Best Atlantic Poems
Atlantic
Standing at the oceans edge
I'm braced against the tide.
Letting loose of memories
once held so deep inside.
I hear the echo calling me
just like a long lost friend.
From times of joy and sadness
that's carried in the wind.
Like thunder is the mighty sound
of waves against the beach.
Finding dreams I've yet to dream
washed up within my reach.
No shadows here can find me
the sun is shining bright.
Peace comes to remind me
who it is I am tonight.
With troubles oh so far away
it's just me and the sea.
I'm setting sail I will not fail
it's just the sea and me.
Tomorrow I'll be back again
feet firmly on the shore.
But what Atlantic washed away
won't find me anymore.
Edwin C Hofert
This poem from beginning to end was written while standing in the Atlantic ocean. Aug 10th My birthday.
"Morning arrives when the brilliant sun first kisses the Atlantic Ocean." By Poet
Once again the brilliant sun arose with a smile,
peeking over pretty water of blue.
For now the waves remain so calm,
a very quite and peaceful beach.
Walking in sand leaving footprints,
as the cool water licks my feet.
Overnight the Atlantic Ocean brings a gift,
scatters the sand with pretty shells.
Colors like a rainbow yet from the sea,
so many sizes to choose from.
As I walk picking up pretty shells,
people are starting to arrive.
Peaceful day is now filling up,
filling up with laughs~crying kids
Summer months where you can get burned,
being filled with very hot days.
I love the many winter months,
with the perfect daily weather.
Cool nights with warm days to enjoy,
the perfect Atlantic Ocean and perfect beach
"Though her visuals, depths and span have been prominent in my life's story, I am sure the Atlantic sea has never thought of me." ... CayCay Godwin
I was in the oven when I first crossed
over that vast ocean sky high above
her on a plane to Germany where I was born.
At age three a ship upon the Atlantic sea
sailed me to America, my home country which
was foreign land to me. At age
thirteen I was lent a dream, a sponsor
paid my way on a tour for chaperoned teens of
four European countries. Flying at that age,
I finally, truly saw the sea's awe.
In Amsterdam mist I was first kissed, a feel so
robust a romance mostly by
mail prevailed for a decade plus.
After high school, I pooled goodbye tears when,
again, my dad was sent to Germany
and with my sis and mom went overseas.
I flew across the Atlantic and back three times
for Christmas love, hugs and kisses.
From Cape Cod to the Keys, I have played in her waves.
My life told includes the Atlantic's role.
Cruise ships appear over the horizon
As white
As the crest of tidal waves
Surging to harbor
No I said
To hell with cruise ships
To ride inside a machine
My wife and I
Prefer
To sit beside
The purr of ocean with opened books
Sun on our shoulders all day
A mom in a string bikini
Wrestling her morning pre-teen by his neck
With applied sunscreen
At low tide
I walk half a mile out to sea
On my knees
My wife watches me
A Royal Tern with a black tuft atop his head
Pesters a female until she is exhausted
Or that annoyed
She looks him in the eye
Then lifts her legs
And flies
As fast as her wings will carry her
Straight out to sea
And as far as I can see
She never turns around or looks back
But he pursues
Blind to her wake
He will follow
Over metal ships and the flesh of the horizon
Over the humpbacks of the spouting waves
He will follow her to where the sun and moon
Are born each day
He will follow
To that round shore of the tired spent and nests
Until she rests
And turns to him
Come my love come with me
Let us be one with the sea.
Exracted from Gerald Nforche's Epic, The Slave's Tale
-Across the Atlantic, 1793-
We cry out cursing to our very gods
Whilst mokala and plotters lead us in lots.
And slaves we have become, slaves we are groomed
And setting in the milken sky, is the moon.
This is the hell that befalls one’s prism
If he doesn’t open himself to pragmatism.
The ways of mokala are not our ways
And their days are never like our days.
Hope you fall in line with my tune’s knell
As it would guide souls to wisely dwell:
Now permit me continue with my sad tale
Before we are rapidly placed on sale.
For here I stand under an alien sun
Faraway from my own sweet land’s rung
Battered, chained to the queue’s label
As humans are placed on the auction table.
Here I proceed with my tale feeding you
With my pain, pains of brothers on cue
As they are sold off like fresh tobacco
Whips meeting flesh if anyone plays the hero.
***
Rocks! ebesse rocking, shaking like old
The chains cutting into arms, legs to mold
Croaks and groans climaxing to a sadistic rhythm
Beating us to yield forth into realism.
Light strained in through rat nibbled openings
Else we would have left the hold like blind goblins
Vicious to the point of abandonment
Scuffling for blood, mokala’s disbursement.
Aided by the scurrying light, my head worked
East, west, south and north, on shoulders, rocked-
Acquainting itself with the crampy hold
Taking in every detail for any bolt.
In long prodigious rows we humans lay
Meditating, some wide-eyed not to say
Tear tracks dry on their black paling cheeks.
They now submissive despite the reeks.
A cough here, a huff there. A groan here
A croak there. A curse far afield, a stifle near.
A prayer whimpered here, a shiver rippling
There. A horrid sight it was, a grappling.
That pungent stench, from decaying beings:
Men awake whilst parts decayed in rings.
I was nauseated, my eyes reeling, pained
My stomach flaring to throw up content.
And there they ran, hiking on heaving bodies
Playing hide-and seek- on chained enemies.
Tossing about, screeching on their suppers-
Causing a kick here, shrieks there, left-overs.
And my groans joined the choir, a dirge
Loud to fissure walls, and seditious to merge
Vocal forces to kill, kill! Kill! No shy-
And we’d die sober, die! Die! Die!
Nomadic circus
Atlantic acrobatics
porpoise performance
Between Philly and New York on the sea
is a town on the coast of New Jersey.
This place is known as Atlantic City.
This is a nice source for some summer fun.
There are cool and crisp ocean waves and sun.
Here is a boardwalk and a sandy beach.
To some big cities, it’s all within reach.
It’s been said, the best things in life are free.
These are the things most visitors don’t see.
They would rather be in a casino.
Playing silly games, they see their cash go.
Gamblers find slot machines, cards, wheels, and dice.
At first, it all looks like fun and quite nice.
However, their luck becomes cold as ice.
When they are flat broke, they are out the door.
In short time, they will all be back for more.
The churning waters
Just off of Halifax coast
Choppy defiance
Sand Bar
"Your focus determines your reality." —Qui-Gon Jinn
Witnessing an
amazing low-tide
phenomenon,
as if a walkway to
a parallel world
has suddenly appeared,
extending one-half mile
from East Beach
out to sea
People are slowly
gathering, walking, stopping,
stooping, staring in silence,
speaking softly—
I'm as eager
as Simon Peter
to join them, yet
somewhat afraid of
walking where
there has been
only seawater
minutes before—
Chattering dolphins
beckoning in the distance
instill confidence
So I join them,
stepping from the
beach onto the
other-worldly terrain,
first 42 steps confirming
we are not alone!
Surrounded by
a menagerie of
sand crabs, clams,
beach flea amphipods,
sea roach isopods,
ghost, hermit, and
fiddler crabs, even
cannonball jellyfish—
shades of the
Mos Eisley Cantina
on Tatooine
in miniature
But beware of
semidiurnal
tidal cycles!
Twice a day
at high tide
the sea, like an
unstable vortex
of a Chappa'ai,
consumes the
phenomenon,
even the beach itself,
to the edge of
the dune
"The mystery of life isn't a problem to solve, but a reality to experience." —Frank Herbert
"So long and thanks for all the fish!" —Exiting dolphins' farewell message, translated by Douglas Adams
Just the simplest things
Are what express me the most.
Like the long wide Atlantic Ocean
That stretches across my earth
Leaving not a room for a wing
In this small home
Where freedom isn’t heard of or known.
MEGAPLIER: NO
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Planning a group trip?
Convenient shuttle service
at Atlantic City
to casinos and resorts
Connecting service to
Center City Philadelphia,
Philadelphia International Airport,
and Trenton via SEPTA.
Atlantic Ocean
Pretty blue
Swallows the children down
Consumes them whole with sharks testing fate
Swells apologizing for wasting ships in storms
Crashing bold waves of liquid before tides give birth
Babies rocking gently on your foam
Cradle the vast warm Sea
Atlantic
6/12/14 Choose Your Favorite Body contest
Trois-par-Huit
FEBRUARY FIGHT IN THE NORTH ATLANTIC
Turning home with her hold half full,
Wind picks up - raging, all the more
Fierce in its intent to smash her hull
And plunge her deep to the seafloor.
Murderous mountains of watery salt
Filled with cold hatred inside
In their drenching ice-bound assault
Make kamikaze charges along our side.
Snapping rime-heavy shrouds
Tumbling the boat in the chill peril;
Overflowing scuppers foaming in anger loud,
As, engine screaming, she regains her keel.
There were two
Acting role written as ‘cool’
One from the first state
Other an empire whose façade outside looks great
Table chances inside the beachside resorts
A drive through free federal highway really short
Rest in peace trip place where it ended
Airline industry needed young American Donald as a defendant
Amusement Pier now a gambling game
Bridge span has Delaware’s Memorial name
A simple river is the gap
Historical fiction worthy for an enemy to be trapped
Sports book came to Joe
Why go to Trump Taj ? “I don’t know!”
Beauty pageant on the seashore NBC Peacock streaming reel
Financial whiz kid authors “Art of the Deal”
Atlantic City Polo League benefit little chukkers
Casino charities benefit from twenty four hour suckers
Joe married University professor
Second Lady Title was how the people address her
Eight years Joe neighbored the White House
Back up commander using the rhetoric computer mouse
Reporting to General Public
Who basically replied, ‘good luck with it’
Today our leaders inform ‘wear a mask’
If going out to do our daily tasks
An invisible bug
Graves could be dug
While POTUS in a war of tug
Wrestling issues
From citizens needing tissues
Trying to survive 2020 summer
Socially honestly is a bummer
We listen to them
Reflecting on freedom invented by Franklin Ben
Hopefully it won’t be as cold
As the winter Valley Forge turnpike toll
Sit back let the revolution scene play out
Then in four years everyone will be able to shout
“GET OUT”
For this pair works for us
And we drive The American Independent Rock Star Bus
Wild Atlantic Way
The sea, slowly surging, crashing, claiming;
Waves endlessly corroding, consuming;
Rocks deeply wrinkling and age defacing;
Seaweed lashing as in a gale swirling.
The sky steaming, magically misting;
Demons forming, twisting, disappearing.
The wind wailing, dementing, high pitching.
Gritty greys powdering, sunlight blotting.
The land shouldering, cringing, succumbing;
The shore crumbling, earth shuddering;
Green browning, fertility unearthing;
Sweet Flowers depetalling, uprooting.
All Mankind hiding, sheltering, fearing;
In homes, tortoising under heavy slate,
Praying for nature’s fury to abate,
Begging the Wild Atlantic way to ease.