Anchors drawn, current pulls, wind swells the belly of
sails. Calmer seas exist where sun sets with moon lapped.
Mate seperated fleeting with Soul, impaling waves
gaining temporary freedom like splashed water.
Alone in depths with only reflection of the firmament,
clouds resemble old skies. Sun-rays withdraw kisses
from waves, birds burst through grey cotton weeping
furiously. Baritone bolts of light, cuts light-blue sky while
thunder stampede it's acreage in pugnacious fashion.
Arguing heavens awaken the slumbering sea. Smaller
waves impregnate larger ones becoming tidal. A
provocative image of nature in the nude, gyrating.
Mate, did not belong in bed with elemental erotic
foreplay. The erection of H2O capsized Peeping Tom,
who would've survived as a single vessel; Soulmate...
Just you, me and the open sea,
in a boat with a big white sail.
We’ll ride the surf and laugh with glee,
said the centipede to the snail.
We’ll point our boat towards the sun
as it sets on the edge of the land.
We’ll sing sea songs and have some fun
as we sail away from the sand.
You can search the waves for silver stars
to brighten the blackest night sky,
then catch them in your wee glass jars
before hanging them out to dry.
I myself will fish for a moon,
said the centipede with a smile.
I know I’ll net one really soon,
if not in a very short while.
We’ll light the dark with fairy lights
and just wait for a lullaby
of mermaids bringing golden kites,
then off to our dreams we will fly.
**I wrote this for my niece Ella on her third birthday
Run, run, run as fast as you can...
I'm still gonna get you, my little green man...
I grabbed on to the gold buckle on his waist...
I held him down, with no time to waste...
I tied The Leprechaun to a hollow tree,
Broke off a branch and poked him on the knees.
I kept on poking him with a stick.
I kept nagging him to reveal his magic trick.
This little shamrock kid would not break.
He kept insisting THE LEPRECHAUN legend was fake.
This little odd dwarf kept lying about his mythical pot of gold.
I kept repeating all the stories I've been told..
Nagging him and nagging him~ FOR HIS POT OF GOLD!
He lied, about the fables, telling me his gold does not exist...
The Leprechaun refused to hear the clover list...
It's been 7 days!
And, still he won't give up, what's at the end of the rainbow.
Tickling his little Eskimo toes,
Running feathers underneath his nose.
"Look you little green treasure troll, I've captured you, and demand the gold!"
"You won't get me with your tricks!"
"So don't even try to outwit me with your silly MAGIC!"
I suppose his silver-tongue, will have to do,
And the little gold buckles on his shoe.
I got tired of trying to make him see, my point of view.
I got a better deal and trade for a monkey at the zoo.
Now the lions are enjoying a Pot of Leprechaun Stew.
Nothing I did, made him unfold.
All I wanted was his pot of gold!
Foreshadowing the dusk, appeared immense,
magnanimous the skylines sent the ship,
its blackened sight embossed the thought and sense
of sailors that imagined its long trip.
The ship's black smoke ascended to the skies
from supercilious tall funnels, smog
bestowed its sacrificial offing size
to sovereign Gods that lived inside the fog.
In front of us, the ship's displacement thrilled
approaching, hence, magnificent the moors;
Her Soul, the Sea, and eulogy that killed,
relentlessly enticed, through dark allures.
The night descended when the ship's steel gaze
examined curious and measured me,
proposing wedlock and a fate of blaze,
my competence, demanding, in the sea.
Across the Straits, young Lady Sadness kissed
with ripping cold my twenty years and eyes,
resembling Her Soul, the Sea, amidst
the Northern winds that howled and life's demise.
© 10-15-2013, G. Venetopoulos, All Rights Reserved
Before the weary pilgrim, flowed a river fair and wide
The way was filled with danger, he couldn't cross the other side;
So the pilgrim sought another to be his expert guide
With a boat that could take him through the surging tide.
The sailor man was strong and he steered the boat so well
Or did the river bear the boat? It was so hard to tell;
The sailor told the pilgrim of the signs that he might seek
Of the secrets of the river and the message it would speak.
Then the pilgrim felt the peace so he listened and he heard
The murmer of the river and sighs of whispered word;
He heard the river laugh and then he heard it cry
And the pilgrim heard the message as sad tears filled his eye.
He heard the drums of war in the torrent of the rain
And the awful cries of anguish that he never could explain;
Was there a reason for the crossing, or where the river ran
Was there another reason for the journey of this man?
He heard the sounds of death, he heard the sounds of mirth
But nothing that he heard gave tribute to the earth;
The sounds were fused together till they reached a common goal
And the quiver of his heartbeat found a cadence in his soul.
The river lost its birthplace and embraced the open sea
And the pilgrim gave his thanks on reverent bended knee
He opened up his eyes as the sunrise slowly died
But the sailor man had gone and the boat rocked on the tide.
The river filled his veins till the two at last were one
While the tide rolled on forever and earth went round the sun;
The pilgrim was the river and the boat and sailor man
Were the journey of the song, the singing river sang.
This is my adaptation of "The Ferryman" by Herman Hesse
White paper boat
Her image fled among the trees
his realness to intercept,
some Christmas day! With scenes inept,
beneath dark clouds and deathward's seize.
A mercenary sergeant was
that fought in wars for many years,
ascertained charge to volunteers,
instructing e'er the warfare laws.
The coffee 'pon the mountain glen,
on twilight time of wintertime,
his Christmas warmed (recalled a chime),
the M16 A4's his friend.
A ranger, served elite brigades,
but couldn't tell how life was lost,
his apparition of a ghost,
that fled to slopes and pure cascades.
He just recalled one Winter morn,
received her mail; on streamlet's banks,
next to the seething tracks of tanks,
he read her vows, on paper worn.
He never knew to phrase response,
and also thought she wouldn't wait;
his quantum was devoid of fate,
proscribing stronghold, Christmas' sconce.
On thawed snow-stream her worn mail goes,
white paper boat, comrade and guard,
his stare kept up, he was shot hard,
upon the snow, two qubits froze.
© 11-22-2013, G. Venetopoulos, All Rights Reserved
(Epic, Iambic tetrameter)
Sponsor: Leonora Galinta
Contest Name: CHRISTMAS EPIC POEM
(for definitions, please read the "about the poem" text.)
The castle tower stands there tall and proud,
Awaiting for your safely coming home,
Just as I do, with tears that freely flow;
Salt water tears that pool are not my own,
The salty ocean droplets sting the eyes.
I am alone, in sorrows well nigh drowned,
And you alone, amongst the raging tides.
This white cloth waves to you amid the winds
That blow your ship to my own sandy shore --
My heart a wind-tossed stormy cloud no more.
Up here beside the stately castle wall,
Enfolded safely home within your arms,
The tears that from my eyes unbidden fall
Reflect your face alight with joys and charms;
There lie forgotten all my dread alarms.
I am with you, by jubilation drowned,
And you with me, the waves a distant sound.
By Kelly Deschler, September 7, 2013 Form: Iambic Pentameter
And Isaiah Zerbst, September 14, 2013 Form: Rhyme Royal
Based on the painting of the same title by William Powell Frith, 1858
I sensed the dance of clouds and windy drawl,
fast moving marionettes of moonlight,
conceived they passed the crannies of the soul,
and intersected solitude forthright.
The dusk descended when 'Archangel' crossed
the sight of island men, remote like wraith
and huge the blackened ship's displacement bossed
the nautilus stunned stares and childhood's faith.
Monotonous the bagpipes led to trance,
- autonomous the ship's insistent horn,
invited us to some unworldly dance
the ship regaled; that stung our souls like thorn.
We danced inside the rain while ghost bag pipes
were interlaced by sea's baptismal notes,
- betrothal waved the blue and white flag stripes,
- like coffins cradled round the wooden boats.
Embarked were we, according to their song,
thence sailed infinity upon the brines,
tho' Harpies from the ghostly mists, along,
the Hades' treated us, communion wines.
© 05-14-2013, G.Venetopoulos
under water guide
adventures of Jacques Cousteau
life Under the Sea
The farmer's pond was still and dark
the boat was small and light
two lovers they did disembark
their pleasure to excite,
all on a summer's night.
He rowed them out and let them float
into his arms she came,
the dense pine cloaked, kept them remote
two lover's sought their claim,
their passions so inflamed.
She felt him smile, as off he leapt
from boat to waist high lea,
he beckoned her into his keep
a groom and his beauty,
all night's passions to foresee.
On the soft sand, the fertile land
he pledged his troth to she,
as maid and man blessed the soft sand
with raucous revelry
lovers in harmony.