Best Docked Poems
I wished to ascend,
so I called a friend,
who knew of such things
and how to grow wings.
‘God’s abode’s within’,
he said, ‘so begin,
by simply choosing,
head and heart, fusing’.
‘Each impulse distil,
aligned with His will’.
So I set out thus,
aboard God’s love bus.
I reached heaven’s gate
and there chose to wait,
for the gate was locked,
so I stood there docked.
A voice then affirmed
that I’d have discerned,
the gate’s my ego,
which I must forgo.
Once there’s no blockage
and no desires rage,
cleansed of every sin,
I may then walk in.
I cowered in fear,
for my life was dear.
What’s left, if I die?
Is heaven, a lie?
Conscience egged me on,
ego shorn, reborn,
the false dropped away;
I saw then God’s play!
I was living light,
shining day and night.
The gate was but thought,
fears, ego begot.
The manifest world,
but intent unfurled,
to know all are one,
each being God’s son.
Life’s a lucid dream,
where thought forms do stream.
To exit this game,
simply take God’s name.
The rot’s sunk in deep.
How long will we sleep?
There’s no gate, dear friend.
Vaporise! Ascend!
23-June-2022
One In Five Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Joseph May
Syllables: HMS
Your rhyme reads like a rap they say,
a rap I say,
a rap they say,
perhaps but rap is rhyme you see,
it's rhyme really,
it's rhyme you see,
this poem is not lyrical,
no not at all,
not lyrical,
'cus songs use words repeatedly,
repeat you see,
repeatedly.
We'll use that as the chorus,
it's easy and thoughtless,
lets build a rhyme fortress
with verse summersaultus,
not a word but I don't care,
eating apples grapes and pears,
seeking angles of praise from flair,
story starts now take a chair.
Out in public with clothes removed,
I've had this dream but now it's true,
a dude that's nude and on the move,
without a pube all in plain view,
swing it like a helicopter,
round and round 'til someone stops ya,
grab some weed and party poppers,
run down streets to dart from coppers,
drinking aftershock that shocks ya,
always after the shot has docked ya,
stick your head between some knockers,
wake up thick lipped at the doctors.
(Chorus)
Write it like a conversation,
it might give it a new dimension,
in that last verse you forced the rhyme,
of course that's fine in this rap rhyme,
'cus rap is rhyme it's rhyme they rap,
that is a fact a fact is that,
by it's nature rap is rhyme,
if it reads like a rap then it reads like a rhyme,
does that mean always rhyme is rap,
of course it isn't it's less than that,
now that sounds mean,
what do you mean,
rap rhymes are rhymes and rap,
rhymes just rhyme they're not rap,
well what's this verse then is it rap?
No my friend this verse is crap,
I hope they remember this is a conversation,
they're not reading you lost their attention.
(Chorus)
A third verse now this is long winded,
it's forced and pointless poets cringing,
get back to the story,
now you were knocked out,
yes and I remember nowt,
then what the hell's this rhyme about,
it's like a selfie with lips that pout,
no one cares except the poser,
that means no one notes the nose hair,
wrap this up it's going nowhere,
rap it up like you're a rapper,
this poem keeps on getting crapper,
no one's read as far as here,
in this worse rhyme you've wrote all year,
at least it flows like hip hop songs,
it flows with flow its flow is strong,
to flow like this use words not long,
here's the chorus lets sing along.
(Chorus)
it reads like a hip hop
POTD 17/10/2018
I stood, as if buoyed up, atop a crag,
unchanged (yet somehow changed), not knowing why
my mountain-climbing friends could so much lag,
for I was where the pinnacle met sky,
but they were gone completely from my view,
and in the recess, then it dawned on me
my situation strangely was askew!
My vision was an eagle's. I could see
the roads along the shore where we had docked
before we'd started up each wrinkled slope.
Then further on, my mates, all sobbing, gawked
at someone motionless who lay with rope
in lifeless clutch. I felt no wrath, but peace
engulf me; I embraced my soul's release.
9/26/2014
An N/A poem for Screwed X Poetry Contest of Rob Carmack
When fate’s hands joined together, pounding seas
A monstrous storm placed fishing boats at risk
I called to Billy, “Captain, listen please,
Turn ‘round, the seas are high and wind too brisk”
With six aboard who prayed they’d make it back
Tyne’s ship was seven hundred miles offshore
From Gloucester, Mass, where they’d begun their track
Much farther out than they had sailed before
October 28th I’d been at sea
But safe in Nova Scotia I then docked
The fate of Billy’s boat I could foresee
And rescue efforts we tried to concoct
With life jackets, the men were found adrift
And to safe harbor we gave them a lift
* Written December 11, 2018
For the “Movie Magic” Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Gregory R. Barden
Written from the perspective of Linda Greenlaw, Captain of the fishing boat “Hannah,” to provide a new ending to the movie “The Perfect Storm.”
Can you imagine my surprise
When I woke up with thunder thighs
I looked in my mirror and
It gave me back a knowing grin
Hard and heavy the diet days
And all of my sweet tooth chocolate craves
Knowing what's in front of me
Makes this fat boy wanna scream
So I check out the internet
To find the perfect diet yet
Lets see......
Urine injections from a pregnant babe
That seems to be the latest craze
How about this bubble wrap
I just might be down with that
Who is there to really say
Which pill and how many I should take
One that sympathizes with the way I feel
While feeding me pint size starvation meals
Here's one guaranteed to clean my clock
While the next ten days I'm on the toilet docked
This is funny...try and eat more sensibly
That's like a foreign language to me
Get your daily exercise
Obviously written by some wise guy
Goes to prove just what I've heard
On the internet don't believe every word
How about the Himalayan soft cheese wrap
The secrets in the cheese to squeeze off the fat
Or I could go the Hollywood way
Have it sucked out and back to eating in one day
There are so many options here
It's hard to know which way to steer
As my options all expand
Think I'll just go buy elastic waist band pants
And learn to enjoy in my own eyes
The fact that I have thunder thighs
Oceans of loneliness forgiven
petrichor slowly dances away
a strawberry kiss commencement
in deepest recesses of my mind
just linger
with desserts of pleasure
wrapped around
the very essence of my soul
brandy hints, a take of summer
shining down upon her grace
footfalls ambulate the shoreline
docked, the harbour
is way too too full
no rush of roses blushing in the daylight
there's a new day sense of smell
fresh cut green green grasses
as she struts and shakes her ass
there is no weeping for the lonely
I'm going to take it all away
This My Heart Cries Out, Is But A Sad Song
I shall drinketh not of Life's poison draught
Nor when famished, yield to its pleading thirst
Of Hope, goodness in Life, I was this taught
What ego so swells, it will also burst;
As man walks in darkness his steps faltered
In that weaken heart, black enters and grows,
He becomes a horse so firmly haltered
It rests between death's first destroying rows.
This my heart cries out, is but a sad song-
Man is a creature doomed to his demise,
He walketh edge of abyss, helped along
By each tempting lust evil can devise.
When sorrows demand, I death must embrace
I speaketh true,- "nay, such is a disgrace"!
R. J. Lindley, 3- 22- 1979
Sonnet, ( When Wisdom Speaks Out And Prevails)
****
Sweetest Of Moans, From Her Desirous Lips
Sweetest of moans, from her desirous lips
echoes night's glory, its fruits partaken
we had collided as love seeking ships
that each, our sad pasts, we had forsaken.
With cargo born, heart's resplendent fires
our search, with its sweetest treasures thus found
gave us cause to join love's hottest desires
and with fervor beg for chains to be bound.
Now in paradise berth, we each swore all
of deep passions to entwine in love's grip
fighting this hard world, united stand tall
swearing to never let true romance slip.
Docked and riding such sweet and peaceful waves.
We gave thanks, to a Love that truly saves.
Robert J. Lindley, 4-15-2019
Sonnet, ( Sweet Blessings In Life That Have Been Given)
the sailing boats sit by the shore,
anchored there, they stay a while.
hours, days, or weeks ahead,
they'll sail soon, not fore'er idle.
the sailing boats sit for a time
until the drivers ready let them go.
they'll go and go for miles and weeks
until needed rest they show.
the sailing boats do stay at shore
but always find freedom to flee.
am i like the sailing boats,
or shall i ne'er sail off free?
shall i be docked for always
at the bay of broken dreams?
my anchor's touched the ocean floor,
i'm stuck on shore, it seems.
the freedom to flee is no freedom of mine -
of the sailing type i'm not.
i am a docked boat, ever stalled,
i don't sail with the fleeing lot.
but even the docked boats eventually sail.
my waiting time is at an end.
i want to go and go for miles and years
and, until i'm done, not dock again.
the sailing boats will stay at sea
for they've the freedom to go.
i am like the docked boats sailing,
and much sailing i've got to do.
Once a Seafarer
I was thinking of my life as a seafarer endless
voyaging like a gipsy of the seas.
It was the best of times because I was young
but was also the worst of times being without
a woman for months on end.
I was a lousy seaman really didn`t blend in
Preferred reading in my cabin and got a higher
education without trying or knowing it, yes
I`m grateful to so many writers they gave my life
a meaning on the ocean of colossal ennui.
I came alive when the ship docked, and I could go
ashore, cold lone star beer in Houston and
dance with a cowgirl or a midnight swim with
a woman in Honduras.
As I got older little could assuage my boredom
the drink became both friend and enemy, washed up
on the shore of Portugal, here I got up drank a cold
beer built my house on solid earth and dreams.
The Rivers Current
Flows in this Mind
Visions Drifting
Propelled to the Waters Edge
Pockets of Wind
Lead them to Their Port
Docked
I can only watch
Binoculars give a close view
Their Course is Set .....
Remember Once You Set Sail ......
There is No Turning Back.......
Navigating ones Head and Heart......
Seven ships sailed south to Salem
Sacks of spices sweet sacks of salt
Riding wave’s ridges roughly
Roughly riding seas to south
Blue shallows secrets silent secluded traps
With coral teeth and rocky cracks
Fountains sprout from huge fish backs
The Kraken awaits amidst ruined ships
With sharp hungry salivating mouth
Yet the captain steers clear of this fear
As ports draw close and harbours near
And as the schooners dock and anchor
As the seven ships docked safe
And sound in Salem’s port
On Salem’s ground
I was
Rocked.
Then blocked,
Docked,
Locked,
Mocked,
Socked,
Focked,
Yes, blocked.
Thank you and
Fock you too.
By: Carole O'Terry Duet
Copyright: 2018
"All Rights Reserved"
I Wait With Bated Breath...
(slack jaw froze mine countenance
when eyes blinded with figurative
daggers asper mistakes in original draft,
hence...this flood proof, fire resistant,
and fever reducing error free version.)
(yes...yes...yes, this rhyme
resembles a recent one of mine
from a previous time,
yet appropriating wands zone writing
haint no crime -
at least not yet!)
Okay bull heave me you,
at this moment
alm completely unaware
what the a muse zing
genie of poetic
inspiration will bring
possibly shelving what Calliope
holds in store for me,
meanwhile now
with impatience it ching
visa vis to discover
what this Earthling,
(albeit modest) will be amazingly
graced with pizazz, meanwhile aye fling
haphazardly, indiscriminately,
and jocosely blitz
krieg feebly attempting
to contrive ingeniousness emits
poetic prestidigitation in fits
and starts, sans "FAKE" wits
as this humble
human imperceptibly orbitz
around mister Sun,
(which about bajillion years
from now suddenly quits)
shining foisting misery,
where Nyx knocks
(paddy whack give
my dog a bone...) divinely,
knowingly and spiritedly visits
(believe me you) this trumpeting
stupid moron loser
forever doth taint
after this moment
(no need tubby saint
lee and suppress any quaint
gut wrenching chortle)
at what aint
no farce), nor literary feint
yours truly painfully,
sorrowfully, and verily avers,
he now lacks fire and fury
(as if nettled and docked by burrs)
nonetheless, which ambition
dust hanker mink thinks furs,
and foremost (Tom
morrow i.e. purrs
sues tha owl mighty,
where fame posthumously spurs
me amidst pantheon
of great writers
which dream dashed
into a million,
(no...no...no...not
bajillion this instance,
though good guess) pieces
abysmal silence replacing
(palimpsest like),
mine over active imagination whirs.
Hubby works for a Corporation called the... Well, I’m not allowed to say.
He answers telephones. Really! EVEN with his great degree, every day!
But, now, remember this is a Corporation, and they do stuff differently!
They leave the air conditioners on, when it’s still winter at, 10 BELOW!
A worker controls the temperature… from 8 states away, so has his fun!
Everyone works in parkas, gloves, and earmuffs, every, single day, bar none!
It wouldn’t continue if the Uppity Ups, didn’t work in warmer rooms above!
Darn those Corporations, they have no common sense, what-so-ever, at all!
All the chairs are broken, that’s hard, since they’re rocks from a prehistoric age!
And all have to scavenge for working earphones, around the room, every day!
The computer tools aren’t working, someone mysteriously, turned them off.
But they still want one call resolution, of all problems in ten minutes or less.
The pay is next to nothing, so the Company stock looks SO good, by gosh!
Benefits and HR are in India, where they don’t understand any English, at all!
All the pay increases were capped, oh, about eight or maybe, ten years ago!
Now they’ve quit hiring those who finished high school, and want to work.
There’s even been fights in what has now, been designated, as Hoodlum Row.
They’re here, for the long run, and don’t even bother, to answer their phones!
The entire town was shut down due to snow, and if you didn’t come in that day…
Well, you know the story, someone in another state, simply, docked your pay!
They had asked to use vacation time, but that took 2 months to fix, by the way!
Quitting time is obvious, as all the bosses mysteriously, suddenly, drift away.
The penguins came with Hubby one day, and have come back, every day since.
Their snowball fights, in the aisles, are legendary each and every day! Amen!
They don’t complain, love the cold, answer the phones, and people quickly hang up!
Since the customers can’t understand what they say… they’re handle time, rocks!
Hubby snuck a plastic spoon from the lunchroom, which he guards with his very life.
It helps him tremendously, as he digs out thru the ice, when it comes to quitting time.
Collaboration Carol and (Hubby)
A Welsh New Year
The night's dark shadow
creeps softly over the sky.
Dark, soft fingers pull slowly at the light,
fully engulfing it into it's dark mass.
The wind whips off the sea.
Snatching and releasing,
pushing and pulling.
Rough and unforgiving.
Wild as our hearts,
beating quickly in the night.
The wooden walls groan in around us.
A ship,
forever docked,
deeply into the cliff.
A yearning spirit hides in anticipation
behind each eye,
quivering in excitement and childish glee.
When finally,
one scuttling figure jumps from the couch
and out the door.
We chase him,
fleeting feet and unruly rain jackets,
across the courtyard and towards the wild sea.
The wind's intensity grows with the seconds.
We stop,
finally,
when we reach the light.
It flashes,
giant and glowing.
The sea roars far below us
and the wind thrashes and screams in our ears.
I feel as if it could lift me off my feet
and carry it as far as it pleased.
Clinging tightly to whoever is closest,
we stand in silent awe.
But it only last one flickering moment,
before we're dashing back
to the warm safety of the indoors.
But when the morning comes,
and all putter around the kitchen,
little fragments of the night still remain.
A crumpled flag of the living room floor.
Muddy shoes scattered
on the cold entranceway.
The quick sprawled footprints in the sand.
And a lone wine-glass of water,
on a disheveled bedside table.
Gentle smiles pass through the house,
and the steady sea beats rhythmically on.
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