Best Briny Deep Poems
It's twelve days before Christmas, Love, and I am sitting here,
the hearth fire is burning bright, but on my cheek they're tears.
I hold the conch shell to my ear and call for you my dear.
Out across the briny deep a tempest cries beware.
The entry hall is full of garland, pine, spruce and mistletoe
The mirrors are all draped with ribbons, the brass all aglow
I hold the conch shell to me ear and stare out at the snow
remembering our last parting, I begged you not to go.
"Captain" said I "can you not see you take my heart from me?"
In his hand I placed a lock of hair, and a mustard seed.
He handed me a pearly conch shell from the Isle of Capri,
and bid me listen for his love song from the Southern Sea.
For twelve days, I've climbed stairs to the widows walk on high,
I clasp the token to my chest and search the sea near-by
So sad, yet sweet the mermaids sang, they of sailor's gone by.
They sang in sympathy, a song of longing with breathy sighs.
The cliff fires burn so bright now, he's coming on the tide.
The church bells are ringing now, soon they'll at anchor lie.
Had he heard me, had he called, had it been a dream I scryed?
T'was Christmas Eve and in the snow, he's landing with the tide.
When Whitman said
make your life a song,
had he spoken to old whalers?
Did they tell him of nights becalmed
on a pacific salty sea,
when no sound of lapping waves,
or rope stressed wood,
could interfere with the silence in the hold?
Did they tell of a time beyond sleep
long after the oil lamps were shut down?
When the silence of the briny deep
was broken by the eerie songs of whales,
oozing through the wooden walls.
Did they know, then, what they heard,
or did they talk in hushed tones
as ancient seamen did,
of harpies and sirens and
devils of the deep.
Did some say, "Those are our prey."
and recognize the song
and even familiar melodies and laments
from earlier seasons spent
plying these same seas.
Short songs and long songs,
and new songs built upon old songs,
pod songs and fractal songs,
and interminable songs of pain
and love songs that can be heard
by those who hear
from one edge of the basin
of the sea, under to the other edge.
Do you have a song?
Have you worked on it each season?
Is it short and repetitious
or have you worked to improve its sound
each turning of the moon?
Is it deep and subtle?
Does it provoke a laugh?
Would I recognize it far away
on a dark and briny night?
Would you mind if I wove my song
in and out of yours?
Do you have a song?
In the rocking, rolling surf I picked up a random seashell,
And just listened to the sea storms lullaby, the curling of
Spray urged a hushed soft whispering echo, what an ear
Fulfilling symphony impressed my vivid imagination of
Fertility!
Sweeping this beach combing land locked refugee, to
A distant place beneath fathoms briny deep, an aquatic
Paradise shined in brilliance before my pondering eyes,
I’m beguiled by the opulence emerging, to the life
Surging all around me, this spiritual dreamer on a
Vision quest under the big blue’s sky scape!
Just then I pause to hear all the sounds around me,
The whales trumpeting, the waves crashing against
The rugged, craggy shoreline, and the rushing undertow
Smashing on the coral reef below!
Blending in perfections melodic curve in successive
Musical notes, are the distant sounds beyond human
Comprehension of the unknown, unexplored discovery
Zone, yet what beautiful music this unwater world
Makes, for all the senses to in drink and partake!
Squalling seagulls screech above, as a swelling tornado
Cloud of silver Minnie fish form in twilights shifting
After glow of the mid-afternoons light!
Textures aquatic sound waves lull me in tune
With natures under seas ambiance, giving this
Mystical realm in exotic feeling of transitioning,
I’ve been transported beneath, and dwell as a
Part of this magical sea scape captured in it’s
Vast beauty of light and sound, lost an
Inspirations muse!
Suddenly the tones change as the storm winds
Blow in, the sea orchestra refines unto rages
Thunderous climax shattering the peaceful silence!
It is the sea storms lullaby, rocking the rolling surf,
To destructions ultimate rheum, awakening this
Day dreamer from slumbers awakening shifting
Drift!
Lord Titans waving his mystical trident, lied’s this
Classical chorus of mariner’s tragedy, set to destiny’s
Thunderous overture of aquatic rapture gone airy,
And here I’m standing alone reveling in the musical
Hail storm spell bound, in awes after effect!
Listen to the sounding sea, can’t you hear its sweet
Melody’s lost within the hushed silence of the seashells
Mystical song, in essence spray it awaits thee, come
Along mystic dreamer and know the true essence of the sea!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Turbulent moves the water mass
Thumping and roaring as it rolls,
Sheltering in her, myriad strange beings
From tiny planktons to giant killer whales
Constant remains she, yet changing ever
The puzzling paradox beyond the land
She had cradled the first mote of life
Earliest link in the incessant chain of life
Whipped by the wind, smashed by the storm
She lashes on the rock in angry venom
In tumult she pounds the strand
As though her fury is never assuaged
At times seen sedate in shades of blue
So compliant - without stir, without din
Tranquil she lies – an appeased child
With a calm unmatched in her prior demeanor
Beneath the lull and hum of waves
Brews an eternal clash that never dies
The ceaseless fracas oft swelling out
Into a bedlam of commotion, clatter and din
Curious shapes with needles, spikes and spines
Sticking out in clusters beneath the blue
The fantasy world of coral reefs
Chiseled and shaped - Nature’s unique masonry!
Marvel of marvels, this mystic mass
With tiny droplets grown into scores
Billions multiplied into trillion fold
This infinite expanse that wobbles and churns
What ingenious brain did frame
Such a wonder as this mighty ocean?
What furtive hands did hide
Such baffling mysteries in this briny deep?
______________________________
March .26.2023
~ Placed Fourth~
Brian Strand Premiere Contest
~ Placed First~
Writing Challenge ‘O’ Words Poetry Contest
Sponsor – Constance La France
Topic chosen- Ocean
Tide ebbed from the sea,
sublime poetic fervor
charge and impetus
enhanced responsiveness leads
unbounded benevolence.
Briny deep, long crested waves
forever beating the shore.
3/27/2019
Poetry Contest: CHALLENGE
Sponsored by: Martin Brown aka ManPoet
Legends speak of banshees of the blue briny deep, whom cast bewitching
Spells mesmerizing voice and song, beware youthful mariner for charms echoing
Beauty, may cause deceptions fall from grace, nay naivety’s innocence
Attracts creatures of passions folly!
In the Grecian headwaters of historical mystery, these damsels of seduction
Parlous feast on the souls of wayward men, who’s lustful desires are never
Satisfied by honest women of proper barring, or noble birth!
Blue eyed vixens with erotic convictions, are more to the liking of well
Traveled men of ill reputes fashion, yet these lashes lusts are only
After the flesh, bone and tasty marrow of the living, their bonus
Is deserts just reward, thy very soul’s possession!
Oh mother dearest, protect he the lads whom seek fortunes
Favors by sails cast unto destiny’s distant shores, for beyond
Lies the forbidden isles of temptation fiery, and none return
From the aquatic wilderness alive or whole again!
Mer-gypies nomadic beasts of reflected images of beauty,
Clinging unto the rocky craggy shores beguiling the unwary
Sailor, weaving enchantment’s enticing allure with promises
Of pleasures beyond the mortal experience!
Intensity’s emerald spheres pierce through the night, these
Seekers of vulnerability’s sinful, prayer by the light of the full
Moons illumination, that at sunsets rise no man or kindred’s
Son, has gone missing beneath twilights mystical essence,
Thus so be advised he must be lost at sea, is all that is said,
To a broken hearted mother, and a sweet darling left behind!
Cast off the docks of forget-me-knots remembrance, petals
Of sorrows tears, rose colored floating diamonds shed by
Longings embrace never to be fulfilled!
On isolation’s distant beach the jackals gather in a
Heckling breach delighting amongst the spoils of a
Crimson feast, singing the voyagers swan song,
Unto the cast a ways vanquished soul!
Legends speak of banshees of the blue briny deep, whom cast bewitching
Spells mesmerizing voice and song, beware youthful mariner for charms echoing
Beauty, may cause deceptions fall from grace, nay naivety’s innocence
Attracts creatures of passions folly!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
A Pirate Drinking Song
Yo-Ho-Ho and a bottle of rum
Pirates sing to the pipe and drum
North wind blows with a Gale's horn
Snapping the canvas with a deafening mourn
Battles are fought, plunder is sought
To ports abound, it is Rum that is bought
We ride the waves seeking adventure and plunder
It is Neptune’s wrath we curse, by thunder
The sea, she bares a woman’s desire
To set each sailors heart a fire
Battles are fought, plunder is sought
To ports abound, it is Rum that is bought
Canon and cutlass, powder and gun
We cut down are foes, one by one
To Davy Jones locker our souls will sleep
A funeral of apathy in the briny deep
Battles are fought, plunder is sought
To ports abound, it is Rum that is bought
With a hardy crew and an open sea
It’s a pirating life I want for me
Till then we will sing of the scallywag scum
Yo-Ho-Ho, Another bottle of Rum
‘Water’ seems a fitting title
of this rhyme on something vital
for the beings we take care of
and the others we’re aware of.
Life on Earth depends on water,
whether human or sea otter,
fish or fowl, whatever creatures
having some subsistence features.
Water may have been existent
in archaic ages distant
long before we tend to think—
even water that we drink.
Yet when in our galactic history
it was formed has been a mystery…
The researchers have debated
as to if it could be stated
that this liquid can be dated
back to when it’s been related
there was a disk of gas and dust
and molecules that were a must
for water that originated
when our ‘system’ was created
(namely, ‘solar’, where we’re fated)…
Or might it be more antiquated?!
Could we trace to outer space
the genesis that took place
of the water in our glass?
If indeed this came to pass,
it would open up new queries,
not to mention E.T. theories…
But that’s within the jurisdiction
of those who compose science fiction.
Many scientists have avowed
that from the Sun’s parental cloud
of interstellar dust and gas,
from which our star derived its mass,
water, well, to be precise,
water in the form of ice
was inherited there and then,
in that olden where and when…
Some astronomers theorize
that what we may not realize
is up to half the H2O
within the oceans that we know
right here on Planet Earth could be,
yes, older than the Sun we see
illuminating from on high,
in daylight’s path across the sky,
our frets and frolics down below,
where heedlessly we come and go…
Water and life go hand in hand,
from briny deep to wooded land.
In the mariner’s rhyming tale,
all the winds at sea did fail,
and the sailors lives were lost—
the idle ship was merely tossed
as if on a painted ocean,
painted ship, devoid of motion.
There was water ‘every where’,
Coleridge says, except that there
was none to quench their parching thirst;
so the voyage seemed doubly cursed.
Water is such precious stuff!
Do we value it enough?
Oh, may there never come a time
(as in that famous rhyming rime)
when as to water here on Earth—
where mortals meet their death and birth—
we too will ever need to think
that there is not a drop to drink!
~ Harley White
My life and my love are the open sea. I do not fear her and she has come to respect this old sailor man.
Alas, it may be that my life of bliss is only temporary because a magical conclave has condemned my tidal journey.
Today, you see, I crossed paths with a dark mermaid whose trickery has anchored my adventures with the briny deep.
That salty wench took the wind out of my sails, leaving me as an empty hull, a moored starfish, writhing in the summer sand.
The gypsy mermaid led me astray with her siren song of sea foam trysts and moonlit water dances.
At once my eyes took sight of her damp bosom and over the bow of my beloved vessel I jumped, nary a hesitation.
Stalwart journey lost.
I swam with all my might so that I could lay my weary head among her iridescent scales with the hope of exploring her seafaring mysteries.
In her arms I laid and to my dismay, the spectacle of a creature more hideous than any life form should spawn, violates all that I can see.
With a hiss more guttural than a sea serpent, she opened her maw.
To my eyes appeared a cavernous gap filled with remnants of my beloved ocean life.
Disgust crawled over my skin as I stepped away in horror, the stench of death permeating the air.
Falling back into the wet abyss I could hear the gypsy mermaid sing her song of death all around me.
Harder and harder I raked my bony appendages, struggling mightily to widen the wake until my despair took over.
One last breath and I let my old friend the sea, take me away.
Fluttering slowly into the liquid unknown, I closed my weary eyes and let go.
At once I sputtered to life, woken by a brackish breeze on my check, burning eyes open as my spent body writhed in the hot sand.
My thoughts are a blur, no conscious desire to wonder upon my seemingly swift arrival to the quiet shore.
I live.
While death continues to burn deep within the recesses of my throat and my heart beats, still I feel lifeless.
Death came for me in guise of that gypsy mermaid and I ran to her without pause, arms wide for embrace.
So, it seems not even the cooling swells are enough to secure me this earthly plane.
Clearly my soul longs for life in the blissful, ethereal realm.
Perhaps next time I cross paths with the gypsy mermaid I will give in to her voracious hallow.
Next time.
I am scared, and I have never been scared in my life. We lost our radio, radar, and other electronic navigation gear when we came through the Bermuda Triangle. One of the old salts aboard this rusty gray bucket of bolts they call a tramp steamer said, we must have offended King Neptune. It is a known fact that the ship cheated Davy Jones' Locker three times when it was running convoys during WWII.
Where the storm came from, no one knows! Thirty-foot waves of blue-green foamy water are breaking over the bow flooding the main deck and throwing a salty mist spray over the bridge. The off-duty watch are confined to their racks for safety while the ship bobs and rolls like a roller coaster in the trough of the waves. Many lie there and pray as they listen to the moans and groans of the ship-expansion joints as the ship twist from side to side. Some of the sounds, sound human and I'm not so sure that they're not. I felt as if someone was calling me to come and join them in the briny deep.
By: Poet Sonny Roper
lacking gallantry
heave round in Satan's abyss
death clock off duty
By Poet
8/17/2021
Deep within the forest
wind across the mountains steep
The waves that don't sleep don't rest
atop the briny deep
The shadows always calling
the wilderness that pleas
The dreams in which you wake up falling
the fear that makes you freeze
The force that crawls within your mind
ever since you were a child
The urge to fly, leave your own kind
to answer the call of the wild
The rhythm of the sea, lull up and down,
while seamen stand out on the starboard
watching the sea light up like a watercolor painting.
Movements and chatter sounds sing to one another
like a flock of birds on tree boughs.
Entourage of Dolphins
in a watery playground,
elegant and slick, gray, long body
break upon the surface
discovering the sight
in the distance
not duller, but brighter.
Flickers of light around
when uncover
a graceful performance in fluid form
as they swim in the silence,
a whimsical waltz
by brothers, mothers, and lovers
a spectacular show of natural wonder.
Dolphins,
highly intelligent mammals,
a part of the whale family,
are benignly creatures,
playful swimming alongside ships,
they live throughout the world
in a cerulean depth of briny deep-sea.
12/31/2017
'P'' Contest, New Or Old Poetry Contest 7. playful
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Anchors Aweigh...Destination Unknown
Weather beaten cap'n,
and watertight bewitched craft
time tested since maiden voyage
(circumnavigating the globe
back in the day
of my youth),
I ranked tough as a pitbull,
when severely pitted
against raw elements
of swiftly tailored,
harried stylish nature
against leathery faced
reptilian skin, hard drinking
(actually as corked
poetic convenience - vermouth
arbitrary bottle of choice
if for no other reason,
than to rhyme
with the above line),
and tobacco spitting, while
colorfully swearing as an uncouth
Furies (of Agamemnon) fighting (tooth
and nail) Pirate,
where rickets, scurvy,
and thrice unconscious,
currently ample proof
could not forsooth
bring me to
Davy Jones's locker,
cuz I never wanna
get relegated to an underwater
whale schooled booth,
this raconteur can nonchalantly,
glibly, and blithely attest,
with braggadocio, despite
no warm welcome will
ever greet mine tinnitus
pained ears, I can plainly
imagine acrimonious retort
upon me behest
his far more'n lifetime
bobbing (like a sponge)
buoyed atop crest
longing e'en for
(carping, caviling, hen pecking,
or shrewish) wife,
and loving family
forsaken, sans living
antisocial upon briny deep divest
many opportunities to
experience wedded, webbed
and whirled bliss,
and hence for everest
as bachelor, especially
at present junction
of twilight years,
my crude manners
makes foreign (for
an) ill suited guest
boot e'en if yours truly
became inured to life on land,
(as a "FAKE" father figure
feathering his nest
my coarse behavior, as basic
electric koolaid acid test
would force even
the most tolerant proprietor,
perhaps a bank
manager at Univest
would utter VAMOOSE,
e'en if eye covered up
my heavily pierced,
and tattooed breast.
My grandfather Hymie
spent his entire life at sea
his thick calloused hands
and ruddy complexion re
enforced non verbal body language
voluminous tomes as testimony
to countless years
(spilling into decades)
exposed to salty spittled
spumed raw elements que
sin art finest artisanal blended, crafted,
dredged by mother nature pre
pared within each trough and crest only
for thy fiercely weatherbeaten nee,
tough as rawhide, leathery,
chafed skin to me
not surprising, since
this mariner born, bred and near lee
schooled within
briny deep ever since knee
high (or so he claimed truth
to swirling rumor), jovialy
pleased that his purportedly
learnin' myth writ tik ne'r included
NEVER settn' foot in formal classroom,
his knowledge icy
anecdotes aced, surpassed,
and trounced that of what he
referred to as grenadier landlubbers
green behind the ears – glee
fully jabbing with his
unsheathed scabbard play flea
actually downplaying any exploits,
that didst educate him, prith ee
teaching him survival skills asper
getn' taut via eddy fied tests frequently de
siding a life or death outcome,
yet our Dickensian mutual friend
shared exploits while
he dressed not in tatters,
but self made clothes from cree
chores comfortable furs, and though
a striking appearance cut, ne'r
did this ole codger (fit as a fiddle
with tall slender build),
said middle aged man appeared quite be
coming. An aura, charisma, dogma
amazingly graced stalwart, gestalt,
deportment aie
found added an air of charming debonair,
esteeming flair, genteel heir
which tasked guessing years old,
aye presumed him to exit the uterine lair
at least a few score tours round oblate sphere
as aspect of youthfulness played across his eyes
one colored green like a spring day in the country,
the other jetblue sans burnin'
four pearl jam oyster cult year.
ah...them tha many decades past
since the merchant
from Neptune to mast
to nether world, though his parting seems
like it hapt last
year, noot nay twas scores o' full moons ago,
that grim reaper came swift and fast.
Mariners in our wanderlust,
We sail beyond the horizon’s curve.
Fearful, we dare the briny deep
Out of faith in the dreams we serve.
Rough-hewn by years of knots and coils,
Our hands hoist up the canvass sails,
In the ways that the ancients toiled,
To cross the many-fathomed deep.
The muted moaning of the masts;
The pitch and the roll and the yaw
Of wooden hulls upon the deep;
The wondrous fear of freedom’s call.
Daredevil dolphins rise and roll,
As fleets of flying fish fin by
Pursued by patrols of petrels
Winging o’er foam and stinging spray.
We plough the mirrored Milky Way,
Bright on the obsidian main,
As pale phosphorescent plankton
Stream by beneath the midnight moon.
Monsters revel in the tempests,
Risen from out the great abyss.
They lurk in misty fjords, off port,
Glowering in the wine-dark sea.
The heartbeats of our bodies blend
The ancient rhythms of our cells
With the rising, falling rhythms
With the siren rhythms of the sea.
Mariners in our wanderlust,
We behave like a swarm of bees,
Spreading the pollen of culture
To the four antipodes.