Best Moored Poems
In my distal conception you shine like a lucent star
whose touch fondles the fret and strings of my guitar.
An image worth painting in oils with my sable brush,
your voice like the recherche love song of a thrush.
You are the faint break of day in dawn's somber skies.
A sanctum of refuge in times of angst and weeping eyes.
My ardent lover, seducing me with each lustful thought.
You are life's pulse beating rhythmically within my heart.
If I am blinded tomorrow, visions of you I shall not lack.
And if I were entrapped in a world of boundless black,
wavering shadows would not fill my heart with fright,
for with you at my side, I would not have need of sight.
No demands would I make, but humbly I would beseech
you to please make me aware that you're within my reach.
You are the assuasive waves that quell my restless soul
and I, a brigantine moored in the shallows of your shoal.
November 12, 2022
2022 Marathon Mile 20 Contest
Sponsored by Mark Toney
In the warmth of a summer sunset, I sat idle,
on the sea shore looking at the grey enormity
that heaved and swelled in turn.
Before me was the wild brutality of the sea!
Though at times she is calm and windless,
a smouldering volcano lies beneath her surface.
I sat away from the crowd in a cool square of quiet
inhaling the briny air, enjoying the foam and spray
My mind then was light as that of a child,
that plays on the sea shore, making sand castles.
I watched small boats carrying men.
They were heading towards the Casino moored in the inlet of the sea.
I felt those men were like flies lured by the flame.
They come either to perish or to prosper,
most of them go back with empty wallets!
My eyes stretched far into the horizon.
Swallows were circling beneath tangled clouds.
The tall masts of ships could be seen at a distance
and ever growing waves drifted and strayed
as the fabric of blue got continuously shredded.
For fun I scribbled my name on the sands,
but a wave came crashing against and washed it away
Was it here or there, I had scrawled my signature,
I don’t know. It has vanished leaving no trace.
Suddenly from a child, I grew into a sage.
How transient is man’s life on Earth
How very tiny we are set against the vastness of the sea
In the wide expanse of life, as on a sea shore,
we scribble our names to stay.
Alas! Some unknown hands wipe them away
"Escalating the Muse"
Written on the body
passive complacence
stretches sharp ink
etched pain in the soul
then real beauty
from the
Book of Truth,
a page moored
in transparent skin
;
Black,
tattooed ceremonially
on the tongue
speaks diaphonous
Freedom
Written on the body
stretches stories ripped
and tall, they are torn,
a small revolution
amongst the crowds of
alphabet coding
in a tight sealed tin
akin to a
Can of Campbell’s Soup
Escalates the
Muse
Written in the body
a work of art, beautiful,
pure and stubborn centred,
dirt muddied yet,
clean stripped,
balanced for the
Laymen betwixt
Papillon
folded Wings,
en stasis,
looks through the Chrysalis
towards the you in gilded story
the Higher requires analyses,
there She thinks,
writes the Muse
tattooed on the tongue
Words
projecting Muse to
Escalation
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
llb/gvlm
for my daughter,
Georgia
;
"LUX VITAE"
"Brûle-moi" / Jean-Louis Murat
https://youtu.be/M6l_sQQ8lS0
"Distractions" / Zero 7
https://youtu.be/6ng6IKp8uao
"What New York Couples Fight About" / Morcheeba
https://youtu.be/RUE0J2UvThM
"Golden Years" / Bowie
https://youtu.be/JUuRGRcY9O0
Battement de coeur dans
;
Battement de coeur vers l'extérieur
MISDEMEANOR
A soft lisp runs through blonde summer grasses,
shoving at kites or the hems of long skirts.
Umbrellas and hats stir as it passes,
jumbling at picnics, it teases and flirts.
It picks up speed while playing with Marty,
and takes his land legs as he tries to walk.
The unseen source can raid a yacht party,
by strewing boats that are moored to the dock.
Laughing in whispers or screaming in storms,
a mythical being, felt but not seen.
Its guests are blind to the brail it performs,
it can be gentle, or just as well, mean.
Wickedly hurling a house in the air,
or docile enough to tousle our hair.
-Edlynn Nau
© May 21, 2018
As flames of summer’s infatuations wane, a new love,
Unheralded yet undaunted, arrives,
Transforming and maturing until, like trees windblown, though
Unclothed and trembling at winter’s onset, remains
Moored in a strength of devotion which does
Not burn out like summer’s lust.
Love in autumn, mellowed,
Overspreads. . . and though the deepened russet and
Vermilion hues of fall eventually are touched by frost, its
Essence will ever endure.
Written and posted 9/5/11
When the rising tides of the storms of life assail,
My hope abides fastened secure to the Rock.
When the chilly waters cause my strength to fail,
My heavy anchor and God’s eternal love interlock.
When the blasts of fear come near my soul,
And the tempest my confidence can defy;
My anchor in the daring straits securely hold,
And firmly embraced in God’s loving arms am I.
My anchor keeps me safely moored in the wind,
Strongly tied to the Rock that commands the calm.
It keeps my vessel’s hull secure and me within,
And never drifts into the waves of a dangerous storm.
And when the floods of death make cables strain,
The hand of God holds tight against the wave.
So my faith in my Savior can fully intact remain,
And my hopes I retain secure and my anchor I rave.
Her name was Madame Butterfly;
true love embraced her one fine day.
By sea, he came, neath bright, blue sky,
on Navy ship from far away.
Love, at first sight, it was for them,
this naval officer and his
sweet Geisha from Japan, a gem;
together found a lover's bliss.
His tour was done, and now goodbye
would break her heart, but he'd return...
he said...then left his Butterfly.
She watched him leave, with sad concern.
His son was born, and three years passed;
each day she looked out to the shore.
No sign of him, and she soon asked...
is he now gone, forevermore?
But, then one day, her love arrived!
The ship was there moored in the bay.
He had returned, with joy she cried,
oh, happy day...she knelt to pray.
At once, she saw a woman there...
and holding hands with her dear man,
the father of her son...unfair...
he, with a wife, came to Japan.
Her heart now broken; how life turned...
her true love found then lost, and yet
returned to her...but she has learned
he's lost forever...such regret.
Her honor lost, her life is done.
She hugs her son and says goodbye.
Behind the screen, neath morning sun...
with dagger high...poor Butterfly.
August 7, 2016
~5th Place~
Contest: A Love Lost, Then Found Only To Lose Again
Sponsor: Brenda Chiri-Carroll
Judged: 08/26/2016
~3rd Place~
Premiere Contest: Impaled
Sponsor: Anthony Slausin
Judged: 08/08/2019
Story from "Madame Butterfly" - an opera composed by Giacomo Puccini
Only silence dresses her rigging now
To the call of the bosun’s whistle
Her hatches now stand locked and secure
Where long past sailors once lingered
She is the last of the old frigates
Moored in the shallows of Charlestown
Board her and hear her echoes of valor
Haughtily anchored her colors humbly fly
No blemishes on her hull show her battles
Her carronades still sit silently waiting
As she floats mythically at ease
For a moment I can hear the great moans
Her keel and sailors cresting Atlantic waves
To Captain Hulls orders to come about
And charge on the enemy ship Guerriere
On her decks I feel the plight of her dead
Hearing stories of centuries old bulkheads
Astounding feats of a morose pride
To have brought their foe to capitulate
Now she stands tacit though ever grand
And still on her decks and deep in the bowels
The mighty spirit of U.S.S. Constitution dwells
A monument of endurance softly whispering
“Lest we remember long forgotten sacrifices…”
Trapped in a prison of flesh and of bone,
limited by the rules of time and space.
I dream of a day when all will be known,
of this unseen and mysterious place.
Leaping across time to permanent bliss,
watching my body sit ever so still.
Staying moored to earth, this chance would I miss,
to be set free from this life's bitter pill.
Leaving the ground and floating above it all,
waving bye to my cares and tomorrows.
Answering whispers of the quiet call,
forget yesterday and all its sorrows.
To finally sever the silver cord,
is to travel the light to golden shores.
11/16/18
It was a special time of life
With my children and my wife
In a tent among the trees
At a place called Camp Louise
Sitting around a campfire Friday night
And the big old moon was shining bright
Putting marshmallows on stick ends
Just sitting, talking with some friends
Telling stoories about an old black bear
Trying to give the kids a scare
The stars were shining high above
A time filled with laughter and with love.
With our energy all spent
We crawled into our tent
The bags were musty and the tent was damp
But we loved it there at family camp
In the morning right after daybreak
You could find us boating on the lake
As we moored the boat along the pier
Right behind the shed, we saw a deer
Two more days of playing in the sun
Fishing, hiking, having fun
Plenty of food and a campfire at night
For a few days a year, the world was right.
Those days are gone and our children grown
We wonder where the time has flown
But no matter how far apart we'll be
We will always have that memory.
all at sea, my restive heart
waters are calm, but in calmness
moored
the bounty of a lover's soliloquy
raging torrents bequeath a joy
you ask of beauty's tapestry, guided
yet do I seek
yet do I fold in conjecture
nature's bliss, consuming waves
please...
I ask in limerence
and we, ships sail away
It's a place I know,
my feet familiar
with each timber plank
that deck the way,
the smooth ones
and the ones buckled
and raised ready
to trip an old man's foot.
I know the name
of every boat moored
along its length,
the repertoire of sounds
played by the tides
and restless swells,
its intimate whispers.
It could be any place
but for me
it's here in the solemn quiet
of a late evening
on the end of the pier,
when the world
returns to an order,
gathers in the strewn pieces
of itself like scattered toys
on a playroom floor
and puts them back
into a labeled drawer.
The time when hurry settles
and strung nerves
are loosened
and soothed by sleep.
For a moment
the world fits neatly here,
snug in this small pocket
of calm on the end
of Ferguson Pier.
In the distance, city lights
float on a dreaming bay
as the tide silently ticks
the evening and me
away.
The tempest kiss of seaweed miss.
Her temper heard ~ his heart stirred.
His ship astern and fast.
The siren’s scorn lambaste;
Blind youth’s reality is blurred.
The satin hair of Whitney bright
A pearlescent veil, the tide ~
Calm! Calm! It’s all a lie!
Her body movement spry.
O serpentine witch, her smile, her glide…
Her bright white fangs aglow, move slow.
The magic of her song moored
In his terrified glance;
The seaman’s in a trance.
In former life, he would have scored.
She slowly sucks his soul, and then,
One by one she tenders them.
The fishhooks through their eyes,
Amuse her with goodbyes.
Rehearsal of fatale la femme.*
2/5/2020
*femme fatale order of words was switched to aid rhyme.
A poet’s prerogative:)
Vincent
from within sanctum dykes
glamour
birthed from sorrow
celestial brightness
whirling
in Prussian azure
and sublime gold
Urania in the welkin'
blackness in the spirit
breezes probes hefty
all alone in your wisdom
an optical lover
within
dancing with orbs
through gaps with iron rods
go bust in flesh
your title
always
moored in the starlit darkness.
Written September 29, 2022
A Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
The Lord is my anchor in the storms of life
the Lord is my anchor
who carries my cares and strife
the Lord is my anchor to whom
I hold on tight
the Lord is my anchor
who makes everything all right
the Lord is my anchor
he catches me when I fall
the Lord is my anchor
my one and my all.
Hebrews 6 : 19 & 20 We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. It
enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain, where Jesus, who went before us, has entered
on our behalf. He has become a high priest forever, in the order of Melchizedek.
as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. Like an anchor holding a ship safely in position,
our hope in Christ guarantees our safety. inner sanctuary behind the curtain. Whereas the
ship's anchor goes down to the ocean bed, the Christian's anchor goes up into the true,
heavenly sanctuary, where he is moored to God himself.
never will he leave us never will he forsake us Amen.