“Abandon ship and from her flee
Better her than all be lost to sea.”
“First Mate, be rendered silent,” is the captain’s plea
“Dear crew, I beg, depart not, stay along with me.”
But Admiral calls from ships numbered three.
“Leave Elpida alone, and Captain, for drowning.”
Then company vanished, quick as a wink.
Left small, untested sailboat to sink.
Night reached down on vast ocean’s face,
And soon sea’s swells were by darkness embraced
Light blazed cross the sky, wind roared from the heat.
The blue’s anger and rage against terrified vessel did beat.
More and most fiercely Elpida battled the deep.
Up ‘til the moment Earth sunk in her teeth.
The storm screamed on, endless as the heavens are deep.
And for half a score years, the sun, from Captain's eyes, night did keep.
For two times for every five, did the captain despair
Lost upon foreign soil, abandon by fleet out there.
To stumble upon natives, fate had it be.
An amiable bunch, again the odd number three.
To restore broken vessel labored the four
Sew up the hull, repair ruptured floors.
And for time, two times, and three times more
Toiled this group ’til there was work no more.
And the sun, as, of course, it would be
Broke the horizon and bore new day on the sea.
Set the deserted again to conquer the deep.
No armada to accompany, but lone Captain, no fleet.
And now, even now, sails Elpida Berregin.
Meeting new worlds by way of the sea.
In all her travels she met again her former fleet,
But Captain did not the Admiral re-meet.
For they had become galleys of ghosts;
Galleys to whom the dead were tending.
Offering up a prayer, Captain took his leave,
And having left, returned to journeying.
“Abandon ship and from her flee.”
Perhaps they, but never me.
Elpida Berregin, mighty galleon proved by sea,
A crew member, forever yours, will I be,
And will serve your Captain most faithfully.
I played my part, in the praise of the Lord,
Standing by the choir box, on my own accord,
Deft hands created a heart, centuries old,
With gilded corners and polished wood, set my soul,
The young little fingers of a fairy, that kissed,
Struck a hammer, in my strings lips,
A mild tap of dance, on the brass right foot,
Would sustain my melody into an eternal mood,
Crafted with the ability, to sound like a lark,
Across octaves and sharps, six and half,
The bard who was deaf, could hear through my touch,
And create symphonies, for an interminable march,
When the ‘Rose of England’, reached the Lords’ Abode,
Elton’s tenor, rained heavens, on a grieving road,
With my hammers and tongs, I make the world think deep,
Or weave a sweet lullaby, that puts little hearts to sleep,
Needless to spell, I, reside in your hearts,
In exultation or sorrow, I am always your part.
Marvellous Mellow Glass of Chardonnay
What was my life before you came my way?
My parched throat and tongue, my taste buds were rife,
My heart, my mouth, with the raw taste of life!
I would sweat by my brawn, or by my brows,
Through the days and nights, for a wife and house;
But, with a Mellow Glass of Chardonnay,
My troubles and strife’s seem to wash away!
My heart, my mouth, would taste the sprite of life
If you were woman, I’d make you my wife!
*A poem written on a request from Keith Jackson AM.
There is little difference between us.
It is as if Narcissus gazed again
to catch a glimpse of us for just a moment;
ourselves as echoes
Products of a common seed, divided.
Tiny ripples reflecting back at me.
Is this the way Narcissus felt, forever
gazing in a pool?
Living portrait of whom I see as me.
A perfect duplicate in flesh and blood
Where I end you start, and seem to be
my echo and ripple.
For Skat's Ode Contest
THEY graze in beauty on the land
of grassy glades and dewy dales,
and all that's best of dark and tanned
meets in their aspect and their tails;
thus mellowed to that tender hand
which Shepherd to gentle glen compels.
One fleece the more, one hair the less,
had half repaired the shearless grace
which wreathes in every woolen tress
or darkly tightens o'er their face,
where mouths serenely sweet express
how pure, how dear their grazing-place.
And on that rump and o'er that round
so strong, so firm, yet elegant,
the baas that win, the hooves that bound,
but tell of days in meadows spent—
a flock at peace with all around,
a drove whose milk is innocent.
01/26/2014, "First Poem On Soup" Contest
Peering through plate glass at a puzzling view,
In the midst of hot coffee’s morning ritual brew.
Staring out with amazement and wonderfully struck,
By our Cherry Tree’s overnight sensation run amuck!
By nature’s own standard, cruel joke she has played,
Million blossoms wide open one February day.
This juvenile sapling knows not what it feels,
Sprouting vivid Pink colors, the show it now steals.
From those all around laying dormant in state,
Expecting nature’s cue to blossom their own petals awake.
And by then poor young cherry will have muted her splash,
Replaced by green leaves summer storms will soon thrash.
But alas all this splendor making warm visual sense,
In the short time required for fresh java to dispense.
Tomorrow I’ll once again observe through plate glass,
The wonders waiting just beyond cold winter’s Rye Grass.
Submitted to Giorgio A. V. Contest themed: Impress me with a small poem II!
1) user name: wedge
2) choice of motif: nature
smoother than most, all moving no boast, shooting a moon to toast, to our beautiful host
revolving no doors, just opportunities score marking the entrance ways pores
fracking a lack of communication crashing breaking backs and racking our foundation
till were screaming take it back
unpacked and all out, dig deep for the fall out, kettle blackened from potty mouths,
busted missing a tea spout
pour me a gallon of chandon the whole sip for your front lawn, till the bottles dry
like jokes from monty python
silly satans salivating sighing and spraying your favorite simon's saying cause piles of money and ego feed are waiting for the generating
nothing new under the sun but above clouds I found me some, cause ignant bliss still exists even if you wear a cummerbund
tell all your facts and try to catch my glazed eye, cause compromise can be the do or die, to where ever future lovers lie
this blueberry from space ferry might fit in a test tube in perspective
or we just miss the point why evolution was so selective
Loveliness that's deep and that's rare
is like a rose that blooms afresh
(like the rosebud that's new and fair);
lovely in aspect and in flesh,
it lives in sunlight without care
letting all the sky breathe and mesh.
Its loveliness is hard to find
unspoiled and as innocent;
and with its tint and with its rind
it quells my musing discontent.
As it sighs (softly and from behind),
my nose takes in its lovely scent.
Its beauty transcends its locus,
imbuing the eyes of my soul
with romantic, ideal focus
that makes the heart and the mind whole:
without it the world seems callous
and grace would not be in control.
I am the one who once traveled by flight and foot
And now I slither around on my round-body
My tongue has always been and still is split in half
In my first stage of life my speeches consisted of fire-bursts, ice-shards, smoke rings, and whirling-wild-winds
Now my speeches are speedy rollings-of-the-tongues and a-spitting venom-filled saliva
Horned was I back in the days after I had hatched out of my egg
Now my mushroom-like head consists of my eyes, my nostrils, and my ears
Once I had massive teeth to help me emasculate my food
And now I must swallow all of my food whole
Many primitive cultures have used me as a symbol for both good and evil
I symbolize the Morning Star, and have been blessed with many different names
Nevertheless, I am worshiped by many cultures of mankind as a powerful being
I am the Light-Bringer, and the Knowledge-Bringer to mankind and am similar to Prometheus
I seduced Eve to bite the apple in order that she may have knowledge and become like Yahweh
I am also Quetzalcoatl, the revered sky god of the Aztecs
Without the symbolism that mankind has placed upon me I am nothing more than a plain reptile
SHE glides with grace, like one in love
with love itself and all that’s lush;
and when the mythic sprites above
unloose her from the morning's blush,
she descends like the milk-white dove
with the notes of a singing thrush.
With golden locks, as light as air,
and liquid, limpid eyes most blue,
none is like her or can compare
to her beauty and lovely hue
which lift the humble souls that dare
come to her for her balmy dew.
As wind and air Nymph and a muse
with the nimbused crest of a saint
which no man can therefore refuse
or with mean words tarnish or taint,--
then let all Creatures freely choose
to honor her without constraint.
1.) Ngoc Nguyen; 2.) Nature motif; 3.) for "Impress me II ! ( Old/New )" Contest
Play you noted Lyricists!
Let not your lyrics be missed!
Your silence is the frequency,
Enticed by a laced melody
Condemned in a rhythmic spell
Only time will really tell
Your lyrical harmony
Etched in life's symphony
Oh Hail! Or Hale! Kings of speech!
May your words reign or rain on minds in preach
Let knowledge rule as you teach
You are to blame for the popular fiction
And the lost hip hop depiction
Your vowel movement is the mission
As they are tuning to wrong station
So arise oh sons of scribes!
Let not fame be your weakening bribes
The mystery is your story is still empty but the words to be written are plenty
I plant thy in the soil of possibility, growing history in eternity
Let the acclaimed awaiting your spark, put page to flame,
Illuminating the shame where fiction is no longer fame
Arise masters of word!
The creators of a new world.
Your potency is cryptic avalanche in dormant
To awaken minds with your content
With an earth shattering rumble you move earth with your stumble
Tripping all over your-self to cause a rampage and turn a page marked in history
That leads to the bread crumbs of destiny, displaying your self-mastery
Oh again rise blood line of prophets!
Be not sold out by profits.
Your words intertwine the future with the past
As ignorance over knowledge shall never be surpassed
So your prophecies can be for the youth’s benefits
And lost in the realm of the elder’s forfeit
While bleeding your ink work, flooding the stage
Flowing ears steadily from age to age
I say rage warrior of the Pens! This is the age of ignorance ends.
As wielders of the pen die by the pen are heard
Gutting and stabbing the paper in furry blurred
Let those pens bleed till society flood
Cleansing it with its righteous blood
To awakened other giants from their slumber
Killing silence's winter into summer
Where ignorance is not left to its own devise
Only your golden silence should be an adequate price
Ideas become reality in your belly
Raw ingredients are added for effect
Laboured limbs inject liquid food
It begins, sounds signal transformation
A cacophony of notes orchestrate
A fusion of materials cleverly made
Atoms collide as water subsides
Dry mixture almost expertly tied
Your creation up to imagination
Never the master of your own destiny
Your loins rhythmic to the fixation
Of another genius creating beautifully
A mansion, castle or glorified shed
All born from your glowing womb
Expectations destroyed and met
Artistic design from your living tomb