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By David John Mowers

Oceanus, Acheron, Styx and Gyges, Phlegethon,

Phaeacians lament, mourn the loss, Scheria, dissolved in froths.

Virgil’s tale, found correct, a land too good, a nation wrecked,

Nausikaa, burn the ships; their minds released, cool airy nips,

Below the wave, watery grave, submerged to bottom, fathoms by stave,

Fathoms some more, until the whorl, descending to, another world.

Through Omphalos, to Land of Sleep, awaits a beast, where time has ceased,

Darkness here, underworld, cold and frigid, below the whirl,

In solemn grave, souls released, judged and counted, by the beast,

Deeper than, the deep itself, past drowning fairies and dying elves,

Who did mourn them? Those golden men, magic mariners, Mino's kin?

What wrong was seen? What vice not true? What awful sin? What did they do?

One thousand years, first black age, Two thousand more, to find the stage,

Cast off Aries and cast Orion, to find beginning, of Golden Lion.

Man of Heavens, Beast agrees, Bull of Sky, Ox of seas,

Land of Punt, Land of Éire, Ogyges blue, hearts on fire,

All the seashores, all the mines, Tribe of Dan, from ancient times,

Port of Sais, Port of Thera, Port of Lagash, bygone era,

Sailor’s horse, Minotaur, a lyre is crying, strummed guitar, nation dying, abattoir.

Ochre foams to sanguine depth, there they rested, where Kronos slept,

He’ll never answer, he doesn’t care, we’ll never know, if this was fair.

Our hearts in sadness, hands on the gates! I curse you Poseidon!

. . .and your Sea of Fates!
Every historical and mythological reference to the kingdom of Atlantis which was destroyed by it's founder; Poseidon. All of the characters including the archaeological agreement on the historical basis along with Geo-location as well as an approximate age of occurrence, extent of the kingdom set to metered rhyme.
grace Sep 2018
i can hear it in the way your voice sounds.

the way you laugh,

the way i can see your smile through the speakers knowing that big heart carries worries and hardships that i will never know.

like quiet refrigerator humming, i can feel the pit of your stomach in mine.

i can see the way the ivy of the ocean spills and rushes around your neck the climbing waters rooting into you.

after the quiet days you will give me a meter and i can feel my heart start running miles, reaching for you,

trying to figure out some way to pick up all of this broken glass so you won’t get cut on the sharp edges.

i’m trying to save this sand that is spilling from my chest into my overflowing hands, so we can build a home together.

trying to bail the water out of the hull of your ship so the salt won’t touch your lips,

because

the ocean is deep and wide and so, so much blue but it isn’t enough to even try
and keep me from you.
i will swim out until im so tired im gasping,

so i can carry you out of the deep, brush the jellyfish from your hair, and whisper to the starfish that have found home in your eyes til they slide away back to their tidepools.

i will kiss the salt away and smother you in fresh water and warm hands to hold.

i know you are sailing in rough waters, the waves beat against my door and it makes me sea sick knowing you’re so far out.

i will turn on the lighthouse and stretch my arms as far as they will go, reaching to pull you back safely to the shoreline,

reaching to bring you home.

Jesse stillwater Jun 2018
a breath of fresh air
tickles still-waters
a lone swan's quill
let fall, takes flight
  carpe  diem ―
nigh weightless,
buoyantly skitters
across the water,
laissez faire;
barely dimpling
the shallow peace
on a lake in the wood

a wild feather's
mindless pirouettes
emanate from
the steeping silence
lapping  its
superficial  refection  

the true nature
of wildness,
unspoken freedom,
an untamed
wilder – ness
skims the skinny waters
seeking their own level;
leaving no trace
of  ever being  containable
 
like a breath of fresh air
reinvigorates
unconquerable souls
touching in the
conscious moment ―
a gentle passing breeze
arousing a rogue gust


Jesse Stillwater

01    June   2018
Thank you for stopping to read my soul scribbles :)
GreenTrees Dec 2013
Near the waters edge quiet souls peer into the shimmering reflections
Skipping hearts and angel feathers dance and pirouette tours chaînés déboulés
Each day passes and her words carry me thru my days like the endless score of a songbird
In her eyes I fell into forever never looking back
We fall weight less into each others arms and dandelions dream of still afternoons
riding indigo dragonflies by the waters edge
She is the lake and there I see my reflection shimmering quietly by the waters edge


COPYRIGHT 2013
Karl von Mecklenburg
SE Reimer Sep 2013
Beside His still waters,
He leads me I'm told,
From mountains of triumph,
To valleys below.

Yet each river I walk,
Cool waters so sweet,
Flows to an ocean,
Churning and deep.

It's mouth opens wide,
Like a traitorous friend,
Emotions poured out,
It feels like the end.

Fresh swallowed by salty,
As in life so endured;
Anguish consuming,
Joy flooded by tears.

Yet through my distress,
In lesson replete, for
There’s growth at the mingling,
Of bitter and sweet.

His sunshine and rain,
My weakness unseats.
His springtime and harvest,
His plan He completes.

And its here that I realize,
There’s no end to His will;
For whether ocean or river,
They are His waters, still.
~

post script.

written in a very dark period of our lives, while still reeling from the loss of a son, this simple muse was not in itself an answer, but rather a small piece of a much larger truth, one a guy named Job came to realize eons before i...   simply stated, i do not hold the keys, nor is it even mine to claim i should be able to understand the ways of my creator.
Joanna Jun 19
The colors of the rainbow that once shined bright have changed,
to a third dimension that hides at night.

The wings of an eagle, so wild and free, live deep in the heart
of me.

The waves of the ocean that have created such a storm have
been silenced, so that peace can be reborn.

Thunder and lightning have been subdued, and a beautiful butterfly has emerged, in a time of renewal.  

Reflecting on all of this has created a moment that can not be defined.  Revealing a hidden garden that grows lush in time.
To read more of my writings go to: http://reflectionsoflight7.wixsite.com/home
Poetria Feb 2018
I feel calm this time around

there are no waves left now

to accompany the melancholy

there is just a warm yellow sun

and I am a lake left in desolation

and sadness can be heard

in the silence of my being

and it is not beautiful

like the Sea
Aléa Boodoo Jan 29
I smile even when it’s the last thing on my mind.
But it’s fake.
I love even when the same energy isn’t being given.
Big mistake.
Maybe I laugh because each time I hope my happiness will stay and become real.
Maybe it’s easier to think everything is a joke than to actually feel.
Why do I write my thoughts?
Why does it fall in rhyme?
Gives me a place to breathe. Feel a sense of peace one last time.
I’m on an unexplained mission. Searching the petals and waters for a sign.
Have you seen a love that is sweet, and divine?
Why did love make it so easy to fall in it? I love because and even though.
I love everything my lover does. Any wishes they have, i’ll never say no.
Allergic to heartbreak.
Yet addicted to love.
Medicine to every headache.
Yet it’s never enough.
Sanity to my insanity.
My heart starts to wonder.
How to stand the rain. How to get over somebody.
Because all I’ve ever known was under.
This class of love is confusing. Why can’t I ever learn?
In this game, I always feel like i’m losing. And I never even got a turn.
So I’ll smile when it rains, and I won’t deny that it’s fake.
I’ll repeat the same mistake, and drive on love, although everyone is telling me to break.
Most importantly, I’ll stop loving you. For mine, and God’s sake.
6/26/2017
Jesse stillwater Apr 2018
A thrown flat stone skipped
across the snowcapped reflection
breaking the mirror glass surface;

rippling the glaring still waters
the way a trailing piano note
slowly decays to a sobering hush

A gentle puff of silence
segued into a fading
whisper's echo



Jesse
06 April 2018
Shane Leigh Aug 2017
I'm not one for graceful words
In means of poetry and seduction;
But you ...
With the quickening of your breath,
The rise and fall of your chest,  
The subtle ache on you lips,
As I pull you close to me
And kiss you again.  

You are molded by seduction,
The sweetest of poetry;
Your sandy blonde hair framing your eyes
Just so
For me to gaze into
Right before we take another breath
And plunge deeper,  
Deeper,  
Deeper still ...
More.
© Shane Leigh
The meaning in a kiss.
Chris Saitta May 13
Venezia, its musical key of brick and shade
And the canals in rejoining polyphony
Sweeten the dour Church-ear.  
From the impasto knife and loose brushwork,
A thumb-smear of waves and gently-bristled strife
Rise to assumption of the cloud-submerged bay,
Mural of cristallo, only-light without landscape,
Made too from the winds of Murano,
Its clayed blowpipe of waterways molding
The lagoon of blown glass and bouquet of colored sea-shadows.

The Tiber lies on its side, like the lion and fox,
Licking its paws at empire’s dust,
A drifting gaze of water that already foresees
The swift-run northward to Romagna,
Where the veined fur of the roe will succumb…
A ripple twitches like one dark claw of the Borgia…

The watercolors of the Arno are a fresco
On the wet plaster of the lips of Firenze, Tuscan fire-dream.
Or like the warring leg in curve of counterpoise,
Sprung foot-forward to the daring world
And arm slung down in stone-victory
From this valley, too much like Elah,
With taunting eyes turned from the Medici toward Rome.
Titian revolutionized the style of painting that contained no landscape in his "Assumption of the ******" (circa 1515)
"cristallo" is actually a term that means clear glass, or glass without impurities, and was invented around the time of the Renaissance.
"the lion and fox" was a nickname for Cesare Borgia.
"Romagna" was his intended conquest.
"Elah" was the valley where the Israelites camped when David defeated Goliath
I am not only some peaceful stream of the forest,
Twinkling beneath songbirds,
Watering romancing deer.

I am also the raging river that cuts through the mountain,
That carves the earth to better fit my ease.

The one bears dare not cross.
The cascading ire,
Raptors are unfit to tame,
With any bellow.

Men will come to know the rocky bottom,
And winding parts,
Men will come to know their helmets and life preservers,
Won't be salvation,
When I say that they shall drown.
Alyssa Underwood Jul 2016
Can it love you like God loves you, with a love that is better than life?
Can it connect you to eternal beauty? Can it save you? Can it redeem you? 
Can it lift you out of the miry pit? Can it make you clean enough to finally feel acceptable?

Can it delight your soul to the core? Can it take your breath away with its faithfulness to you? Can it paint both sunrise and sunset across the sky to beckon your attention? Can it cause the breeze to blow and gently caress your cheeks? Can it send hummingbirds and wildflowers across your path to romance your heart? Can it parade before you the starry host and call them each by name?

Can it probe you to the depths and fill you with itself?
Can it rush to your aid riding on the wings of the wind?
Can it satisfy your hunger and thirst with bountiful things?
Can it give to you feet like a deer that you might dance upon the heights?
Can it arrange every detail of your life to draw you and drive you to itself?
Can it pursue you with all the resources of the universe?
Can it know you through and through and still desire you?

Can it raise you up and seat you in the heavenly realms and bless you with every spiritual blessing? Can it supply your every need out of its glorious riches? Can its grace be sufficient for you and its mercy help you in your greatest temptation? Can it pour overflowing comfort into you through all of your troubles? Can it reach down to draw you out of deep waters? Can it set you on an unshakable foundation? Can it bound across the mountains to come to your rescue? Can it make you lie down in green pastures and lead you beside still waters?
Can it walk with you through the darkest wilderness and never leave you or forsake you? Can it carry you when you are weak or have fallen? Can it let you rest between its shoulders when you are weary or burdened?

Can it escort you to heaven’s banqueting table
and spread its banner of love over you?
Can it hide you in the shelter of its wing?
Can it be your daily portion and immerse you in the boundlessness of itself?
Can it clothe you in robes of righteousness and garments of salvation? 
Can it give to you praise in exchange for mourning?
Can it bestow on you a crown of beauty for ashes?
Can it turn your wailing into dancing?
Can it flood you with peace like a river?
Can it fill your heart with joy in the worst of afflictions?
Can it know the way to lead you home?
Can it refine you in its fire and bring you forth as gold? 
Can it capture you fully even as it sets you fully free?

Can it ever truly be your Everything?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VeKgfUGtcI0
Omi Mar 8
It starts. He stares.
A ferocious beast she sees, a human he is.
He strips her
Slowly gliding his hands from her neck to its base
Electrifying each nerve, she shivers.

In her vortex of deepest waters, he goes.
Eyes locked.
She remembers to exhale.
You make me weak, she whispers
as the tension intensified with each ******.

He maddened
Pulling her in, wrapping her legs around him.  
Lost in her moans as he reaches for her peak,
he sees her; she is his clair de lune.
The river flows in her.

And as she weakens
he holds her firmly till her waters flow.
For she is his redemption.
Alyssa Underwood Apr 2017
Might there be a fountain
where souls long dead from thirst
find spirits raised to life in floods abounding free,
so that what once walked as corpse,
night-bound and blind, may see?
Old self exchanged for Treasure,
diving in tastes such rejuvenation
as can't be weighed by mortal measure—
wine unlike our earth-grown fruit whose petals fall,
from this Vine flowers the pleasantness of Love Divine
which bathes in healing waters all
who come as humble newborn with bold **** to dine.
"Jesus answered, 'Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.'"  John 4:13-14

"Then Jesus declared, 'I am the bread of life. He who comes to Me will never go hungry, and he who believes in Me will never be thirsty.'"  John 6:35

"On the last and greatest day of the Feast, Jesus stood and said in a loud voice, 'If anyone is thirsty, let him come to Me and drink. Whoever believes in Me, as the Scripture has said, streams of living water will flow from within him.'"  John 7:37-38

"'I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in Me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from Me you can do nothing.'"  John 15:5

~~~

Structure inspired by a poem from the journal of Jim Elliot
Bryce Sep 2018
The loving puddle in the gutter off market street-- the one that fills with dirt and **** and damp newspaper, plastic soda cup, strange indecipherable Chinese pamphlets with bleeding characters. She smiles at the sun and renders its visions on her face, and with great tension attempts to demonstrate her willingness, her blushing consent to being totally subsumed by its whims. Of course she trembles at the diurnal stampede of feet, but is not afraid-- for she too speaks in eternity. She has evaporated before-- she has kissed the incessant sky over Marrakesh in the soft morning and dreams of the sparkling mountainsides in the night, when she is divided by callous rubber tires or cast below by competing distant rains. Yet she has always found her way back home; Nestled in the subtle indentation of road besides the brickway near Battery.

"Dewdrop, let me cleanse
in your brief
sweet waters . . .
These dark hands of life"

It was one of the waning days of winter, in the blurred haze of rains, when we left the coast and began our journey home. As she drove, I watched the pebbled streaks roll across the window into great vertical streams, to be cast off indistinct along the stationary road. Upon all our sides, Even the black-toothed mountain tops lost their grandiose summits into the fog. Off the road, next to the sagging remains of a gas station, a man sat beneath the naked fist of an old willow tree. He, with a teal umbrella, twirled the nylon circle so that the collecting sheen of water spun and spiraled centrifugal out into the bombarding camaraderie of fellow drops. The damp fields sat empty of life behind him, casting into evanescent black oceans of dirt. As we hurried past, I turned back-- and following him with my own watering eyes, I watched for as long as I could--until he too faded silently into the mist.
Alyssa Underwood May 2016
Might there be a fountain
where souls long dead from thirst
find spirits raised to life in floods abounding free,
so that what once walked as corpse,
night-bound and blind, may see?
Old self exchanged for Treasure,
diving in tastes such rejuvenation
as can't be weighed by mortal measure—
wine unlike our earth-grown fruit whose petals fall,
from this Vine flowers the pleasantness of Love Divine
which bathes in healing waters all
who come as humble newborn with bold **** to dine.
"Jesus answered, 'Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.'"  John 4:13-14

"Then Jesus declared, 'I am the bread of life. He who comes to Me will never go hungry, and he who believes in Me will never be thirsty.'"  John 6:35

"On the last and greatest day of the Feast, Jesus stood and said in a loud voice, 'If anyone is thirsty, let him come to Me and drink. Whoever believes in Me, as the Scripture has said, streams of living water will flow from within him.'"  John 7:37-38

"'I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in Me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from Me you can do nothing.'"  John 15:5


~~~

Structure inspired by a poem from the journal of Jim Elliot

Repost
clever Aug 2018
The blood of many, the salt stained pink
A girl sitting pretty on the brink
And, inhibitions aside, a body to sink
Alyssa Underwood Nov 2015
Might there be a fountain
where souls long dead from thirst
find spirits raised to life in floods abounding free,
so that what once walked as corpse,
night-bound and blind, may see?
Old self exchanged for Treasure,
diving in tastes such rejuvenation
as can't be weighed by mortal measure—
wine unlike our earth-grown fruit whose petals fall,
from this Vine flowers the pleasantness of Love Divine
which bathes in healing waters all
who come as humble newborn with bold **** to dine.
"Jesus answered, 'Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.'"  John 4:13-14

"Then Jesus declared, 'I am the bread of life. He who comes to Me will never go hungry, and he who believes in Me will never be thirsty.'"  John 6:35

"On the last and greatest day of the Feast, Jesus stood and said in a loud voice, 'If anyone is thirsty, let him come to Me and drink. Whoever believes in Me, as the Scripture has said, streams of living water will flow from within him.'"  John 7:37-38

"'I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in Me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from Me you can do nothing.'"  John 15:5


~~~

Structure inspired by a poem from the journal of Jim Elliot
Rowan Elizabeth Dec 2018
I poured you out into the sea of my mind
desperate for you to feel something for me

I thought if you were surrounded by me
you would feel me
in your head and in your heart
and you would love me

but you threw yourself out of the waters
more revolted than before
and left me to drown in my own mind
In Siem Reap, Cambodia, after a reflective tour
of the temples, a boat took us sailing.....to see
houses standing on stilts....i never expected to
sail on an endless lake.....the man at the helm
bended...he reached for something, and let go
of the wheel...a young boy, who seemed to be
his son.......quickly grabbed the steering wheel.
from that moment on, he took over...his hands
were small but, capable....when i thought, our
boat would hit an unseen rock or land, it didn't.
he took us to our destination and back...safely.
obviously, the boy was trained young..he knew  
every curved path of his surroundings...he was
aware.....cared about their source of livelihood,
proved a child can be relied on....they're more
reliable than adults, at times, despite their play
ful innocence....many times, i reflected on that
boat ride, that boy's unflinching face and hands
i asked myself over and over,  "could i steer my
boat the way that boy did?  am i navigating my
self rightly, even on life's odd waters?.....have i  
ever helped steer reeling boats before? brought
(them back to safer shores?.........not just mine?)
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Sally

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
    October 19, 2018
(an adult can  learn so much...from a child)
Don't want to be your anchor
Don't want to weigh you down
Want to be the wind
Against your sails
Take you far
Further than you've ever known

-JCM-
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