Best Marina Poems
in the name of living art
pushing the limits risking it all
i put myself out teetering on every ledge
i stand where everyone can see
my nakedness flaunted as body art
i dare to expose my vulnerability
my passion lusts boldly for innovation
an unbridled vision steers my powerhouse
flashing artistic flair of feral imagination
hardcore inspiration with no map or guide
driven by the spontaneity of it all
never sure what outcome to expect
living on the edge of nonconformity
concepts blasting boredom out of existence
an animal survival instinct is what drives me
my art is a living organism
i’m radical no matter what the cost
i don’t care for labels but
at my core i have the heart
of a bona fide performance artist
AP: 2nd place 2020
marina beach---
waves go back
without touching your name
© kash poet
=====================
Placement:3rd;(April 2012)
Contest:Any theme,any form (maxm. 12 lines)
Sponsor:Brian Strand
By:kash poet
I like that you are ill, but not by me,
I like that I'm not drowned within your fever,
that heavy sphere of earth will never be
ran out under the feet of us like river.
I like, I can be funny, yes, i do,
to be so carefree playing not with phrases,
and do not blush with wave of shyness anew
in time of touch of our sleeves as blazes.
I like, my presence doesn't make you stop
to hold somebody else in your embraces,
you don't predict me burn without some hope
in hell, because I kiss the other faces.
That you're my tender do not call my name
so tender in daylight and in night hours,
that in the silent church the candle flame
won't sing us hallelujah with the flowers.
I thank you with my heart and with my hand,
that you don't know me, but you love me tender
for my serenity of night in lonesome bed,
for our rare meetings and their splendor.
That we don't walk in night under the moon,
There's no the sun above our heads, it's *****,
that you are ill, alas, not with my tune,
that I'm not ill, alas, by you, my dear.
P.S. Translation of poem of Marina Tsvetaeva
Had I another life, I'd own a boat,
And in a Blue Marina I'd reside.
People on the dock, they'd call me "Cap'n"
Life's up and down would simply be the tide.
Navigation would be done by Sextant.
I'd try to learn the port from starboard side.
I'd know a reef, a shoal, and a fathom,
and every knot a sailor's ever tied.
A deck of teak and brightwork shiny brass,
a boat to make a sailor swell with pride.
When I left the dock to do my sailin'
the mermaids all would ask me for a ride.
Had I another life, I'd own a boat,
and in a Blue Marina I'd reside.
People on the dock, they'd call me "Cap,n"
Life's up and down would would simply be the tide.
My dream of yesterday I'm calling
under caress of a plush plaid,
What was that? And who won? Who's falling?
Who was defeated? What is bad?
I think again, I change my thinking,
Anew I feel the sweetest pain,
Say, was it love of just a winking,
I have no word for it again.
Who was the prey? Who was the hunter?
All is contrary, it is mad,
Siberian cat has got it under
that caress plaid.
Who, whose hand was the ball in
in our duel of self-win?
Oh, say, your heart or mine was rolling
and bouncing real.
So, do I want it, do I need it?
What did it show?
Say, did I win? Was I defeated?
I do not know.
23.10.1914
P.S. This is my translation of poem by Marina Tsvetaeva
This poem is from a book I'm working on of poems based on great poems I love. I have taken their format and the basic style and tried to craft my own poem like it. Just for fun. Not to compete. This poem is based on T.S. Eliot's Marina.
Patra
( “Marina”)
Where ships where shells where swords where bursts
upon the brain
and the flames climbing the masthead
the shadows growing long
and sharp in the evening
the gulls crying through the mists
and the steel falling like knives
what memories stain
O my little one
Those who lie and cheat and steal, meaning
war
those who devour the lost and unclaimed pieces, meaning
war
those who take and never give back, meaning
war
those who live in dark places with rot clotting their tongues, meaning
war
are judged without quarter
will shrink before the masters
while the holy wind tears through
and sweeps the hate and rape away
where the streets strip away the clinging sand
where strangers watch those coming back
from the battles with eyes of bitterness
where the women cringe in the corners
and weep
it’s a world gone astray
a world without guidance
a world without rules or anything
worth grasping
how fight how live how save how give
how hold with the wind shaking your legs
and the waves on your face
as you lie in the surf
face down with nothing
left to give
and the sparrows staring through the mists
empty and weary
what memories remain
my little one
Marina, Motherina, Baba, Mum!
Reflect upon what your life has become:
Born in Harbin to refugee Russians,
Tossed out by Mao, with mild repercussions.
Aussie girl, country girl, raised by grandmas,
And grandpa and parents (both pains in her ****).
Small school, to high school with penguin-ed nuns,
Bespeckled and bikeless - childhood is done!
Went off to college at Melbourne Uni,
Made friends, stole a goat and earned a degree.
Entered the workforce for airliner doomed,
Later a teaching position assumed.
Married a beardy fresh in from Hungry
(also a Russian circuitously)...
Moved to the suburbs - East of the border,
Had a few children (not in that order).
Two in-laws out back, who helped with offspring,
Replaced by her mum, who started writing.
Son and two daughters, she raised to adult,
Some better than others - not all her fault.
Each offspring took flight, with their other half.
All but the youngest, who forged her own path.
Some grandkids were born, they grew up a bit,
Throw in some church stuff and that's about it.
{For Mareena}
On the bank of precipice, i stand
Appealing to impotent gale;
Not to nudge the dosing hurricane awake,
Let the aborting breaking wave lull and dandle it
To another rich world;
To wreck, to claim and to occupy.
The resting nocturnal fishermen's canoes,
Lounging on the white sandy coast,
The worn nets like torn under wears
Hung dry in yawning nakedness
Exposed to the shying sun,
The forested colony of concrete shoot up to heaven,
And made human skylines,
By the shorelines of our dreams,
The verdant landscapes bloom in abundant tall palm
trees;
Entertaining promenade protruding bouquet of flowers,
In memorial to the lost all muscled Iroko;
A nostalgic stroll under the lined endowed Araba
shades,
The variegated bridges transverse our hearts,
Tenuous labyrinth trellis and lattice of our destiny;
Emblazon in the relentless sun,
And flooded in the punctual storm,
Guiding restless children through
The tell-tale of everyday,
In the morning of our beachy existence,
The ancestors oracling on the testicles of cowries
Made peace sacrifice to Yemoja the Mermaid sea goddess:
You must returned to mother Africa,
With all the stolen children;
The sea arises and rises ashore,
From the bottomless bottom of the deep,
Re-emerging in the gargantuan watery paradise,
The majestic lost Los Atlantis fairy palaces,
Misty, dark bluish-green in sparkling diamond,
Like death all things will level;
Like time, the lord of the tide,
Octopus would dethroned man.
A shade of purity,
but with a hint of notoriety.
Deceptive but innocently,
Aquamarine, like you, I live up to be.
Peace you may bear,
but chaos I can bare.
Clear blue eyes,
virtuously hiding lies.
MARINA OF 270 DAYS
So happy, young and beautiful she was
In her simple pale yellow wedding gown
There before the altar she stood
Angelic and pure as the morning dew
In her shyness, obeisance and humility
Serenity sensing a tempest anchored
Here in the vast ocean of dreams
Life in its infinite wisdom and betrayal
Chooses paths to us mortals unknown
Life within the sacred womb
Waits for sublime light to shine
A call went out for a mid-wife to rise
Nature, mother of all living things
Indifferent to circumstances shed her tears
Bathing blissful valleys, mountain and hills
She must wait for the torrents to slow
For the crossing had wings of death waiting
But the flow predictably would cross allow
On the opposite shore hope and fear reside
Between pain, cry and fading hopes
The river of blood was slowly running dry
A last breath; of a mother and a child .
"ode to Marina"
as its been awhile I thought of saying hello and reminisce of how it all began
years ago filling in for a coworker who would later fill in for me you placed a call
such is the initial encounter that started the journey involving many talks to follow
unknown to me saturday night now brought on a new significance and essence
for you had strength and courage to call once again not knowing it would be me
I remember the initial call and the saturday night rings surrounding your next calls
I told you then as I would tell you now I am not a doctor and would never mislead
you weren't looking for a doctor and all you needed was to talk to someone new
saying hello today I recall our path your name your story along with your great pain
always were you thankful for our visits by phone time after time and call after call
it is I who am thankful for the outcry and trust you placed in me week after week
since leaving my post I relive saturday nights and the scene surrounding our calls
I truly hope you understood when I told you our connection had to come to an end
you wanted to meet face to face but it was and is unwise for such a happening to be
my wish is that you came to terms with pain and grief and now recognize your worth
your life and being was and is there you just needed to look beyond all the suffering
thinking of when that initial call came through with you on the other end my thought is
I will never forget you or those saturday nights and the scene surrounding our calls
SkyWatcher - 03-01-17
This entry is a tribute to a person I shall name Marina
For her protection I can not expand upon the story to give clarification
Just know this is a tribute entry and thank you
Ah, my Marina Queen!
You, who reigns over the Marina with grass
so tantalizing, so verdantly green.
Holding costly homes that gaze over the
San Francisco Bay,
I adored the music of fog horns, and
could listen to them hight and day.
We all blessed by a mystical, silent drops of fog!
Embracing the Marina and we, your most serene
residents ......all night long!
No tourists on the huge lawns, run!
They. unknowingly believe Pier 39 and souvenirs
are far more fun?
San Franciscans know the city far better than a
sleazy tourist attraction.
They love the unknown jazz and coffee haunts.
Smiling at one another in delightful satisfaction.
The overpowering scent of Eucalyptus trees,
The Japanese tea garden.
Souls that are totally free!
12/3/2022
And in her death
She was a poet
Images of her past
Skipped through her mind
Her dead child, her friends, her lovers
Paris, Russia, famine
But images of eternity
Led her to eternity
the Storm rages in your hair
made of sand and lovely gold dust,
crabs and camellia
surge on, delicate
you're born like this
the Storm rages over the contours
of your body suchlike swallow's
made of amber and pearliness
and quicksilver tinge
now surge on, delicate
you are the Maelström
the Storm rages through your
fingers like honeysuckle rods
and late at night
I'll be your mirror
so surge on, delicate
'cause you are the Maelström
San Francisco Jazz Afternoons
Carries me back to those special Sunday afternoons with you.
The striped awning Jazz cafe, our very unique,ibeloved rendezvous.
The smell of the glorious, scents of the Pacific Ocean,
Those brown flirtatious huge eyes,lashes, my West Coast sensation!
My diamond engagement ring glittered like rainbow butterfly wings.
Memories of Coltrane, Davis, music that made you my heart laugh and sing.
San Francisco, always the beguiling, mystical jewel of my heart.
Everyday people who loved peace,jazz music, discourse, finest coffee and art.
You later, bought a fresh, intoxicating gardenia for my ebony bobbed hair.
Do you recall later, Union Street in The City’s, moist, foggy, sensuous air?
The spiritual City, was indeed our forever souls', sparking, galaxy prime,
We were both as daystars, walking its winding streets, so totally divine!
4/13/2023