.
The first goodbye was displaced by a deafening silence
that forced me to write so that
I would be comforted by listening to my pen slide
along the paper or my fingertips
skate along the keyboard.
The whirlpools in my heart and
tsunamis in my eyes brought you waves
three months later
but by then I no longer desired noise to help
cover up the excruciating silence for I
was finally sleeping peacefully at night.
Three months later you acted
as if I was a lighthouse and you
were a sailor longing for the shore because
the waves you felt were too strong,
as if I could and would help guide you out of this.
You sent me messages hoping I would give
the signal to bring you back,
but let me repeat myself,
you weren’t longing for me, you were longing for the shore.
You were searching for guidance
that would then bring you to safety and then
once everything was sound and safe,
you would abandon the shore and
discover the roads that people drive on and forget their way back.
Time in one way or another had shortened the distance between us.
But now this is the second goodbye.
The sun is shining, the air is warm and flowers are blooming.
This may not be rambunctious and crushing like the previous tsunamis and whirlpools but do know,
it’s as constant as the waves crashing on to the shore,
day after day after day.
The waterline being recreated wave after wave
acting as a quiet banner that reads:
“I’ve made it this far without you and
I’ll do it again and again and again.”
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 3:00 PM UTC
Wave of Emotion©
Where doth it begin, this wave that cometh over me
That leaves me at times in great overwhelm
Unable to respond
Frozen in time and space
It seems as though one day the seas of my mind are calm
All is well at the helm of life
Clear sailing as it were
But underneath...
Like an undertow or undercurrent
Swells are forming that will one day reveal themselves
Maybe it starts like a ripple on a body of water
Building up steam
Hence I do not know that which is coming
Lurking, slowly building up
Underneath the tranquility
Waiting to erupt or burst forth
If one were able to see the tides shifting
Maybe one could get a sense of the impending storm brewing
Something like a light keeper
Warning Captains of impending ill wind
But alas it is not so
The waves come rolling in
On an unsuspecting shoreline
Crashing unto its midst
Growing stronger from some unseen source
Wreaking havoc and intensifying as it goes
The storm unleashed with great impotence
Inflicting the desired impact
The groundswell of emotion now set free
Erupts in its various forms, anger and disgust
Fear and sadness arise sometimes
Disguised as surprise and happiness
This co-mingling of human outlets
Can plunge us into the depths of despair
Into the caverns of our vessel and sink us
To depths undiscovered and fraught with danger
Yet like all hurricanes above the waterline
They too shall weaken, wear themselves out
And over time they lose power
Once again we will feel like we are in control
Calmness is the order of the day; after all
We are “emotional beings” living through a human existence.
And it is so and
So it is.
Andreas Simic©
Nov 19, 2017
Nov 19, 2017 at 9:21 AM UTC
Rushing downstream
everythinggoesbysofast
gasping above the waterline
idontrecognizeanythinganymore
grasping at rocks and branches
wherethehellaminow
heaving breaths haul me ashore
ilaygasping&vomiting;
where the hell am I?
Jan 10, 2016
Jan 10, 2016 at 11:33 AM UTC
The night so long
ships calling
*stay away
come*
blindly pierce
clouds
anchored
at the waterline
engines throb
close, yet not
though eyes strain
soft white contains
merely
opaque outlines
shrouding
shapes familiar
eagles
materialize
singing
arise, arise
dissipating
melted wisps
ascend to kiss
returning sun
will illumination come
with fading notes
of this
fog song?
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 11:05 AM UTC
It is a lonely life we chose;
a keeper and his mate.
We live on Execution rocks
saving sailors from sad fates.
The tower light protects the Sound
from Sand’s Point to ‘Rochelle.
The rocks are cruel, the lives they claim
Doubtless with Neptune dwell.
One day, exploring our domain,
I chanced upon a man.
Unusual, to say the least,
to stray so far from land.
His hair was white, his eyes steel blue,
blue as Ocean deep.
A sudden chill passed over me
Like a terror born in sleep.
He asked me if I knew this spot,
And how it got its name.
How, during the Colonial times,
Condemned men here were chained.
At low tide it was no matter
But imagine their distress
As the tide grew ever higher
until it strangled their last breath.
How horrible a fate they faced;
abandoned and alone.
Their screams were mad and guttural
as they drowned in Ocean foam.
There, down at the waterline
I saw a brace of chains.
When I turned back to look at him-
Only I remained.
It is a lonely life we chose;
a keeper and his mate.
We live on Execution rocks
saving sailors from sad fates.
I spend my off time reading
in our little house of stone.
I seldom venture to that place-
and I never go alone.
But sometimes, when the moon is full
And the tide is running high.
I imagine that I hear the screams
of a man about to die.
Published January 28, 2013
Leave a comment
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 10:53 PM UTC
When I was
seven years old
I crept down our stairs
in the dark
it was just about midnight
on Christmas Eve
and I
wanted to catch Santa Claus
as he put presents
under our tree
When I was
fifteen years old
I laid on his bed
in the dark
it was in the evening
during the summer
and I
nervously waited for him
to shove his *****
inside of me
I hid
near the fireplace
anxiously awaiting an arrival
hands clenched into tight fists
giddy with anticipation
waiting in the dark
I spread
open my legs
feeling pressured and defeated
the TV blared so that
his mom wouldn't hear
my hands clenched into tight fists
I didn't want to touch him
but I
waited in the dark
I didn't see Santa Claus
instead
it was my parents
shoveling presents under
our tree
my verbal exclamation of shock
and betrayal
led to them disciplining me
for sneaking around
in the dark
I didn't look at him
instead
my eyes wandered around
his room
gazing at the guitars and
posters and
the closet and
even the TV
he ********** and
left me there, cold
in the dark
At school,
I told all of my friends
that Santa Claus wasn't real
I wanted everyone to know
the counselor pulled me aside
and said that it wasn't fair
for me to take this
from the other kids
it wasn't right
it wasn't my place
"Let them stay innocent
a little while longer."
I didn't want anyone to know
when I lost
my virginity
tears bubbling at my waterline,
I looked at myself
in disgust
It wasn't fair.
It wasn't right.
It wasn't his place.
Except there was no counselor
for me to speak to
only the sound
of water droplets
falling
as I cried in the shower
I thought that
I lost my innocence
when I found out
that Santa Claus wasn't
real.
But
this IS real
and hurts
so
much
more.
Jul 19, 2017
Jul 19, 2017 at 3:28 PM UTC
Insidious, that sinking sense
A wound below the waterline
Concrete caged around my gut
Descent, fading fast.
That old friend lonesome,
Come to rest upon the stoop
To wait and wave through windows;
Don’t you want the company?
Oct 17, 2022
Oct 17, 2022 at 10:56 AM UTC
Nearing the shoal
in my brittle craft,
I notice a hole,
Near the waterline, aft.
I continue rowing,
as the rocks get nearer.
I feel the current flowing.
It's all becoming clearer.
Life is an ebb and flow.
Our vessel is adrift.
South winds come and go.
Our positions shift.
Apr 27, 2012
Apr 27, 2012 at 8:47 AM UTC
Skimming and scanning
the grammar of the riverbank’s
brown leaf, new shoot syntax
a bold type wren,
like the old bouncing ball of singalongs,
led my eye to read the waterline
and yet I still couldn’t discern
if smiles or tears were written
while the branch tips still scribed
Apr 11, 2021
Apr 11, 2021 at 9:21 AM UTC
*i don't mind the precision of such quests of investigation, i hardly think you constantly think to keep scientific facts afloat, for me thinking and scientific factual itemisation is like an iceberg, the former above water, the latter beneath the water... snorkelling beneath the water will not change your thinking as such, the upper part seen will still remain the same sized self that you are, readied for the new experience and the closing of all scientific books... you're hardly the ghost thought of libraries, you're the living body among cookbooks and bars; the iceberg's torso and other limbs will remain beneath water, encountered by medical students - if i were you i'd care for the titanic about to hit that head of yours bopping above the waterline, much smaller and smaller even still, while shrinking with all those theories concerning a single sound so italicised as the ego for grandeur of "theories", how about sesame street alphabetical arithmetic? if only the verse, an ***** of kindness in your head where knowledge of chemotherapy actually is in someone else - under the grand curtain of life's theatre... selfish ******** selling crap and islam; what? he came from the merchant class... what's he selling me? i didn't even buy a crucifix or an icon of a saint from the tourist shop in the ******* vatican!*
slavic eyes are reminiscent
of the mongol conquests
and reintegration via copulation
with the germans.
Mar 19, 2016
Mar 19, 2016 at 9:27 PM UTC
"Southern Cross"
by Crosby, Stills & Nash 1977
Got out of town on a boat goin' to Southern islands
Sailing a reach before a followin' sea
She was makin' for the trades on the outside
And the downhill run to Papeete
Off the wind on this heading lie the Marquesas
We got eighty feet of the waterline nicely making way
In a noisy bar in Avalon I tried to call you
But on a midnight watch I realized why twice you ran away
Think about
Think about how many times I have fallen
Spirits are using me larger voices callin'
What Heaven brought you and me cannot be forgotten
(Around the world) I have been around the world
(Lookin') Lookin' for that woman girl
(Who knows she knows) Who knows love can endure
And you know it will
When you see the Southern Cross for the first time
You understand now why you came this way
'Cause the truth you might be runnin' from is so small
But it's as big as the promise, the promise of a comin' day
So I'm sailing for tomorrow my dreams are a dyin'
And my love is an anchor tied to you tied with a silver chain
I have my ship and all her flags are a' flyin'
She is all that I have left and music is her name
Think about
Think about how many times I have fallen
Spirits are using me larger voices callin'
What Heaven brought you and me cannot be forgotten
(I've been around the world) I have been around the world
(Lookin') Lookin' for that woman girl
Who knows love can endure
And you know it will, and you know it will yes
Oooh ...
So we cheated and we lied and we tested
And we never failed to fail it was the easiest thing to do
You will survive being bested
Somebody fine will come along make me forget about loving you
At the southern cross
May 22, 2019
May 22, 2019 at 4:07 PM UTC
My friend signed on to a coastal ship
His name, John Escobar,
He said, for only a week long trip
On the Steamship Southern Star.
While I worked out of the office of
The Southern Shipping Line,
To keep in touch with our fleet of ships,
But the Southern Star was mine.
They said that ship was a special case
It was fitted out so well,
They joked of equipment so refined
It could sail clear through to hell.
I’d noticed bulges down on the hull
But under the waterline,
They told me to keep an eye on it
When they said that it was mine.
It sailed on out of Ascension Bay
When the tide was running high,
The motor gave out a whisper like
The sound of a woman’s sigh,
It wasn’t supposed to leave the coast
But it went far out to sea,
And kept in touch with the dit-dit-dit
Of John on the morse code key.
He tapped a message out every hour
And I let him know I knew,
The ship was sailing way off its course
And lost to the coastal view,
He said the Captain was acting strange
He was locked up by the wheel,
That all the maps had been rearranged
And that something wasn’t real.
At midnight there was a message came
To me in a darkened room,
It said, ‘I don’t know what’s going on
But we just sailed past the Moon.’
I sent, ‘Just lay off the Bourbon, John,
If this is John Escobar,’
And he replied that the Captain died,
‘And I don’t know where we are.’
He sent more messages on the hour
And they seemed to grow apace,
By midday out on the second day,
‘We’re somewhere in outer space.’
I didn’t know if he’d gone berserk
But we’d lost the Southern Star,
It disappeared, and the thing was weird,
When I lost John Escobar.
The messages gradually petered out
So I don’t know if he lied,
He said some things about Saturn’s rings
And then the battery died.
I lost my job at the shipping line
For they put it down to me,
They said, ‘your ship was the Southern Star,
And you’ve lost the thing at sea.’
David Lewis Paget
Jun 4, 2017
Jun 4, 2017 at 5:59 AM UTC
Rain falls in sheets for weeks,
ceiling springs a leak;
from the weeping breach
the waterline soon creeps,
stream flooding in furious
flurry of worries, deep.
Innumerable leagues beneath,
unfathomable meters and feet steep;
wrapped in the blackest and bleakest grief
wreathing my neck, I can no longer breathe.
Stifled, I can plea and scream,
but this abysmal void eats me
like a parasite, a thieving leech
suffocating, siphoning my speech,
bleeding my body weak
until all that’s left in this sea
are clothes to blow in undertow
like shredded leaves
and bones to be part of some unseen reef;
into the yawning depths of this sleep,
death swallowing every secret to keep-
I close my eyes and hold my breath for relief.
Jul 10, 2023
Jul 10, 2023 at 2:45 PM UTC
Shapes in the landscape and kisses left on window panes ,
stains on the bed sheets and all of these meet in the end.
Most of the time
I live far below the waterline where the air is strung out in bubbling lungs,occasionally climbing the rungs to the surface.
I have seen all that I need and fed lightly on greed,watched the passing of wars, saw raw hatred and love cooked in the hearts of desire.
I now have the tranquility of being deep undersea,the wall of the artery is built within me and my home.
And even deeper where the sleeping dogs lie there is a light that dances,flashing glances I see that the light also sees me which is something I strive for,something to stay alive for.
But the ocean is a turbulent place for the man with no face and the waves conspire to put out the fire that burns,each wave takes it in turns to pummel and pound the watery ground where I stand,not knowing that I am the rock that this man stands upon,we are one and the same,
I am the kiss that smudges,the stain that refuses to budge,the shape that you see,the blood that flows hotly through the heat of the artery.
I am the heart in me,I beat against time and time beats inside me,under the sea
it's all it can be
I expect no more than that.
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 8:46 PM UTC
Sunshine on the waterline always seems to ease my mind
Gentle breeze and the drifting clouds, far away from any crowds
Sunshine warm on my face, I can’t think of a better place
Rolling waves and the sunset still are the only things I feel
Sunset brings out the nighttime sky, starlight shines as time goes by
Nighttime fades to the new sunrise, silence breaks with morning birds’ cry
Sunshine on the waterline always seems to ease my mind
Let sky stay blue and my heart be true, I want to spend my time with you
I don’t need anybody except what I’ve got, I just need a little, not a lot
Just give me sunshine on the waterline, set me free to ease my mind
Jul 20, 2025
Jul 20, 2025 at 6:40 AM UTC
She's lively, and lovely and gorgeous
But she has the saddest eyes I have ever seen.
A constant dazed look of anxiety
glistening with tears
gathered at the waterline,
that's covered in a dark substance
which
she thinks will somehow transform her eyes,
so close to falling over the edge
and rolling down her cheeks,
which she thinks are too chubby,
getting diverted into the indent beneath her nose,
which she thinks is too big,
to roll over her lips,
which she thinks are too thin
and only serve to hold back
feelings,
that she thinks are too stupid to share
Apr 22, 2013
Apr 22, 2013 at 1:27 AM UTC
Over the edge beyond the waterline
Where sea and sky are wielded by colour,
Beyond our sights into the vacant brine
Hangs stars dull shined unmarked by our scholar.
Bright Sol, cast through the cold winter weather
Upon stone charts of soil come beckoning,
Around the hemisphere, boats in tether
Pierce cascading shimmering reckoning.
Guardian Helios guiding lightning
Through atmospheres familiar to our eyes,
Bring pantheons archaic, frightening
And make us venerate Gods by our lives.
Our anchors oscillate, locked by the pier,
Our minds contorted, engulfed by the fear.
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 8:15 PM UTC
Scratching at the bottom of the barrel just to find
any scraps that I can forage to maintain my peace of mind.
Eliminating anything that’s not a basic need
As my assets liquefy with such depressing speed.
Just to make it through today is all that I can ask,
but I doubt my bank account is equal to the task.
Struggling to hold the line until my ship comes in
as the waterline keeps rising and the air is getting thin.
Apr 17, 2010
Apr 17, 2010 at 8:04 AM UTC
there was a tenderness reserved for me in her. like an eager extra setting at a table, still empty, as she yearned for my presence with dinner time inching impossibly closer. it was like she was playing house and she was smushing our two dolls together. she’d smile at me to pass her the salt and add a wink, because she can. building our own little sinkhole world in the middle of her parents’ dining room. i couldn’t hear her mother ask me what i do for a living.
her family would be delightfully curious of the kind of person who could hold their precious girl’s love and attention. i’d tell them who i was in a nutshell, but she giggled at what was purposefully left unsaid.
they knew the her before me, and the her after me was beaming light to land planes. before, they said, maybe she could just power a small town. the spark in her eyes was threatening to jump the slight curb of her waterline and light everything aflame. she would laugh as we tried to put it out and she’d pull me away running like accidental arsonists.
afterwards, hand in hand, we’d sit on her back patio and laugh a belly laugh. nothing was really funny, just life was electric and it made a sound.
Mar 2, 2022
Mar 2, 2022 at 10:29 PM UTC