Best Porthole Poems
When winter paints those frosty ferns on my windowpane
I find myself a little girl up on your lap again
In that old house there by the sea where you wove that tapestry
With all the glorious memories of your life upon the sea
With weathered palm so deeply etched with every season past
You rubbed a porthole in the center of the frosted glass
Where outside in splendour lie a winter-wonderland
As halos rose above your head from a pipe bowl in your hand
And there upon a rocking chair as smoke rings filled the air
We rocked across a sea of dreams wind tangled in our hair
To lands I’d never been before...we stepped upon those shores
And through your eyes I saw each one...and still I wanted more
The morning passed in dreams between two pairs of eyes of green
As the world outside held its breath in a sea of snowy cream
And when the chill of winter melted from the windowpane
The whistling kettle on the stove brought us home again
You held my hand and looked at me with that twinkle in your eyes
And told me you would be my Captain 'til the day I died
So...when winter paints those frosty ferns on my windowpane
I find myself a little girl up on your lap again
~~~
In loving memory of my Dear Papa
When winter paints those frosty ferns on my windowpane
I find myself a little girl up on your lap again
In that old house, where you wove that coloured tapestry
With all the glorious memories of your life upon the sea
With weathered palm so deeply etched with every season past
You rubbed a porthole in the center of the frosted glass
Where outside in splendour lie a winter-wonderland
As halos rose above your head from a pipe bowl in your hand
And there upon a rocking chair as smoke rings filled the air
We rocked across a sea of dreams wind tangled in our hair
To lands I’d never been before we stepped upon those shores
And through your eyes I saw each one and still I wanted more
The morning passed in dreams between two pairs of eyes of green
As the world outside held its breath in a sea of snowy cream
And when the chill of winter melted from the windowpane
The whistling kettle on the stove brought us home again
You held my hand and looked at me with that twinkle in your eyes
And told me you would be my Captain 'til the day I died
So when winter paints those frosty ferns on my windowpane
I find myself a little girl up on your lap again
~~~~~
Written: Jan 15, 2011
Author: Elaine George
First Place in Brian Strand's contest: Let's See
4th Place In - Anything goes contest
In loving memory of my Dear Papa 'Captain James George'.
Authors Note:
When I was a child of three, I Went to live for a year with my Grandparents in Nova
Scotia. At that time my Grandfather was a retired Sea Captain of a Three Mast
Schooner. He had spent most of his life at sea, taking lumber and coal to New
Brunswick and various ports in the U.S. and in the winter months, would carry on to
pick-up and deliver cargo in the West Indies. Although my time with him was short,
the memories we shared have comforted me through-out the years.
~~~~~
Father of all bombs when dropped
five times greater than the mother
Where a fallen angel's dance begins
fornicating with matter darkening subjects
through and through dimensions opening a porthole
Acting a tough guy with your orange face
shows little wit as one peace maker
gives a bloody nose to politics to say the least
To this sinful act of heresy that's displayed under lies
in provoking war with the show of strength and power
Blind becomes your weakness
Takes more than courage to grow a backbone
to be humble aggression is by deeds done
under one sign of weakness shows where the insecurity dwells
co written by Liam and Bobby McDaid
our joint opinion on a certain matter our world has become filled with evil slave masters rising to power under mass human sacrifice
Lightly flutter snowflakes
as on the breeze they go,
these butterflies of snow.
Spiderwebs the frost makes
when the pewter day breaks
to snare them as they blow.
This window the webs ring
the porthole in the frost
on which the flecks are tossed
is tatted like the wings
of earwigs in the spring.
The glass becomes embossed
with ornaments of ice
and blooms of edelweiss.
I sat quietly staring out the porthole window
As we were passing over a village in the low hills
A cumulus cloud casting over its ominous shadow
Far below in the silence of the engine’s shrills,
I wondered where those tiny people were going
Beneath the wing nary a songbird nor butterfly
Alone streaking through the frigid air, the Boeing,
Not a face lifted from village below to the sky
Then it was gone, as quickly as I had imagined,
I rummaged through my satchel of ordinaries
Forgetting a whole community of unexamined
Miniatures, no concern for untended cemeteries,
I had long forgotten when the plane descended
My sweet reveries in solitude, my journey ended.
Written June 10, 2022
Submitted to "2022 Marathon Mile 1" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Mark Toney
Tasting delights softly captured
in a keyhole of thoughts
warmly smiling
radiates within one porthole
Outside the mind
opening this heart sweetly yawning
twilight dawning .
Clouds shades red blushing desire
fading to amber
going further out from the sun
turning shades
from gun barrel grey to black
setting our scene.
kissing outside in
thinking of your beauty love
Licking deeply tongues on fire
warm fluttering rays
hotly kissing each beat
burning passion erupting inside desires.
There is a magical realm in my world, where I feel no fear.
A place of unique experiences, in which I never shed a tear.
It's here that my senses are heightened, time and time again,
where my imagination has no bounds with paper and my pen.
A princess rescued and dragons roar in mystical lands I create
Here, I write fairytale endings and determine a creature's fate
In this amazing domain I view things without using my eyes.
As a poet, I can conceive anything that ingenuity can devise.
Sometimes, when I'm fast asleep, my heart travels in flight
along paths of fanciful dreams, so I pick up my pen and write
about things I see as I journey through my psyche's porthole
penning marvelous adventures that burn deep inside my soul
Maybe now you can understand this wonderful gift I possess
In this magic place I am free from disappointment and stress.
Alone with my thoughts I find beauty in balanced symmetry.
Can you comprehend why I find pleasure in writing poetry?
*Entered into contest with kind permission of my co-writer* November 1, 2021 DO- IT (DUETS) Poetry Contest Sponsored by James Edward Lee Sr
With the palms of well-worn leathery hands that in younger days guided a Tall Ship round
the globe many times with the help of stars that still twinkled in his eyes, the old man made
a porthole in the frosty forest of swirling ferns that had been painted on the kitchen window
pane by Jack-Frost during the night.
As I sat on his lap, he told me the creaking sound made by the rockers from the rocking
chair we sat in on the hardwood floor - if he closed his eyes, could make him believe he was
back with the wind in his sails, rising and dipping and swaying with the whims of the
waves ‘ore the sea.
Back- and- forth, back-and-forth, we rocked as the porthole on the window pane grew larger,
exposing the winter wonder land outside where trees and roads and roof-tops lie frozen
beneath a layer of fluffy snow that looked like icing on a birthday cake, as the house
softened and swelled in the warmth of the burning kindling wood that snapped and crackled
in the stove.
Rocking back-and-forth, back-and-forth, I asked him, looking into those eyes of green, with
that far away look. “Grandpa, won’t you tell me please, what lies beyond the sea?” He
paused for a moment, blowing silver halos that rose from his pipe in an aroma of sweet
smelling ‘Old Sail’ tobacco, and with the magic of his words, he took me on a journey,
rocking across the sea where he showed me all the places and wondrous things he’d ever
seen.
That was many and many a year ago, in a kingdom by the sea, where an old man, taught a
little girl, that life is but a dream.
~~~~~
In memory of: Captain James George the Third - My Grandfather
~~~~~
2nd place in 'Anything Goes #2 Contest - sponsered by Constance La France
Author's note:
This is one entry of many that will appear in my next book ' A Journey of Roses and Thorns'.
They are true events that have happened in my life - some where roses, some were
thorns. I have learned valuable lessons from both.
There is a magical realm in my world, where I feel no fear.
A place of unique experiences, in which I never shed a tear.
It's here that my senses are heightened, time and time again,
where my imagination has no bounds with paper and my pen.
A princess rescued and dragons roar in mystical lands I create
Here, I write fairytale endings and determine a creature's fate
In this amazing domain I view things without using my eyes.
As a poet, I can conceive anything that ingenuity can devise.
Sometimes, when I'm fast asleep, my heart travels in flight
along paths of fanciful dreams, so I pick up my pen and write
about things I see as I journey through my psyche's porthole
penning marvelous adventures that burn deep inside my soul
Maybe now you can understand this wonderful gift I possess
In this magic place I am free from disappointment and stress.
Alone with my thoughts I find beauty in balanced symmetry.
Can you comprehend why I find pleasure in writing poetry?
*Entered into contest with kind permission of my co-writer*
November 1, 2021 DO- IT (DUETS) Poetry Contest
Sponsored by James Edward Lee Sr
Moon on fire kissing souls unite
sparks in destiny your spirit flying towards the sun
Honey dew rises in light of a promise
dazzling warm golden blinding mirror reflections
Sparkling brightly rainbows
floating on a breathless air
Gasping frozen inside thoughts
you are grasping at the heartstrings
Eclipse of love splendid delight
a porthole of Heaven has opened up
One look in your eyes seventh wonder a golden stairway
on wings spirit of beauty an eagle over mountains call
Flying with your soul crystal clear blue horizon
before the eyes arising flowers you beautifully
Eclipsing the heart beautiful
tonight I pray with one in a thousand angels dream
Gone Ashore Sonnet
I have sailed on many seas
they have various colours and smell,
but being indoors looking out
it got a bit boring as well.
One can’t stand by a porthole all day,
water stretching wet and endlessly
I knew I was never going to see
green grass again.
From a mountain, I can see the sea
but never go near the bloody thing
I swim in a river when it is hot.
Sea, shrieking gulls and rusty steel,
I prefer the forest and
the valley that has an unblinking eye.
Suddenly a big hole opened up in the sea, the ship sank into it; the vessel
rests on the bottom where shiny star fish light up the dark before they are
swallowed by sharks .The captain on his bridge, cook in his galley, the first
engineer in the engine room, as it was dinner time when she sank ,her crew
are in the mess room, dancing ghoulishly around as the sea gently sighs.
And sometimes the skeletal face of the deck boy peeks through a porthole
asks when the ship arrives in New York, a girlfriend waiting for him; there is
a moment of hilarity as dead sailors’ moves about free of man’s burden.
The cook rests in a in a large pot tells himself he must wake up, bake bread
and do the bloody the dishes as he tries to get his cigarette lighter to work.
Her captain bobs up and down trying to find his charts, maps of the oceans
currents and wonders why the radar isn’t working. The engineer is trying to
find out why the engine stalled. I knew them all, but dastardly left them in
Rio de Janeiro just because I met a girl called Maria.
a shadow man,
lurking in the shadows of her soul,
he is always there, wherever she goes,
she fears him,
for in the darkness of night,
he will come to her room,
his hand reaching from beneath her bed,
drag her by the ankle to a porthole in the floor,
no-one can hear her kicking and screaming with fear,
then suddenly it stops,
she is too afraid to fall asleep again,
she watches the time ticking until sunrise when she feels safe,
then falls asleep.
When my hair was tied in two tails
I frolicked about the warped trunk of a willow
As the cicadas serenaded in the summer’s heat
The tree held me in its low arms
I watched nature pulse
I tasted nothing but joy in those days
Capable of comprehending nothing but euphoria
Jade orbs gazed through rounded windows perched atop my nose
At nature bleeding hues of yellow and red
The willow was a stunning cadmium to match the craft that took me away from it every morning
The craft would transport me to an alien world
Here I was an ashen duckling among daffodil chicks
Who marched in line with them but would never fit their puzzle
Dancing seas of anticipation
Gazed through a porthole thirty-thousand feet above the land
Far from my willow back home
Colorful ants scurried through paved corridors
Their destination I will never know
A fraction of a day spent before arriving in paradise
Our slate craft ferried us across the crimson bridge
To a frigid shore
To a community of boats and potted plants
To stone monuments that dwarf the largest breathing creatures
To conifers the size of skyscrapers
A hug’s expanse could not surround the trunks of these giants
Now vacant spheres stare through the window
Lungs fill and deflate, heart pulses
Numbed mind
Yet still living
A girlish figure has melted to porcelain curves
Porcelain white to harmonize with the feathery puffs descending outside the window
Pallid digits trace invisible figures on the cold glass
The willow’s painted leaves have long been gone
Buried far beneath winter’s glass and delicate veil
The winter is long and lonesome
The epitome of sunless silence
Obsidian clouds meet ivory snow; the world plunges into a monochromatic stillness
But the numbness of winter refuses to last for an eternity
Its grip will soon be broken by
The promise of spring
In a moment
of sweet surrender
promises are made
uniquely rare
Drifting away
into dreams
held under the aroma
of hawthorn blossoms
Opening gates
unto a Kingdom
jewels sing
star spangled speechless
Under rainbows
each a porthole of illumination
through the sun shines
a pot of gold priceless
Butterflies hover upon beams of light transmitting signals
dancing on every second skipping beat
Breathless roses waltz onto each breath of air
steeped in the sweetest scent of Heaven