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Kaitlin Evers Feb 2018
Alone by a wharf
Peaceful yet forlorn
Wishing I could morph
To mask how badly I'm worn
Wish I was strong
The way I used to be
But where I am, is where I belong
The pain will pass, there'll be jubilee
But first I have to crush the glass of the once before chary and elusive me
Brody Blue Aug 2017
I gazed into his eyes like beads of sweat
Blacker than the empty spacious depths
Around the little bridge-like tiny speck,
An ember on His hearth
We only think is worth
Its broken wharfs

He said to me: "Son, don't fear empty bluffs
They may be steep but they're not steep enough."
And judging by the scar beneath his cuff,
I knew he would be true
And his tale would be true too
About the wharfs

"Throughout the many vicious centuries
The motor of it always seems to freeze
Until the kindled flame does hit the breeze
And thaws its frostbit joints
And burns the hand that points
Out from the wharf."

He cleared his throat and then he said aloud:
"Is piety reaped from fertile ground?
Or by the planter's hand is it endowed?
The answer lies in strife
So mount the throne of life
Far from the wharf."
A song about an improver.
Logan Robertson Jul 2018
there's a fisherman down by the sea
sitting on the wharf
watching the sun sink into the western sky
a frown frames his house
he looks out the window
at his pole, gear
and especially that of his net
metaphors that weigh on him
uprooting his garden
a garden of no delight
one lonely row of forget me not
and regret
all wilting
his foundation
never found or realized
he pauses
runs his hand over his pole
like a belt without any notches
his grip slipping into the abyss
as the last of the orange
bleeds also
at where the sea  meets the sky
where his day slowly turns to night
somewhere out there he sees his image
in nature's mirror
at his crossroads
for deeply
and some may say shallowly
he looks onto the sea one last time
and he means what he says
and throws his fishing gear in
tears welling in his eye
as he watches his teddybear sink
lips gurgling
seemingly asking why
... why
he answers back
there were no fish or bites
in his lonely sea
or wind at his back
... there
his window opens wider
the sea not singing or dancing
he sees the ambient light
... here

Logan Robertson

If one reads between the lines the poem reads like a eulogy with a
harbinger to come.
CK Baker Jul 2017
hickory nuts
and wind trees
are keeping
at the old buckle bay
light house corners and
shaker church craft
slip anchor on the southern tip

secret legions
and phenolic board
tuck in at gout dock
bands and nations
and miracle speak
fill in the center hall

sand hooks
and water domes
cover wharf road
***** bay toppers
and seven horse chugs
scatter the swollen upper deck

packards and pushers
and rusty back rails
skirt the night
lanterns and sterns
and navy gulls
steady on task

sand cakes
and drift wood
held tight on
the mystery tour
yellow tails
and tide pools
flat line
at royal reach

and cables
find ripples way
smugglers and smitties
take cover
from a
northern gale

down on
pocket shoal
there’s a graceful hue
~ they’re serving up
belons and xan…
it's time to get in
for a fill
sunshinecoast porpoisebay sechelt
Flavia Apr 2013
With eager eyes and tempting smile, he beckoned 'cross the wharf
And I returned: a sad reply, stating he must morph
into a man -a broken man- who puts things back together
Whilst I sit here, and wait and wait, and keep on till forever.

Kingdom comes, piggies fly, time churns soft and slow
Every hour, like the other, shuffling to and fro
Mind is racing, heart is beating, must be with him soon...
He is the sun, he is the stars, he is the solstice moon.

But he is full of hatred, and angry, scary things
That I cannot behold because my covered ears will ring.
I will not hear the wretchedness that billows from his mouth
I will not see the ending of intentions headed south.

He is an angel, under God, and all the better creatures
that prize the gentlest, passionate, souls who mirror all their features.
He never asked, only assumed, that I would be alright
But Oh! the sadness over one who turned away from light.

So here I wait, on endless shores, until he comes for me
Or maybe not, really, who knows, what lies beyond the sea
The water holds the untold words of thousands who've passed on
And here I am, scribbling the script, of stories before dawn.
Off that windy bay wharf,
where old poets speak to lost walkers,
you dove into aporia

Morality the highest myth
dreaming conquered by Capital
shelter replaced by property
the immaterial, theft by sophistry

a bay carved from jade,
crescent moon.
horizon cradling distant storms

waves upon waves accelerating towards the shore.
Vicki Kralapp Oct 2018
From my earliest remembrance,
to this hour I have maintained,
I've never been contented
with a life of the mundane.

I’ve sought to spend each day in life
in search of curious things,
like art and education,
and the richness that they bring.

I hope to write more poetry
and share my verse in print,
and with my use of written word,
paint art with shades and tints.

I’ve been to many distant lands,
but yet my heart implores,
I seek out farther mysteries,
our planet has in store.

But now my body slows me down,
like most as we grow old,
and though I try, oft I fall short,
of plans I can control.

So, to keep myself companion,
while I will myself to heal,
I’ve formed all my ambitions,
which one day I plan to reach.

Since I was just a little child
I dreamt of life abroad,
in Kenya with the Maasai tribe,
I’ve always been enthralled.

I've fancied a safari,
where the famous five are found,
a land where great giraffes stand tall,
against the setting sun.

But, it is the Land Down Under,
that is first among my plans,
and one day soon I’ll see the coast,
of Sydney once again.

My friends will come to greet me,
though a lifetime I’ve been gone,
and united we’ll share memories,
for the present and beyond.

I’ll go for walks amidst the bush,
and hear the magpie’s tunes,
I’ll stroll beside the ghostly gums;
with nature grow attuned.

I’ll tour along the Southern Coast,
drive past Apostles tall,
and see the sites of Melbourne fair,
with all its cultured draw.

Then off to Kiwi’s northern isle,
with nature’s beauty rare,
fulfilling dreams so long desired,
to glimpse the Mauri’s there.

Waitomo, with its glow worm caves,
and Rotorua’s pools,
with geysers, Eco thermal parks,
and Bay of Islands too.

As I make my way back to the states,
I’ll stop along the way,
to visit Fiji’s turquoise coast,
and snorkel time away.

I’ll learn about the culture,
and partake of Fiji’s fare,
and when I go, I hope to leave,
a part of my heart there.

The coast of California,
on my list of sites to see;
from the Wharf in San Francisco,
to the vineyards by the sea.

I dream of redwoods sure and tall:
the parks and smell of pines,
and stand amid the ancient firs,
lest they pass for all of time.

I plan to visit Florence,
where master artists roamed;
the heart of Tuscan Renaissance,
where da Vinci made his home.

I hope to cruise Amalfi’s coast,
with others at the helm,
to view the brilliance of the sights,
and others in the realm.

While in the South of Italy,
I’ll cross the briny foam,
and walk the hills in Athens,
where ancient Grecians roamed.

I dream of Amazonia,
where man has not destroyed,
and natives live within the wild,
with harmony employed.

The last one on my bucket list,
is one I’d left undone,
when first I made my maiden trip,
and I was twenty-one.

I’d hoped to see the Emerald Isle,
and England’s castles old,
Duke’s palaces and British Tate,
are marvels to behold.

I’ll drive the ring of Kerry,
and the magic Isle of Skye,
to see its Fairy Pools of hues,
and Highland’s brilliance sights.

The lush green grass of Glen Coe,
the Scottish hills await,
would be a lifelong dream fulfilled
when all my trials abate.

With this, my final dream fulfilled,
I see my list complete,
full circle with this Commonwealth,
my restless feet at peace.

But ‘til that time when I am healed,
and I can travel far,
I’ll dream of lands beyond my reach,
and one day touch the stars.
All poems are copy written and soul property of Vicki Kralapp.
wordvango Jan 22
My little English unstable friend,
Wobbling out of sidewalks onto streets, that lead to nevers
Alleyways and deadends
Along the wharf the parkway bends
The sailor has been thus way forever,
But you are but a drunken carpenter,
Your legs are accustomed to roofs and hallways, the legs get all wobbly on
This stream and even some astute drunken sailors have drowned, but keep up stumble on ways into the blackness become a floating warning
Come tomorrow morn, lad.
You know.
The faults of all are envy **** and too much broth at the bar,
The bar, the bar  down on
Wharf avenue.
Julian Oct 2016
Afflatus screams in mellifluous moonlight by a placid pond
Disturbed slightly by a miracle on ice deloused at a heavy price
Pantechnicons swarm as ghosts maraud around the outskirts of the forest
Suddenly the resurrected memories of renegades become conscientious
Angels swarm with fluttered wings invisible to the albatross of opprobrium
They concert themselves with chirpy dreams, itinerant crumples of amnesia creams
Marigolds are miracles at the most opportune time to be called a hysteria
Asserting the divinity of trinkets applauded that litter history with euphoria
Flinch my core, drunk on the travesty of stodgy moralism unfurled zero kelvin cold
But Salt Lake City towers above my contemplations and UFOs make themselves known
Every city this big is well in eternity and maternity very well known
Shelter not from husbandry, for Babylon is no longer idolatry
Stemwinders and poltroons with prisons crooned
Tyrannosaurus Rex still terrorizes aliens and humans alike on a stranded dark side of the moon
Pink is the ****** of Mayweather and Mayflower, so rigid in rock-a-by-baby tunes
Now is "Never" but TV time "When The Music’s Over" is Bang Bane rather than Boom
Hostage tickets of English hecklers proclaiming my royalty serenade the forest green
I hear their laments of the rumors ballyhoo obscene
Imagine a forest bright, trepidation of unlikely marauders of Viking spite
Spates of jinx own the tanks, sharks (jaws of these aliens in time "Thriller") evanesce as fluttered cameras blink
Marigolds are really miracles as euphoria that plangent has never been so bold
It owned the night and owed nothing of fright to hear aliens chirp ******* penetrated so tight
To hear the orchestra of God’s minions applaud my albatross receding in plight
The swiftest musketeer aims his gun at an AIMed pun
The renegade blackmail is the rut of a guttural wedding of a none and a nun
How sad that she waits, as a ragamuffin of eternal wraiths
That speak to her dreams specifically as a barnacle waif
Genius eludes the moment of sinking eternity and Van Gogh alpenglow
Cracked screens reap grime and grim preachers that reap what they sow
Accentuated stature of imposture clutters legends urbane with glowing silt
Rigmarole of laughingstock circus with the strangest 25-year old days of a dead man Wilt
It was the steward of a day too strange to forget
It was the Newark of a Jersey of Gretzky #99, a hard-won bet
Histrionic of history, an underappreciated music is a well-worn divinity
The best music ever is the best music of time-traveled complicity
Sadly lost on inferior ears is the plangent flow of sonorous pantheons
Lost on an island of good taste in a world that prizes prosaic mellow eons
Rather than delicate paeans with hummingbird simplicity
I resent how rare my taste is in an olfactory of waste
How rare a smell is that yegg harder to lambaste
Don’t gibber the jibe of jive-talking stalk
The scarecrow in Back to the Future is a ******* heckler hawk
Rarefied abduction of stolen keys of NYPD sprees
To drivel the wharf of piedmont rifts in Heaven’s eternal leaves
Time to step back from the sidewinder missive
Time to ***** the gravy epistle so dismissive
Non-linear experiments in time and memory crave recognition
Finally I learn that house arrest is a Home Alone good enough for a virtual reality prison
Johnny Noiπ Sep 2018
ah, poets forever lap at the oracle
like a dog drinking from the toilet
as I drink from u, golden-brown
like beer; nutritious like a nutty
breakfast cereal I eat w/ a silver
spoon; oh, the wooden clogs on the
ceiling & the jackhammer in the
street, O the garbage truck! The poet
screaming on the corner, going from
corner to corner bickering w/ ******
Edison created light bulbs to see &
now we cannot unsee them, haggard,
***** & yellow from the wharf crawling
over the shore; Gila Monsters created
God & oh, man who created sunrise;
who awakened the sleeping giantess
who opened her snooch & released the
whole world & everything around me
Johnny Noiπ Jan 5
be put to shame the letters,
filthy you should check beats that eventually
he found was decided that the book;
in she gave birth to the letter to survive
the waves to explain, we are the Office
of the servant of the cup of the evening release
on the heads of well-known at any time
he had learned never to need to feed all things;
the love of coming unit stands coming     tuit
status i quo it u of ten,   one jot,
the sum of the cotuat Jean-cup,
therefore, ta ta ta ta ta ta ta
the magnitude of the the oldness of the glory,
they may For I will pour to be ignorant
of his toes pads and toes of putting
around of things of its release
of the sins of the world to **** the gun,
the sister of a, although the price
of the rejoicing in parks, cracks her stubborn
glee, the simple and blueness of a wound,
the abode of wisdom in the storm,
the horizon takes care of feet,
he slew that he putteth in the be tender,
to the cinema in treating you the roses,
protected, white, drawing the sign
of the 6 of the intellect; Autumn thunder,
spinal kind to form numbers                  are limited to the devil's seduction performed after the building of http sings to express their opinions;
peat died of the wound integrity
orange running animal's animal's         |
animal's animal's animal's writings on animals
in the United States, of the United States;
north protect Americans look upon
Things hungry curse t the two foremost
Thought a ADOT tuctivate that was taught tttotractutotrautotractoutotrautotract
conductor tractor travel of travel
of that love to treat to puppets on the clock;
from animals to an animal's life, sensual,
even among the beasts of the living creatures
ruin a Probature, nibh out of the book
of Ecclesiasticus, the daughter of l picked up
the apide, the salt of the infinite plane,
but they could are common to more easily be borne,
he will by endless night the fear of a soft material
Expressus the point of turning over the hand
of the handle of happy memory. but India is to ask
for to will to med a stool, tied, sorrow, to cry out,
Verres himself noticed equal to the sum of the maker
of all things which were dainty
with a holy fear the resonance
of the rocks and the moths are beasts
than did the eighty that the friendship
of the memory of their childhood,
have accused the E,   made by touching;
in short, something worth remembering,
he had none, throwing down their works,
whispering together, David understood
the rays of the twenty-platforms where a huge
reasonable price is conquered, is accustomed
to the prescription of the unjust it is strange
that the parasite is a parasite is a parasite of light
12 the tunes: for the darkness of the pest; parasitic
parasite, parasitic ădiŏs! a wicker basket to be a plague,
according to the institution of the Metallium
the tribulation of Adrián,
dies at Rome in the course of the life of animals.
Causes ****** to settle the essence of music.
"I do not have the cash income shows the
Tens-watts tanks mass of Manila, Lisbon
Orleansilli Teto died in the towers."
Anamiya 1000, "said taxi driver, a few key
Kususti Banians Euwauwu
and Almaz Euwawa's High Promotion of the present
Latin Wharf in chapter and five-star enabled
to see the display auteur's                                              **** fire water bath
Nautilus the crime, many roses blue black heads of gold,
silver your amici. From the colors black and white,
and the voice says, that it is the Catholic form
at the end of the life of the Church? In this way,
what is the same is the father. !!! In the end,
by way of the narrative as a serious drama
about Tanguy's grave. "(5, 5), most of us
Raymond Georges Yves Tanguy, known as Yves Tanguy, was a French surrealist painter. The nautilus (from the Latin form of the original Ancient Greek: ναυτίλος, 'sailor') is a pelagic marine mollusc of the cephalopod family Nautilidae, the sole extant family of the superfamily Nautilaceae and of its smaller but near equal suborder, Nautilina.
Johnny Noiπ Jan 5
Or Note. "This shows that there was a return to cash
Tens  awats tanks mass of Lisbon Orleansilli Manila
Teto died in the towers." Anamiya 1000, "said the taxi driver
about a few key Kususti Banians Euwauwu, Almaz Euwawa
and Latin High jasmine Promotion of Wharf in principle
and the five-star can see, either for public display."
   Baths, fire crews in ****, the force of the waters of the crime found blue,
         and the friends of the head of a great many roses in the black of gold
and silver.                                              A black and white
and a voice that says the Catholic Church is the end of life?
So, what is the name is the father of. !!! In the end,
                            the narrative by way of a serious drama
about Tigris' |  | baby found near the tomb.   "(5, 5),
most of us in the name of Melissa Crowder,"
Who wants to believe in God? '(Luke 5: Britain
and the great work leap Gothamoreau not out of Britain
and into the Code of the Code of Massachusetts;
Massachusetts' no "T-anne new." dead is dead: Oromilia &
Shaw dolphin seems to Taitati Khasasar.
Reiki works in Iraq on the eighth day
Jacob prepares Ali 'Vladivostata and the **** of America,
Iraqi Press Amiramim or not.                    "Massachusetts in 1 piglets, Sassi,"
income is not burdensome, "said Tanslathat,
Teslatat to death in the general manual auriliuli ridges tower.
Listened to the mental 1000 Anamiria:"
A taxi girl in the building is asked,
Kaunas Bataini Kaus is preparing the Iraqi
Yam of Rila for eight days, "said Ali Ekva Tvova,
Latinum, who created a long, gray,
angry fast tenth of the general distributor
of Iraqi music,     |            mate sales and promotions,
not to drink it in the mind's mind
or being publicly|  available outside of the bathrooms
is in the **** the creatures that come out of the fire,
and his sword is the punch of his companions
and at the expense of another not on her knees,
laughter, tears and tears, yellow pop-ups,
often in cold water, wind and pink, but seriously,
very It is not easy to get rid of it, it's your price,
your gold and your silver,          and the blue silk,
a big slaughterhouse, a black, white and black,
and the sounds start. What is the depth of 500 meters,
that is, should not be considered ****, that is,
through the harmony of things, that is, at the end and in life?
so that there is from the father, who is the girl. !!!
the end, not a trace, Buffalo Terigumi traveled
Tragumi was near the tomb of gorda. We support
"(5, 5), which most of us in the name of Melissa
Decker, who said:" Who wants to believe in God.
"(Loukas 5: Great Britain Guonon khotel                       cannot be pleased
with the great legend of Zora de Lasley of Great Britain),"
the door. "Massachusetts code in the Sassi-1 chassis,"
in exchange, it's not an assault, "said Tansladat,
Teslatat's death of General Mengele Tauer;
auriliuli's dolphin. Bataini Kausassa preparing
Iraqi Rila Yam on the eighth day," Ali said
Ekava Tvova's long gray school's Latin distributors
are Iraqi partners, Irimuzi Or Nott. "In Pigs,"
Sayisus had no income on incoming cash tanks,
"Tensawats, tetoes died on Manila's Orleansilli
towers." 1000 Anamiya      "When asked about the children
of short-lived taxi drivers, Kususti Baniani Keys Euwauwu,
Almaz Euwawa, the Latin Grand Wharf Traffic
and Promotion, was not able to see a five-star general
or public display." Fire crews from their bathrooms
are in Gehenna, the sword is the head of friends,
But the water, the wind and the roses are so serious,
not too blameless, your price, gold and silver, blue silk,
the great farmhouse, black, White and Black,
and in Voice Does the Book of Mormon mean,
in the end and in life?                  So, this is the Daughter of the Father. !!!
The end, not the path, the drama narrative
was near Tigray, near the grave of the grave. "(5, 5),
in the name most of us Melissa Crowder"
who desires to believe in God. "(Loukas 5:
Great Britain, Gothamorea can not rejoice
in the great myth of Great Britain. In Marsha's
case, the Massachusetts Code is "Not Spoken,"
Trannesaw, "The Dead Commanders, General
Than Shaw Oromilia Dolphin Is Dead".
Taitati Khasasar Iraqi Reiki works to prepare
Jacob on the eighth day, "Ali" Eva Vladivostata
High School Grammar, Latin, Distributors Iraqi
of Amiramim Either NOTE. "He sues Hits
had no income incoming cash tanks' Tensawats,
Teto died in Manila Orleansilli towers".
Anamiya 1000, "the children were asked
about a short taxi driver, Key Kususti Banians
Euwauwu, Almaz Euwawa and Latin High Traffic Promotion Wharf;
also the chapter,             and I am not able to see the five-star general
of the public for the sake of ostentation.
"the fire of the crew and their bathrooms
are in Gehenna,                                in the head by the friends of the water,
it is the roses of so many,
not the crime of the value of gold
and silver and blue, and one great
black a black-and-white,                                       ||  and the
Voice it is not in the book of the
Catholic Church at the end of life?
So, this is the same father. !!!    In the end,
the path the narrative was a serious drama
about Tanguy near the grave. "(5, 5),
most of us in the name of Melissa's Crowder,"
Who wants to believe in God. "(Luke 5:
Great Britain, Gothamorea not a leap
into the big play Great Britain. And Marsha
cause in Massachusetts, code is 'no' Tannenew,
"the dead guides above Shaw Oromilia's |
dolphin has died." Taitati Khasasar Iraqi Reiki
works on the eighth day;
prepare Jacob Ali, 'goes to Vladivostata' High School
and lives with a Latina Distributor of Iraqi Amiramem

— The End —