Best Embarking Poems
Here I am embarking on another decade
rearing to go and places to see with someone
like you to guide me times three…
Planning on more than one decade, to be
around to see all that I want and
all that I missed...
Want you to be my guide, throughout
the rest of my life…
Whether it be on this continent,
or one of the remaining, it really makes
no differences to me as long as you are
with me…
By Sandra L. Hoban
©2004
If you think I am embarking, I am not embarking;
I am merely pretending that I have departed.
Even the wind pulls me along, pulls me out of this tangled space through
the window of my dreaming.
The night sky burps forth glimmering stars where patches of light explode with remarkable
brilliance.
I go out when the moon is new; carry the stars on my shoulders.
When the wind is high I pursue the path of the graceful moon.
Nothing moves below the edges of the universe.
I am an embarking stranger in these new fields of golden light that flourish above my
darkness.
I am afraid to relax as I look down; I cannot conquer this fear that I have avoided for too
long.
The ground is covered in a patchwork of silent glistening surprises.
A newborn night is harmless..... And cheerful for a while,
then it begins to demand all the limits of me.
I fear my shadow will be stolen; I simply cannot give up my shadow to the turning moon.
I am a sequence of thoughts leading away from home.
I never expected to be a captive voyager pirouetting through space;
yet!
I am this silent audience excepted to applaud this procession of time.
I am here, I am breathing, and I am.
I have reached out with my imagination to dust off the stars of heaven.
If you think I am embarking... I am not embarking,
I am merely envisioning departing.
Embarking on a trip
where i'm going I do not know
Headed south bound on a train
hoping to find my self going no where
Without you there'd be a void
in my heart is where you'll be
That's the only way to learn
exactley what i'm ment to be
Consider the beginnings of a tree
this wooden bark all comes from a seed
through the years of growth to materialise
producing wood meets many a need
But not every tree reaches its goal
some are stopped, providentially split
building up by a power of forces outwith
causing its end before it has to quit
Lightning strikes from way up high
coming down with ferocious force
stripping the outer bark like a force 10
leaving it bare like it's voice gone hoarse
The flames erupt at the point of strike
burning most of the trees inner core
nothing left of its productive growth
burned alive before reading its shore
Such is this world's end in sight
the embarking of a lightning strike
for then left bare stripped by fire
rejecting the saviour, listen to the liar
(It was based on lightning strikes on woodland and its effect)
I step onto my departure from the dock
to embark on a voyage of the amygdala.
Here lies a treasure trove of motion.
The gangway moves slowly,
no suitcases or fare stubs,
only our passports—
those little books of identity
that grant us entry.
Then we all separate into the chambers
of the left and right atriums.
We check in at the front desk
like a queue of traffic.
Murmurs from fellow passengers drown out
the gratuities,
as our steward paces the hallway
with a duty-free smile.
At last, we reach the bridge,
suspended between the bow and stern.
All my ‘what ifs’ and ‘buts’
rising up and thrown overboard
like drifting flotsam.