Best Cove Poems
Water wives live sheltered lives
Amongst the coves where pirates rove
Daily catch is makers match
Where red hot stoves hide fresh baked loaves
Water men are thick and thin
So often strove where shipmates hove
Water child is often wild
The treasure trove where pirates roved
19Mar14
Having left the company
of surprisingly easy difficulties,
I had dismayed at the fools,
eased through the shallows
and been thoughtfully left behind.
Having done with the fools
and the shallows
and the thoughtful leaving behind,
I returned to the company
of unsurprisingly difficult faces
in a place I knew to look.
I reconciled to the judges.
They would not reconcile to me.
This is the truth of kin,
I at once told myself,
but some kin are better pleased,
thank God one of them
was better pleased,
and thank God - God forgive me ! -
the last was not there at all !
I hurriedly turned to leave
(one out of three would do).
Did I return to the shallows
or vanish into the deep ?
16th August 2020
Out by the big yellow buoy
I trod water for a few minutes,
longer than I'd have liked,
alone in the company of friends
who may have been alone too.
When we returned to shore,
I returned gladly -
always so gladly, every damn time ! -
counted my limbs to be sure.
I left at least one woman there,
at least one of them left me.
We left each other there,
on the rocks, or on the catwalk,
or somewhere nice nearby.
Of one, I quickly knew
we'd have ruined each other;
I could offer no worship,
another knew in time.
Who saw what, how,
on that beautiful, dire morning
that the spry old lady was taken ?
Did the water swell beneath her
a glance before she was devoured ?
Perhaps those jaws
happened on her with less warning.
Regardless, I counted my limbs;
the spry old lady won't.
14th August 2020
Cailleach Cove
I was told, Veiled One
if I came here to die
that you would come to me
Come to me
The echo in this cave is soothing
I think I hear you
I
I have decided to die
here.
hear
At this time
I will not let my life
of freedom and choice
be ended by a disintegrating disease of
dripping into
you
My will, my mind, my body
I’m feeling tired so
I
I
will set my back against the
cool wall
call
of this cave
I see you
you
more clearly
as my breathing slows
and my eyes close
Your white gown and hair
share
shimmer, like this gritty
spill of
sand, that
my
my
fingers splay against.
Your pale hand is reaching for mine.
I am unable to lift it.
feel the spittle of spray
against my face and
hand
I feel much calmer
When the rising sun burns through the morns haze
You have to be in awe as we witness another day
To view these vista's makes you glad to be free
If you see what I see you would want to be me
It's like an artist's palette watching rainbows rising
No matter her morns it's always surprising
Blues to choose, dark royal and pale
The horizon of all three, to into you'd sail
The crashing waves like symbols and kettle drums
Go waist deep into their world and try to outrun
As I turn three sixty and marvel at nature's shapes
Especially the palm trees and their distinctive drapes
And all this I view walking across golden sands
In a land that was looked after as it was planned
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/nature-9.php
Between a sky of pale blue, streaked with white,
and a glassy sea of royal blue,
there lies a land of lavender rock,
where wind blown grasses grow in briny
patches around weather beaten houses
brushed in pastel shades of yellow, pink,
and green and blue.
A grey fishing shack stands on silts
beyond the waters edge,
deep in rippling reflections of itself
and the sky that shimmers across the inlet
to the other side, where a dory
tethered to a dock stacked high with reels
of blue and orange ropes and buoys,
rests peacefully in the noon-day sun, with me,
on these long cold winter nights.
~~~~~
I like sailing on the high seas over crystal blue waters
I like seeing the waves rising and feeling the splash
I like sights of jolly pirates swinging across the decks
I like sounds of parrots whispering beautiful words
I like scenic episodes that are challenging to the soul
I like seasonal ventures deep into the mystery of love
I like serious drama of swash buckling and bottled rum
I like shabby old treasure chests of gold and rubies
I like silence when the sea is calm and all is at rest
I like starting it again, splashing high sea adventures
I like sailing on the high seas over crystal blue waters!
Comments: Anaphora is the repetition of at the same word (or group of words)
at the beginning of successive phrases, clauses, sentences, or lines. This
anaphora poem is all about the pirates experiencing a high sea adventure.
The air was warm, the sky all grey
We laughed and joked, found lots to say.
With lightning stones held in each hand
We walked barefooted on the sand.
The rain came down, yet with a grin
We hugged and kissed, drenched to the skin.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Contest: Bite Size Poem 6
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
Placed 1st
Posted: 11th June 2021
Grey nimbus in sky
Ominous feel, rocky cove
Precipitation?
Walking shingled shore
Shiny stones, relentless sea
Horizon obscured.
Elements no friend
Merciless waves, tidal swell
Noisy Herring Gull.
Walk wet empty cove
Steep granite rock, seabirds' roost
Precious time alone.
Grass growth in the cove
where Larry's boat sat
years after Larry’s ash
whirled with rocks in space
daunts the pickerel:
silently galloping glut
challenges the channel.
Someday soon there may be
no seeing through it
to the bottom of things.
This soft encroachment,
a green disease born
of fertilized lawns
and hangers on
from other lakes brought
here by alien crafts
may arrest fluidity
with an embodiment
as solid as a moral
but as dead as Monday’s church.
Will we hear the hard lake
crack or will that be
Larry’s heart? Fossils
Gouged from cliff sides
and PA road cuts
taught the geologist
that all things will pass.
But the lover of Maine
rain-gauged statistics
to say, “Not so fast!
“Slow down! Not so fast.”
Take heart Larry, and I
will strive to join you:
your great-grandson
Parker loves the land
you left for all of us.
He is diving into things
and spying out hydrilla
with a water glass.
Corridor of light
Fiery spring called seaward
From foam to glory
Rivulet
ripples
mellifluously
surreptitiously
lilt
conflating
into
a
demure
lagoon
I want to tell you a story about old Cape Cove
where nobody at night, but the dead would go.
There stands two lovers who have searched a
lifetime or two, to find each other, a love so true.
Misty fog, the barriers it does grace, the pale white
glance of their individual face. A strange beckoning
in the night. He died for her, defending her right.
Her long gown the ground it does pace, looking for
the one kiss, that can end this life's haunting place.
Within the bewitching hour, the moon hold it's
greatest power. Threw the moon light glow they
search, along the Lighthouse tower's perch.
No one speaks a word of this tragedy they only silently
pray for it to end happily. So if ever by the water's edge in old
Cape Cove at night, don't be afraid of the lovers who for each
other search in the light of the full moon night.
“The Lighthouse lifts its massive masonry,
A pillar of fire by night, of cloud by day…
...A speechless wrath, that rises and subsides
In the white lip and tremor of the face…”
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s The Lighthouse
PEGGY’S COVE
horizon above Peggy’s Cove:
altocumulus tangerine and larimar,
depth of beauty and lemonade.
whisper of lighthouse, “come closer…”
small signage warns of romantic death.
seal not your fate —
keep your toes
aloof wet rock.
sweep of the waves
on a stormy night
the wanton call
of sirens’ sway
the boulders in a hurricane ~
a host of angels
vigilant
10/29/2020
Hidden yet rugged
At the bottom of the world
Cool water flowing
High above Hell’s barren gates
High above ringed deception