Best Offshore Poems


Premium Member The Best Christmas Gift Ever

I was one of seven children 
Raised in a tiny three-bedroom house 
The rooms were so small 
They could comfort a mouse 

Always, at Christmas 
We would cram 'round the tree 
And I'd look for the presents 
That were gift-wrapped for me 

One special Christmas 
Sorry, I can't remember the year 
But I remember the present 
That had shed me a tear 

My dad who was away 
Two months- offshore  
Had sent me a letter 
Just two weeks before 

He mailed it from London 
To our home in U.S. 
But it must have got lost 
Or tossed...in the mess 

That's what I wanted most for Christmas 
I couldn't think of anything better
Not a bike, not a toy, nor money 
I just wanted to read my dad's letter 

I recall my mom telling me 
As I sat weeping on the floor 
I have one last surprise, son 
My Dad- (((WALKED THROUGH THE DOOR))) 



A Christmas Gift Memory Poetry Contest 
Sponsored by BJ Legros Kelly 
12/1/2021

Premium Member Blue Horizons

beyond cobalt horizon’s expanse
fishing ships far offshore call to me
how joyful were those years
casting, catching, communing
lines between God and nature faded

ocean tides rule my life
joy ebbs farther each moment
bright yellow days of prosperity
displaced by lonely indigo nights
wishing the sea were still my playground

eyes now scan a blue bedroom's walls
      blues from a radio taunt my heart

Premium Member Sea Glass

with bitter winds of sand and spray
and flecks of rain against my face
how different this land looks today
a drenched, vast, unforgiving place.

as turbines veiled in mist offshore
first fade then vanish out at sea
the sun, it seems, shines here no more
with frosted air surrounding me.

yet how could light forever shine
upon a beach, its sea and crowds
when storms have always over time
obscured the sun behind the clouds?

such weathered moments on the land
can help cast magic with cold seas
 - one day this broken glass and sand
may form warm, precious memories.


Indelible Blue

An indelible blue looking out to you
seducing the pain to wash away
with stolen keyboard strokes
a few extra x's and o's where
decimals move with inapprehension
carrying fantasy dreams offshore
where sandcastles are built with
riches never to be crowned
holding secret keys to happiness
breathless my tomorrows begin
under guise of the salty moon
worries behind,necks entwined
newly discovered swans swoon
© Tim Smith  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member End of Season

Brave Turnstones beg for crumbs despite their size
dogs lapping up the joys of empty beach
though Gulls brazenly dive for bigger fries,
the old folk keep their meals just out of reach.
Far offshore the wind farms wave farewell
with hushed applause the waves part company
warm breeze now shrugged off as the evening fell
sandcastles gobbled up by greedy sea.
A deep intake of breath just through the nose,
we, like the last line of a favourite song
'ere wistfulness tails us like long shadows,
enjoy one final moment, then it's gone.
the distant sun puts on a final show
for those of us who won't let summer go.
© Viv Wigley  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member If Time

If time stops for a tick,
The waves hold breath offshore,
My life boat lost in sea,
Finds fate in destiny,
Time ticking, echoes,  me.

If time stops for a tick,
My heart shares love above,
The Romance in you & me,
Eternal bond, love's rule,
Time ticking, souls joined, we.

If time stops for a tick,
I'll stand like a mountain,
Avalanches come and go,
Trees stand tall, hardy, so,
Time ticking, spirit shows.

If time stops for a tick,
I reflect on my past,
The failures in my life,
Might turn into success,
Time ticking, same old life.
© Jay Narain  Create an image from this poem.


Premium Member Summer Surfing

The blazing sun is shining bright
upon the swell of ocean’s pride. 
An offshore wind is blowing light.
The blazing sun is shining bright.
There are wild horses in full flight.
A surfer takes a curling ride.
The blazing sun is shining bright
upon the swell of ocean’s pride. 


-----------------------------------------
Contest: One Lovely Summer Triolet
Sponsor: Andrea Dietrich 
Visual 1

Syrian Refugees

SYRIAN REFUGEES

I'm watching a programme on telly
About the Syrian refugees
Men and women and children
Humanity brought to its knees

I'm watching the desperate faces
The terror and hunger and fear
They're facing their ultimate nightmare
And me? Well I'm just sitting here

And saying 'Isn't it awful'
'Something needs to be done'
Whilst searching the TV listings
And planning my evening of fun

Then I happen upon the BBC news
Cameron wringing his hands on my screen
Saying Syria is a priority
Then slips into a black limousine

Then Hollande, and Angela Merkel
Echo the prime minister's views
And tell us how hard they are working
Another soundbite for the news

Then shoot off to their heads of state dinner
Which will go on well into the night
While in the camps the tears will continue
No dinner for those folks tonight

At the meeting, an idea from Turkey
Amongst the platitudes and the kind words
The plan that they're putting forward
Is to drop lots of bombs on the Kurds

I flick channels and happen on Tony Blair
Offering the world a solution
I really can't listen to that grinning clown
Spouting his verbal pollution

He's jabbering on about Islam
Trying to give us the wisdom we lack
And hoping the world has forgotten
What Bush and him did in Iraq

Perhaps he's just a bit jealous
That he's not allowed to the feast
After finding Saddam's nuclear weapons!
A doggy bag surely at least.

While another mother loses her children
More slaughter and mayhem we see
And imagine the arms manufacturers
And dealers, jumping with glee

As they make another few billions
And probably a few billions more
Then they'll hide all their dirty old dollars
In their financial laundry offshore

And the politicians turn a blind eye
And I'm sure that they won't be divulging
How some of them came by their fat bank accounts
And why their back pockets are bulging

But then.......success I hear on the news
The EU says all is not black
They've solved the refugee crisis.
When they get here.........we're sending them back.

Job done, EU movers and shakers
So sorry for doubting your cause
You've sorted the Syrian problem
Give yourselves a big round of applause

© Ron James 05/04/2016
© Jim Bates  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member Mark Antony and Cleopatra

Dispatched by Mark Antony to fetch his queen
An Egyptian with beauty of world renown
Five-thousand mighty Roman warriors sailed
Committed to driving Egypt’s army down

Cleopatra was basking on a Nile barge
While the fleet remained offshore waiting for night
‘Neath the cloak of darkness warriors arrived
To surprise defenders and battle incite

Fully armored Roman forces held the edge
Razor-sharp swords pierced Egyptians’ tanned skin
Into the gently flowing Nile, Egyptian blood spilled
The desert soldiers’ garb was softer than tin

When heat rose with dawn’s light on the pyramids
Only a few hundred Egyptian soldiers remained
But they fought with the courage of a thousand more
Determined to protect Cleopatra’s reign

Defenders fought with valor; none sought mercy
Just as victory seemed within Rome’s grasp
A bloody trail to the palace had been carved
But Cleopatra lay dead, bitten by an asp

Noble Antony awaited his army
Rejoicing when the first ship came into view
But they’d waged their fiercest fight futilely
Now they mustered to strength to tell Antony too

Warriors’ hearts were filled with compassion
The sign of a truly devoted band
As they offered support for their ruler’s loss
Antony felt the power of each and every man




*But for the fact that Antony and Cleopatra
were lovers, this poem is entirely fictional.
Antony and Cleopatra actually wed and 
Antony moved to Egypt.

Entry for the “Roman Legion” contest

Premium Member The Perfect Ending

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.”

----Occupy: the Soup -------

Infuriated by greed
so we Occupy city streets
tired of being lied to 
divided by tyranny 
of the Elites
sickened by offshore banks 
ran by gangs 
known as the Fed
while political infidelity 
shakes the White House bed

What happened to the basic foundations 
for which this nation was built?
maybe the people’s aggravations 
will identify our leaders’ guilt

No justice lies within this 
“heads they win; tails we lose”
so now we take a stand 
against their scam
because we’re through with the abuse

Premium Member The Curse of the Dead Sea

The Curse of the Dead Sea

Dark ghosts traveling through the chilled air mist
where rare rough rivers, eddied and revolved, in
twists around into a violent, furious funnel offshore,
as this turbulent salt sea of iniquity opens up its storied,
salted bowels with its turgid moving fluids drowning
into a space of predestined bedded death—for all who
unknowingly venture into the embrace of the Dead Sea.

For knoweth that Poseidon, the ancient god of the sea,
may not be there in time to spare thy life that be in the
fatal grip of this salted deadly destiny, and its jeopardy,
as it’s written in the “riddle of sands” that remain blowing
as this earthly desert speaks to thee, spiced by the coldest
of raindrops carried on winds held deep within, as dark
clouds escape with their droplets running down into the
mountain “waters of life” that feed and form an evil river
that pulsates through the deep veins of existence, as drums
inside heartbeats play to a harmonious harp filled with a
mystic music dancing to visions of a salted angel who lives
deep within the Dead Sea.

Falling throughout the depths of time in the history of this
ancient sea of sure death, are grains of sand and pure white
salt which hold misted gems that speak to each and every
human footprint, leaving an imprinted, indelible image true, 
behind the frame left crowned in the deep well of a forlorn,
shimmering pond that presciently knoweth that this ancient
Dead Sea, with its “salt of the sand” shall explain to you,
in kind, of the dangers that lurketh within the waters of its
salted, deadly grip, if thou chooseth unwisely to venture in
knowingly or unknowingly.

For Poseidon shall not be there in this “modern age” to 
saveth thee and thy immortal soul!

Amen.    

Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid – A Collaborated Poem
Copyright © All Rights Reserved – December 16, 2018
(Narrative)

Premium Member Stars and Sky

Milky Way stars glow
much brighter when far offshore...
     navigator’s guide

ever-changing sky
glorious dawns and sunsets...
     spectrums shine above

lights in heaven’s seams,
stars are smiles from those who passed...
   there they wait for us 
     


Entry for Linda’s “Haiku Hodgepodge” contest
By Carolyn Devonshire

Our Lady of Guadalupe

our lady of Guadalupe stands alight in corner air
her gown emerald, cerise, gold
Don Pedro stands afore
glass to glass in an amber glow
Lowry’s beaked bird of uva descent
shadows flicker here, there
on the morrow lies the tropical carnage
the insect floor, the frogs call all night
offshore the everlasting beacon of an occultist light
humanities illusion of delusion, forevermore
calling ships to a harbor where i have none
the rain praters, the storm roars, the poet walks the floor
she stirs, i am not there, panther pillow rising
Morrison's Spanish caravans
once more the earth pulls as Don Pedro and i kneel
the carnal carnival between her naps
is when my desk finds the lines
while waiting for the sun

   Abilene   6/18

“How, unless you drink as I do, could you hope to understand the beauty of an old Indian woman playing dominoes with a chicken?”
? Malcolm Lowry, Under the Volcano
for those of you who have attended an Arts and Madness conference know the story. Edna St. Vincent Millay, master of the sonnet, the rage of her age now collects dust in the library and no longer studied at the university. her life of addiction and the cost in the wake of self-induced destruction surrounding her. the stupor of Elizabeth Bishop cost her the chance of a happy marriage. i could go on but what is important to me is that 28 years ago i walked away from the madness and kept the art.

Premium Member Africa

Africa, beautiful continent
Dreamy echoes fascinate
Giraffes heighten inclines
Jurassic known linger
Madagascar nestles offshore
Primates quest reform
Savannah tribes umbilical
Visioned waves x-ray
Young zebra

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