Best Seafloor Poems
Coral life forms in copious swarms
feast in the Cambrian chyme,
dividing their cells and forming their shells
to end on the seafloor as lime.
Tectonic churning and magma upturning
renders marble whiter than bone.
The marble is mined, but the cutters are blind
to the angel confined in the stone.
A young sculptor arose, with a bend in his nose
and a transcendent creative spark,
charged with ambition to fulfill a commission,
an angel for St. Dominic's Ark.
An artist sublime who will live for all time,
his genius is to see things not shown.
For an angel to achieve he first has to perceive
its splendor enclosed in the stone.
At dawning's first glow he surveys the tableau
of the blocks the stone cutters supplied.
In some he sees dreams of potential themes,
but only one holds an angel inside.
“A beautiful thing never gives so much pain
as does failing to hear it and see it.”
The block that he chose was rejected by those
who then lied and claimed to foresee it.
With talent and skill he falls to with a will,
surrounded by rubble and relic.
His method you see, for the angel to free
is to remove all the bits not angelic.
Michelangelo’s art for all time stands apart
but there's something further to heed.
For there's a bit more to the fine metaphor
in the tale of the angel he freed.
“A beautiful thing never gives so much pain
as does failing to hear it and see it.”
For in all our insides a bright angel abides
and is just waiting for something to free it:
to remove all the parts which harden our hearts,
to chip out the darkness and pride,
to smooth the rough patches, to polish the scratches
and unshackle the angel inside.
© January 26, 2013
9/15/16
Across the lands and shores
Plants and spores
So much life in different shapes and forms
Many storms cold or warm
Always been an omnivore
So I eat vegetables like corn
And meats like albacore and boar
I don't care about the odds on the board
It's about so much more
And not just the reward
I'll continue to row without an oar
Near and far from the seafloor
As well as any trees such as sycamore
One up the highest score
And maintain a good rapport
I've always had an interest in lore
Minerals and ores
I'm not rich or technically poor
Worse than any apple, some people rotten to the core
Such foolish things people support
And over such petty stuff people go to war
Still there are areas on this Earth that have yet to be explored
And possible fossils of new dinosaurs
Looking up at the full moon shining beyond so many other orbs
By: Dalton Ogletree
-3/7/14 and 5/2/14-
The waves of the sea and the screeching of the seagulls
Mix together like coffee and cream
I feel like I’m livin’ a dream
I walk barefoot on the warm, warm sand
I don’t really understand
Why you lay a hand on me…
Is it because I’m as mournful as the sea
Or is it because I’m the waves that swivel and dive down in ecstasy?
I don’t quite understand
The reason I feel the city’s pressure and hardness
They are cemented in the abyss
Serene Shores…
Sails in silhouetted slumber
Serene Shores…
Falls into flamboyant floors
Serene Shores
Guides me gently, giving me grand advice –
“DREAM ON, DEAR CHILD!”
The sound of honking is heard unexpectedly… the sound emitting out of the car
It was so uncalled for! It was going way too far!
I feel like drifting away in a deep sleep, carelessly hitting the seafloor…but I’m wide awake instead
I would like to lie lifelessly and tranquilly…I ascend from the water’s surface in disappointment – where’s my head?
I can’t completely comprehend
Why I am more in tune with nature – it could mend
A shattered soul…
A torn, forlorn heart…
Like my own
Serene Shores…
Sails in silhouetted slumber
Serene Shores…
Flaps its fantastic wings, favoring the light of freedom!
Sadistic Shores
Pushes me forwardly persistently, poking at me pessimistically–
“WAKE UP TO REALITY, YOU MORON!”
I ponder about the future and its many mysteries
There are clues in the surface of the ocean
I’m too busy trying to pick them up as I go…I wonder about the meaning of the past memories
I squander my time, getting caught up in bittersweet emotion
Into the evanescing night
Floats hope, now restrained to a dream
Within the edges which incite
Tales clinging unto the extreme :
Russet of summer, ebb of tide
Blows whispers as rainstorm nears
Its last heaving when moons provide,
A bright glint reflecting my tears.
Although long my amble on hills
Time does bestow my earnest bid,
To forgive, a strife from love's chills
Allowing mist to end tight grid--
Old stories drown under seafloor
Through August , warm the hues blending...
For magical is the beam ashore
My heart at peace ...never-ending.
Brian Strand Late Jan 2019 Contest
Not entered in any challenge
Spoke to a cloud today –
the usual conversation
about shape and size,
lows and highs...whether
my need to tote a handy, spring
loaded umbrella...or a better chance
to go without pants, dance
on the beach ~ showing off
thighs, widening sockets
of older generational eyes – he
told me of clouds who gather and
threaten, causing ships to leap into
salty lather, sailors beware!
take battened-down care! – schools
of fishes diving to ocean depths
they share, with ancient vessels (and sewage),
a seafloor covered with sandy
coinage – a diver's delight; when
stormed into sight –
more subjects of our chatter
and debates, were those of tides
and tectonic plates; also of bony-splatter:
living shrapnel, from a well aimed cannon-ball
against a wooden hull, or artillery shell,
man's modern perpetuation, of that never
settling, always heartening seafarer's knell –
I went on to ask, if in all his travels, had
he ever seen anything truly divine?
Like an angel passing...or a saucer
flying...perhaps some mythical dragon
soaring, trying to lasso down a tasty
moon ~ bring him brightly closer,
doing some dragon flips, salivating
for cheesie fondue lips....
Gardens of sea pebbles
glistening 'neath the moon,
shining their finest glow,
ride the tide as it slinks
away in ebbing flow.
Gardens of sea pebbles,
bright with seafloor colors,
mingle with calm sea life
that hug nocturnal shores
beside Poseidon's wife.
Gardens of sea pebbles
bead chains of jewelry
sparkling with waning waves
that cleanses their design
in gems that garner raves.
Gardens of sea pebbles
vibrant as the youthful
Goddess Aphrodite.
Exquisite adornments
gifted by Amphitrite.
I stand, facing the roaring deep
I stand, and get jolted from my petrified sleep
A most wonderful sight
A most phenomenal sight
Waves, unleashing their fury
Waves, battling, wild and free
Waves, tainted with all the shades of blue
Beautiful, accompanied by their foamy tattoo
It is almost as if those waves are angry
Angry, simply to be
Angry, for they know not why do they roar
Angry, wanting to be soothing, but having to move the seafloor
I stand, facing them,
And feel in their rage, my own mayhem
Yes, there, in front of me, does be a violent pandemonium
And there, inside of me, does be a similar fiery abysm
Waves, surrounding on all sides, my birthright
Waves, reminding me of the power of fate
Why, however rich and historical does be the past
Nothing, nothing about it does ever last
Such a powerful havoc
Wanting it seems, to give the shores a shock
Or, wanting to reach them, to die in their cliffs
Out of love, or just acting blindly, lost in its own grief
Pray, majestic are the waves as they keep crashing with determination
Here, in this world, we all do act out our duties
Even if we find no meaning in these docilities
For only in doing such, we shall all get our redemption
I stand, facing the roaring deep
Jolted, startled from my petrified sleep
Waves, tumultuous and fulminating
Waves, facing me, waves, in me, waves, all soul inspiring!
Monday 15 August 2016
Inspired by the slashing waves at Les Roches Qui Pleurent
Mauritius
When I am one in two
I hesitate
To let my thoughts withdraw,
For in the safety of that zone
I trust my friend who hears my voice alone.
She may not finish my unsaid words,
Though sometimes she does,
She may not understand where I was going,
But she always faithfully tries.
The art of being two is a garden,
Where one hand sows, the other grows.
When birth takes place in the womb of the earth,
The hands fold together as one,
Dignified with grace,
Thankful for the blessing.
A trace of the everlasting
Seen in the unquestioned root
Of how devotion
A good life fulfills.
In my heart there is a chamber
I share with no more then one.
There is but a single key,
Whose power is to open a world
Where a dolphin lies anchored
To an unbound universe.
Who is in possession of this key,
Is responsible.
To fear, flee and drop the chance to enter
Is a choice the unworthy can make.
To jump,
To leap into that island room,
Where seas,
Stormy, serene, salty and fresh
Blind the senses and reshape thoughts,
Is to fall into an ocean where a great dolphin
Lies in shackles. Time and action
In slow motion
Must move.
The setting free of divine spirits an art
Beholden
Only to she
The right one.
She who enters this space,
Where private thoughts wordlessly are spoken,
Where flowers grow on the cusps of waves,
Where faith is more then trying,
Where roots grow from a seafloor miles below,
Where stars in the sky whisper secrets,
Laughing with affectionate wonder
At the two below
Whose only prison
Is the freedom
To say yes or no
To a risky life
Both bonded and unbounded,
Is she whose nimble fingers will by love alone,
Sink the chains and set the dolphin free.
Oh so long has he waited for she his chosen one
So long has he dreamt of the journey to come.
Upon his back she wept and held,
And into the open world they ever went
And never ceased to be.
Burying dead bodies usually takes place
In fancy holes dug on some land space.
Most people dig those holes somewhere nice
But sometimes they don’t have a choice.
Some people burn dead bodies to ashes
And this really saves on available land spaces.
Sometimes dead bodies are buried at sea
And slowly sink into muck for eternity.
Other fancy holes are dug large enough,
For the removal of some valuable stuff.
Sometimes these holes are dug somewhere nice
And most times people don’t have a choice.
When all the valuable stuff’s gone offshore
The hole is back-filled and land space restored.
Today we can dig holes in the seafloor
Right through the eternal muck and more.
Holes should be dug to bury the dead
And to remove valuable stuff instead.
Looking for answer, drowning deep beneath sorrow, trying to breathe,
Gasping, panting for air, frantically searching to find an escape
Like a weight crashing heavily upon the seafloor.
FEBRUARY FIGHT IN THE NORTH ATLANTIC
Turning home with her hold half full,
Wind picks up - raging, all the more
Fierce in its intent to smash her hull
And plunge her deep to the seafloor.
Murderous mountains of watery salt
Filled with cold hatred inside
In their drenching ice-bound assault
Make kamikaze charges along our side.
Snapping rime-heavy shrouds
Tumbling the boat in the chill peril;
Overflowing scuppers foaming in anger loud,
As, engine screaming, she regains her keel.
I have denied the ocean's roar.
Still, I wait for you by the shore.
Two worlds connected by heartstrings.
Is this truly what patience brings?
My insight and logic at war.
I left but I cannot ignore.
You cannot wilt on this seafloor.
Despite the ground, your presence clings.
Rose in the sand.
The sun's blindness has made me sore.
All I do for you is adore.
Even if my universe swings.
Tell me, will you come if wind sings?
Don't leave me alone anymore.
Rose in the sand.
~
8/13/18
Contest: Rondeau Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Joseph May
(The number of the image I chose was #2)
What did I do today!
By Stanley Russell Harris
The new mad author
& A Poetry Soup honourably mentioned poet
I looked on the Facebook BBC News.
As that’s where I express my views.
As it does say, ‘write a comment,’ it’s true.
And as a writer, that’s what I like to do.
Today it’s more sad news to say.
On the other side of the world today.
Whales are sadly beaching themselves.
Not one or two but in their pod crowds.
None are looking sick I say.
As in the shallows their life fades away.
Looks like to me, like they were on their way.
In one direction, I meant to say.
So why are they determined to die?
Whales don’t commit suicide, I sigh.
Far more intelligent than you and I!
So why do they all want to die?
I mention Haarp I do you know.
But no one that path seems to go.
Is it because it’s a USA black operation?
Something I read on the internet.
And something, I cannot forget.
Or is it all those wind turbines?
Vibrating sound through the seafloor!
Sending sounds everywhere.
Causing fish/wales to pull out their hair!
Scales is what I meant to say.
But poetry is meant to rhyme folk say.
Whatever the reason, no doubt mankind is involved.
Thick as two planks mankind is be told.
Not animals or fish, but folk like we are.
Interfering with nature as that’s what we are.
No wonder Whales go so wrong.
Man is interfering with their migratory song.
And with the mixed messages they do get.
They come ashore and their life forfeit.
And they will do it more and more.
Until the last ones on your shore.
And only then, when its last breath does take.
Man might realise his big mistake.
PS I should like to thank all those volunteers who are trying so hard to save the lives of our splendid sea creatures in particular the Whales down under.
The Sea Rolls and Rules
Ragged, slategrey skies
Gulls brave the battery of winds
Mariners pensive in storm-tossed ships
Cut through the waves with billowed sails.
In the sanctity of the ocean's deep
The most ancient things of this world do sleep;
In the crushing cold of the muddy seafloor
Lie eternity's treasures, to rise nevermore.
Far above, life goes on in the swell of the tide,
The Mother of All tosses her children about
Sings them to sleep on her bosom wide
As they swim or shudder, gambol, shout.
The rhythm of life beneath the waves
Flows on and on in this womb and grave;
This whole beauteous Earth sprang from stormy seas;
From the deep dark below,
All her children flee.
We should be as thick as water-we should
wait;
The half-life of the carbon in the waste product of the mollusk on the seafloor is
35913.78 turns of SOL(ace).
We should be like water we should stiffen ourselves against the brutal
elements and wait until the slowly dying star rises over the hill, heralding our
return to softness.
We should be malevolent, like water we should
erode away the creations of corrupt creatures.
I can see it now.
Through the cracks in the foundation the building we worm as liquids do.
then, and here's the crux of it, we
wait until a frost descends-
Kapow!
ICY Expansion as the concrete pops and quakes, a straw to
obliterate
the camel's back and bring us back to speed.
swiftness and Ionic bonds will serve us well.
Loose not your feeble footing lest you tumble into hell.