Best Onshore Poems
F l y i n g
a sailing tailwind
through cerulean streams
and creamsicle colored beams—
are wings reflective
of the turquoise truth
and white purity
of Autumn’s ether
he aviates
a clear troposphere
riding an unbridled
capricious and combative
boreas
on the cusp
of a new season
with a plumage infusion
of shifting Cape Cod skies
the blue jay mixes hues
with the Northern azure
that fades to shades
of turmoil
to the South and East—
becoming lost
in its milky breadth
its lilting light
its dimming depths
where the edge of rustic rural
meets the sandy ridge of conifers—crooked
twisted and back-bent
from gales
of salt-sprayed sorcery
Canadian bluster-gusts
leading the charge
of a cold sapphire crest
is bedeviled
offshore
by the raw
tongue-lashing spin
of a brooding onshore flow
twirling
a brewing brawl
whirling
in slate pearlescent space
s w i r l i n g
with the dusky feistiness
of stormy petrels…
mobs of darkening fog
growing fatter
on summer’s fainty surrender—
leftover tints of tender cornflower
and hints of dainty dove
there’s a sparkle
in the eye of the storm…
his mischievous black gaze
mirrors
the harsh harbinger
of commotion
clash and change—
his piercing “jay-jay” jabs
the maddening mayhem
of menacing air
with an emerald-needled sharpness
of wind-weary pitch pines
anchoring
the beige of coastal dunes
where his refractive blues
take cover
in colorful contrast
ahead
of the bruising
October nor’easter
White evanescent waves roll on the shore
with such felicity of frothy bliss.
Rhapsodic sounds explode as they explore;
present the waiting beach their foamy kiss.
Above, the dulcet sounds echo the call
of gulls, 'neath radiant, pale sapphire skies;
plethora of white V-shaped wings asprawl,
invokes idyllic sights that mesmerize.
As waves recede, a shell remains onshore;
perhaps a talisman brought forth for me.
What living thing, like a cocoon, it bore,
and now to me came from this deep, dark sea.
The sky and sea hold treasures each their own;
but special are the gifts from depths unknown.
The hurricane leaped onshore
dancing with delight
unhinging the tops of buildings
releasing them into the air
like balloons
whose knots are untied
then kicking the hapless battered bottoms
far down the road
before spinning madly on
My father gone these forty years,
my mother gone twenty, I remember...
the acrid smell of tobacco on my mother’s rough fingers,
as she sat, silently, in a predawn Texas coastal town,
my head in her lap, the short-wave radio crackling with static.
She strained to hear the chatter of shrimpers in the Gulf of Mexico,
yelling out to each other in Cajun French, Mexican Spanish, accented English.
She stroked my nine-year-old hair,
her middle-aged body aching, hungry, worried, sleepless.
Far from her roots -- stranded -- in this strange,
dry, totally foreign place.
Her imaginings of my father’s struggles
with the sea and its weathers filled her mind.
She knew, all the while, that even
if he were safe, we would still suffer
the poverty of the displaced and desperate,
whose minor, occasional comforts were only,
onshore, the cold beers and noisy camaraderie
of the others like him, like her...like us.
Saints gave you souls of growing
Humans coined you a shape of flesh
The Sun made you bright and warming
The Moon decorated you soft and gentle
Your movings liked the willow dancing
In the stream and onshore, they're winding,
You are waiting and you are looking
For the lucked ones seduced to come
We deemed to meet each other somewhere
Within the periods of short-living time,
No matter it's determined or just by chance
Indeed when you are in front of me
I saw your eyes shining on my dream.
Gimme a wind, a harsh unforgiving March onshore slap in the face lean into and step out wind. Scrub me clean
of all this wait and see what's next. Carry me away from these endless tomorrows. Let me see Today again
rushing up the tide.
Outbound calling is a given task.
Log in only in one website,he asked.
But this addiction don't know when would last.
this affecting my job,Oh no!
Am I losing my mind?
Dialling,communicating onshore.
Dealling and mocking by American people.
Do I have an option?
Chill ..I still need to go on.
Winter season, I met this one.
Thought it was love at first sight,
Feelings ponder,desires intensified.
I've been cheating when Boss's not around.
just to satisfy what my flesh demands.
I'm not a certified poet,
Not as good as anyone,
I just want to express my thoughts.
Make everything plain and fun.
More dramas,series of love.
This isn't about my life....
Afraid so much that this might end.
I could no longer use my hands.
No access at all ,eight hours a day.
Poetry soup,is this going to end?
Poems I used to made during work time,
I'll be missed,'cos at home its not welcome.
Signing off,Is it really an answer.
No way!..Break my bones,I'm gonna stand still.
Make this life a li'l more exciting,
Log in when the cat is not watching.
On an easy breezy day in a land far away, it came to pass
that a polar bear mother gave birth to a roly-poly ball of fur,
in a den dug deep into a bank of snow and earth.
No doubt, the cub wanted to go out to play in the sunlight,
but the freezing Arctic winds made it spend its days
curled up with mom, warming up next to her fur.
But before long, it was strong enough to tag along
with mom and explore the great outdoors.
And when the time came,
it was eager to scout out its frozen domain.
The glaring sunlight off the white snow hurt its eyes,
so, it had to take it nice and slow, hiding in a nook,
watching mom kill a seal and drag it back to the den.
One day snowflakes started falling from the sky,
it didn't know why, nor did it care.
However, the cold water was beckoning it to jump in,
for it instinctively knew how to swim.
It wasn't long before it paddled out to the ice flows,
its heart, beating at a steady pace.
And there it learned to hunt seals
with muscles of steel, sleek and trim.
In this land far away, polar bears are no more,
they're either in zoos to be bred,
or dead onshore.
The ice flows melted, and with no place to hunt
they disappeared without warning one morning.
(Free Verse)
8/16/2018
she sat there with only one tear rolling alone to drip between her knees
Splattering on the tidal flow below.
Cross legged with ankles aching on wet jetty stone
Cold wet jetty stones gathered from God knows where
By God knows what and re planted to keep the harbor open
for running tides and shallow keels
The time it takes a hot tear to cool depends on speed and touch of fickle wind
The onshore salt wet slap against the rock beneath her was no fickle tickle
The larger driven waves of displaced wake were soon to drench her useless evening dress in saltier tears of
moon drawn echoes than her eyes had ever bled
What puzzled her was the complete lack of feeling while knowing the onslaught To be so imminent. The ream of
words of feelings past rolled tightly in her huddled arms, had told a tale of woe and hurt and love and joy and
dancing swirl of pipes a skirl in calling whirl that brooked no answer from this girl as patiently she sat on legs
that carried her to reach this edge of reason lost for she was unaware of cost
The clan was nevermore The hillside burned in sunset bright in this the middle of the night and all the ghosts of
freedom yearned to save the soul of this one lass
who carried in her womb the last the hope of past attempts.
The morning found her there still sitting smiling in the pouring rain listening to the soft refrain of ebbing tide as
once again she rose to meet another day of unremitting pain. But she had found an answer in the rain. The clan
would rise again.
It was quite a surprise to us
when monsters came out of the night,
the beasts and bad guys of legends
who for so long gave us a fright.
We thought they lived on movie screens,
pulpy books, and local folklore,
until they came to prey on us,
and we all learned that they were much more.
The panic, at first, was intense,
folks were dying, it seemed surreal,
vampires, zombies, werewolves, ghosts,
and other such beasties were real.
They were as bad as legend said,
but we soon figured out one truth,
the ways to kill them in legend
really worked—we knew what to do.
The werewolves were the easiest,
you just bought some silver-tip rounds,
given all this country’s hunters
it took two years to gun them down.
As for ghosts, if you do not know,
ectoplasm is diffuse matter,
floating in air, it is easy prey
for the common vacuum cleaner.
Then dump it into a furnace,
and watch the ghostie burn away,
old houses everywhere were safe,
no more hauntings came into play.
Vampires could blend in the best,
of the monsters they killed the most,
UV flashlights or smeared garlic
was all it took to make them toast.
The zombies, good lord, they were slow,
and not all that hard to destroy,
army snipers would take head shots,
and attack choppers were deployed.
They’d shoot down with their miniguns,
guaranteed they’d catch zombie head,
since the undead liked to cluster,
an easy target for sprayed lead.
We even had a kaiju-type
dragged its lumbering form onshore,
just as big as a skyscraper,
a three-hundred foot carnivore.
We fired antiship missiles,
half-dozen of them did the trick,
set up some coastal air patrols
to take care of the beasts right quick.
In retrospect, it all makes sense,
after all, we are humankind,
we’ve been waring since we could walk,
countless weapons came from our mind.
We’ve killed sabertooths and smallpox,
run down real threats without pity,
killed tens of thousands in battle,
even nuked two of our cities.
What’s a werewolf compared to that?
What threat’s a vampire these days?
Those beasts should be afraid of us,
since we always find ways to slay.
Maybe we need better monsters,
a challenge for our evolved state,
something that can inspire fear,
the kind we can appreciate—
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
would that I could
pick up reception
of celestial transmissions
with a couple'a old soup can phones
and country miles of string
(would they have harp string ring tones?)
and ask the old man
about days long ago
interrupting his labors
tilling god's fecund green fields
(most likely the back forty)
a bit east of old eden, I'm sure
to hear that tinny voice growling
while smelling good earth
and honest sweat far, so far, distant
he'd first grumble and low mumble
about nonsensical questions
but always comically failing
to hide the smile in his voice
and flattered affection
"...of beatniks, of Elvis
of old rumbleseats
yeah, I remember those days
strange fellows, those beats"
"It's hard to rekalect,
(being a swab in the Navy)
all those strange doings onshore
it seemed authority was tested
conformity seen as a chore"
"so I guess that's your answer,
son, I didn't truck with them much
those bohemian fellows
seemed to me a bit touched"
it was good to hear it
his old usual ways
a bit bluff, more bluster
signing off from our strange freq
(with as much love as he could muster)
I smiled after he faded
and wished quietly in my room
he could read just a few
of my thin veiled kharmic sad curses
about loving a father
(gone, yet still set in his ways)
in my amateurish attempts
at fantasy poetic verses...
Before us, the harbor unfurls its tapestry of lights,
Serried jewels winking on numberless nights.
Onshore, they’re jostled in a million-starred galaxy,
Into the harbor they spill in a gleaming frenzy.
Neon tassels they are, shimmying on dark water,
Startled by passing ships, they break and scatter.
High above, the sky glitters with a crowded glory,
Affords the earthbound lights no lofty sanctuary.
Of finding welcome the itinerant lights despair,
In vain they have searched for a peaceful lair.
Then, out of the night, a twinkle starts to beckon
With infinite gladness, like a love-filled beacon.
Lured are the lights to where this promise lies,
Hurrying in flight, till they reach your blessed eyes.
In those limpid pools they arrive and congregate,
Join the resident sparkle, a new luster they radiate.
I know well their rapture, a joy so mighty,
For in your eyes, I too have found luminous beauty.
I thought I would have soon forgotten your touch and even your taste but the feeling of your lips pressed against mine there was nothing sweeter I used to crave you as a whole but now I only crave to know your thoughts about me is that selfish? There is no comparison for my love other then a seashell in the ocean to some it might be washed up, another thing passed by or looked over onshore but to many I might be exactly what they look for to gather up among many and bring home for their own satisfaction but I’ve recently learned that my love is much better off lost at sea (leaving and floating far surfacing only for a moment not allowing anyone to claim me)
Journey of Life
Life is a fleeting gift, a quest,
Where shadows dance to find their nest,
We rise and fall, like waves onshore,
Let`s hail the present, seek no more
Find beauty in strife, learn from tears,
As life is a journey, so dear.
posted--no swimming, strong under tows
no guard on duty
what kind of life is that, no swimming
it’s my life and I don’t need a guard
I’m taking the sign down
He spotted a another sign, ‘no boating’
He had his boat and launched it.
Still another sign was noted ‘no alcohol’
He opened a six pack.
Would you believe another sign existed, ‘no fishing’
He consumed the beer while he was fishing.
Caught a tuna and hoisted it into the boat
brought it back to shore and into his truck
other tuna’s saw what took place
and were angry over their loss
they left a sign on the beach
‘drunken man named Charlie took a tuna’
the fish market learned of this situation
after they had just bought his tuna
which was not of good quality. They
notified other markets to be on the lookout
next week Charlie came back to fish
out in the boat he saw water filling his boat
there were holes at the bottom
the other tuna’s alerted swordfish of the capture
they pierced the boat to sink
frantically he waved for help
people on shore called the police
once onshore he was read his rights
for breaking the rules while under the influence
at court the judge spoke
‘sorry Charlie only the best tuna becomes Starkist”
‘you drank while in a boat fishing’ ‘you violated
the postings disrupted a family of tuna’
‘how do you plea’
well I don’t want to explain to the court how I pee
but if I can go to the back room I will tell you
the courtroom howled
‘order in the court, this man is disorderly’
the verdict came down
Charles was given a one month sentence
for violations of rules of fish and game
intoxicated on public soil
destroying public property
and operating a boat in a restricted area
Charlie sat in his cell and saw a sign posted
smoking permitted only with a guard
there was a guard on duty who said
“only nice fishermen get to have a camel”
he then received his lunch on a tray,
tuna fish sandwiches!!
and a note ‘sorry Charlie only the best
inmates get Starkist'