Best Seawater Poems
Beside the rustic harbor stands a lighthouse on a hill
It keeps a watchful vigil o’er the waters deep and still
At night the harbor waters shine almost as bright as day
And nothing is as beautiful as moonlight on the bay
The shores stretch out their golden arms along the rugged land
The waters seem to sing and dance across the golden sand
A cool and salty ocean breeze blows softly through my hair
As tiny sparkling water droplets gently fill the air
I stand next to the water's edge and listen while it sings
The water seems to know the gentle comfort that it brings
I long to have you at my side beside the shining sea
While list'ning as the water brings your image back to me
Though we are very far apart I still can see your smiles
As the water whispers soft and sweet across the many miles
I hear your sparkling laughter and it softly seems to say
“I love you”, and it fills my heart like moonlight on the bay
By a little log house that I used to call home,
In the hills and the woods that I once used to roam,
There the seasons would dance with the grace of a swan
Till the music was stilled and the curtain was drawn.
And the dance of the spring filled my heart with delight,
From the rose-tinted dawn to the sweet-tempered night;
For the blooms of the rose were a gossamer gown,
While the carpet of flow'rs was the softest of down;
And the warm, gentle breeze was the touch of a hand
That from heaven had quickened the land.
Oh, the dance of the seasons is dear unto me
As the little log house by the old oaken tree,
And I wish I was back there again.
There the dance of the summer was pleasant and long,
All the streams and the rivers were bursting with song,
Every sweet berry bush was a wonderful friend,
And the garden a feast that I used to attend;
Flocks of birds wheeled as one like a cavalry drill,
And the butterflies danced on the hill.
Oh, the dance of the seasons is dear unto me
As the cool mountain stream 'neath the old oaken tree,
And I wish I was back there again.
Then at summer's last fade stole an autumnal wave,
Both as quiet and swift as an Indian brave;
All the leaves on the trees were transformed into gold,
And the warm summer days turned to frost and to cold;
It was then that the apples were blushing like girls,
And the rainbows that fell shone like pearls.
Oh, the dance of the seasons is dear unto me
As the leaves that fell down from the old oaken tree,
And I wish I were back there again.
Cloudy winter was filled with the dance of the snow,
With the faint smell of smoke, with the firelight's glow;
And I oftentimes walked down the path to the hill
Where the snow-angels danced round the old cider mill;
And the house dressed in snow, and in icicles too
Was a cave by the seawater blue.
Oh, the dance of the seasons is dear unto me
As the snow-covered woods by the old oaken tree,
And I wish I were back there again.
By Isaiah Zerbst on the seventh of October, 2013
A contracted seafarer...concerning no servile rank,
kept e'er involved watch...away from menial daily tasks top deck,
while steadfast wary of...the diligent taskmaster's whip.
A dawn swift gust...brushes the ship from a rocky pillar,
duly rallies from rest...aids calamitous bellows from crow's nest,
witnessed by crew...rose an angel disguised with devil horns.
Seawater laps feverishly...against ship's wooden hull,
as panic over breed minds...once sturdy legs go feebly about,
cascading thoughts grips privately...every man for himself.
Another abrupt action...frees a churning sea expounds,
and an opening hole...devouring anything within its midst,
as desperation consumes...a ship has long met its doom.
A lone selfless soul of limited else...moved past the lost,
and hastily clutched a burdened javelin...and hoist it upwards,
with his petitioned combined strength...released the deadly blow.
Her dying scream...was drowned out by restored happy voices,
and a wealth of well-wishes and praises...honoring accolades,
as lone eyes of a humble sort...gaze a siphoning pass.
There is a house on the cliff’s edge,
Around a quiet, unmarked shoreline
At night, the tide lifts high against a foggy moon
In the morning, gloomy clouds settle with the sea
At times, not even the birds are seen or heard
The house is left to nature’s caress
Home-crafted seashell chimes sway and sing with the wind
Crushed sand dollars lie together on the back porch
The shells were once whole, collected by the former owners
Long gone are they now, smiling with the moon
The owners are the very sound of the ocean spray,
Striking the rocks, announcing the cool dawn of day
They are not the dark, empty rooms,
The rooms that nobody thinks of as they go about their lives
The quiet owners are long gone—thought of only by one
A stillborn legacy about as tiresome as the sun,
When the clouds crisp out its beams . . .
A seawater puddle is in the middle of the dining room
Nobody knows it sits there, sinking in the floorboards
It used to be a far larger puddle after a storm,
Stealthily leaking into the house
But now it is small—so small—and the boards are moist,
Moist with its only companion amongst the instilled silence
Nobody thinks of empty, abandoned rooms
Nobody remembers the former owners
They were not much for socials and gatherings
They always lived their quiet, happy lives
Without a care of the outside world,
Far from anybody’s thought
Miles from the nearest home
Where the next generation comfortably lives
He never finished fixing that leak . . .
Sometimes the puddle gets bigger after other storms
And when it does, there is almost life there again
You can see the chandelier reflected on the unperturbed water
As a crystal dangles and falls from on high
The dark silence following the drop is as deep as thought . . .
Nobody thinks of empty, abandoned rooms
Nobody remembers the former owners
There is merely a house on the cliff’s edge
Around a quiet, unmarked shoreline
-March 21, 2013-
The dream of getting rich
Win the big lottery
It can be compared
with drinking seawater
If you drink seawater
it doesn`t take away the thirst
You just want more and more
If you dream of being
beautiful, wise, famous
and very popular
......you will just want MORE and MORE
24.03.2012
A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
"Never paint except with the three primary colors [red, blue, and yellow] and their derivatives." Camille Pissarro
One primary color can make me feel mellow
when warm like honey heated up or like rays of a golden sun.
It’s flax, saffron, blond, and canary yellow,
cheerful like a daffodil and bumblebee fun.
It’s bananas too and a well-buttered bun!
The second and vivid primary color
spells energy, boldness, passion and power.
Cardinals make most other birds seem simply duller.
A symbol of love, rose reigns as a fragrant red flower,
while scarlet and crimson sunsets my eyes can devour.
The loveliest for me of these three colors is the hue
that melds with yellow, thus creating green.
Some jewels, blooms and berries are naturally blue.
Splendid is a dusk with the tint of an indigo sheen.
Oh, cerulean sky above seawater shimmering aquamarine!
The girl and her smile straddle the rainbow.
Neon hair the fluid cascades of northern lights,
her seafoam cloak the ripples outgrown by the shore.
She adores the breeze adorned with gems.
Emeralds fly from silk strings in wriggle-giggle wind,
as jaded kites made of ruby and sapphire and pearl
sit on a picnic checkerboard in envy-green grass
betting on play-dates with zephyrs.
White dice cubes roll beady-black-eyes at their folly.
She chases books as they sail from trees.
Their soft-covers as nimble as sparrows’ flit.
She leafs through slices of fruitcake,
each nutty page a looney tooney frame of insane;
Mr. H. Dumpty carouses with Mick Jagger swagger,
two baby paisley owls drive a ‘67 mustang car,
the car does a hop-scotch down bourbon street.
Field-mouse-flowers meow,
the moon jumps over the cow,
and she sings “the world needs more bumblebees!”
The golden palm of a five-fingered maple leaf
offers a diamond ring.
Palm trees pull up anchor and hover
in sunset silhouette like Mai Tai parasols.
A two-masted schooner scries seawater for its soul.
She laughs as black-habited nuns ride
upside-down on the roller-coaster rim
their feet kicking the billow-bellies of clouds ‘til
they fall into dreamcatchers sticky
and tricky as spiderwebs,
and a doughy-boy-baker loses
the reins of sugar-cookie-horses tilling
confetti seeds in a magician's puppet garden
where Dali wombs and peacock plumes bloom.
Walking barefooted
along the shoreline,
in one purple sunset;
The tepid seawater
like summer kisses
on my weary feet.
I sighed...
As I took the scarlet hyacinth
attached to my rosy ears
and began to pluck each petal
One by one...
He loves me,
He loves me not;
He loves me...
The last one...
I couldn't pluck,
So closed my eyes
like a clamshell in distress;
When I opened my eyes
the last petal
vanished in my hand.
3RD PLACE
BRIAN'S SELECT J, any form, any theme
Contest Judged: 6/16/2020 7:32:00 AM
4th PLACE
N-A re-run 7
Contest Judged: 6/15/2020 9:24:00 AM
Sponsored by: John Hamilton |
We were vacationing in the state of
palm trees and seashore in September's
mild loveliness.
Me, a sexagenarian widow,
hobbled by arthritis in my knees.
As my family enjoyed the surf,
I sat contented on a creaking
wooden pier,
taking in the salted breeze tossing
my gray hair.
I heard the seawater beneath me
ripple, then a splash,
and a masculine, "Hello,"
there in the mossy colored brine was he.
His long brunette hair flecked with
sun kissed gold,
it was entwined with tiny conch shells.
His build of brawn and burnished skin,
eyes of an amber hue.
Handsome in oceanic resplendence-
I then realized he was a merman!
As his iridescent lower body of sapphire
scales and magnificent fins swirled in
the foaming waters,
I thought what would such a youthful
merman want with an elderly woman
like me,
when there were younger women
bringing their charms to the sea?
He spoke again, and I was mesmerized,
"You were once a maiden,
a strong swimmer of the waves,"
he mysteriously smiled,
"King Poseidon remembers his
people of the deep,
although you are aged and infirm,
your soul is of the aqueous realm,
and know this message I give to
you today,
while you sleep neath the late summer
moonlight tonight,
we merpeople love you for your
caring of our vast oceans and
their life."
He reached out his strong hand
momentarily,
and placed a perfect pink pearl
into my outstretched hand.
His eyes so captivating that I
never wanted to stop gazing
into them.
As he softly bid me a farewell,
his fins slapped the waters,
as waiting dolphins leapt in happy unison,
and he disappeared beyond the edge
of the pier.
Charleston Merman,
I'll never forget you,
a sweet nautical memory,
as the perfect pink pearl is displayed on
white velvet on my nightstand. ~
Do you find happiness
in my tear?
Like the full moon does
in the seawater.
I find your sweet smell
in the air,
like the honeybee does
in the flower.
Why do you hate me
when I love you
Why do you blame me
when I talk to you
I follow you as the night does
the daytime
I miss you, like a refugee does
his lovely clime!
I don't wish you to wipe
my tears away
I just want you not to go
so far away!
I will never ask you
to love me again,
but let me dream of you
to forget my pain!
TITANIC
The seawater around my ankles is so cold
Who’d have thought in this final moment
That when my time is near, I’d be smiling
Well, it is more of an ironic grin, perhaps
Damn those tea leaves, they kind of knew
I just scoffed – back then, but not now
As the deck lurches again, and I stumble
Some muffled creaking sounds from above
Who would be in any doubt that we’re lost
I guess the North Atlantic claims another
And all that I have to record my thoughts
Is a fountain pen and a pile of wet paper
Back in my cabin that’s somewhere nearby
My unfinished novel, what inspiration now
None will ever read it or remember me
Some forgotten prospective author, huh
The cold water is now lapping at my waist
I have nowhere to go, except … down
These last few years have been tolerable
But my New York debut will have to wait
Probably a very long time. Ghost writers.
I could have made it in the land of dreams
Leaving the damp fog of London behind
There are none nearby who will listen
Except that one face down over there
But now the last lights have gone out
It’s dark now, so all I have is my thoughts
And this damned water making me float
As my head now bumps on the ceiling
What a voyage this was, clearly to oblivion
So there is no-one to say goodbye to
Except the fish, when they investigate
So long and all the best - better than me
I’ll see Davy Jones when I check in soon
Just thoughts, eh. I expected to do better
Vast, powerful motion of all time,
How many do you facilitate sublime?
To discover, protect and to ably fight,
By wood, to keep our territory right.
To race, enjoying the sea air of such waft,
And to fish for delicious bites from our nets cast;
Enjoying the freedoms of the Common Fisheries Policy,
Having livelihoods protected through areas of advocacy.
One of carbon and two of oxygen, water,
And of course with salt which does the liquid alter;
Also with sodium, magnesium, calcium and sulphate too,
Plus the ions potassium and chlorine which do.
You can't really drink it apart from a sip,
But seawater and its fish can be boiled for your lip;
Cod’s coming back as no more overfished,
So pollock does not anymore need to be wished.
Our first travels were made on the ocean wave,
Its captains gave respect and sensibly did behave;
We journeyed from England to America to make,
A life for ourselves which nobody was to brake.
It moves with power, and sometimes takes a life,
And hides oil that's dug through much toil and strife;
The global community needs to channel its energy,
For renewable sources to be designed with synergy.
High noon sun would soon turn
Her petite, ruddy face into one freckle
She rubbed the juice from a fresh lime
Across her brow so the bangs might bleach
The white sand brushed the strand
and aquamarine surf that cut a split on the Caye
reflected mint green off the lens of her Wayfarers
Almost lathered in coconut oil
Her cutis emitted the scent of sandalwood
And warm mackeroons
Her smile hinted of a sweet, pitted apricot
Its puckered core with eyes closed
Waiting for that first kiss
That would never come
I met her in the morning last week
On the corner of happy and chirpy
The day she tossed her cookies in the street
And swore off cashew wine and meat pie
Her tummy hadn’t been the same since;
The because of a picnic basket brimming
With plain yogurt and sourdough sticky buns
“Look at that phosphorescent fish” she exclaimed
Spurting seawater that had backed up
in the snorkel tube into my eyes, her mask
catawampus across her cheeks
“I think you mean fluorescent” retorted I
“it is all the same” she beamed
And smacked her face back into the water
I couldn’t help but chuckle
And dove down so she would not notice
Shadows off the palm leaves told me
It was time to head back to the water taxi
With what remained of her chartreuse
Lipstick, she now resembled a fried crustacean
It made me hungry and I longed for croutons
She either talked or sang something like
A muzzled version of Del Shannon’s “Down in the Boondocks”
The entire trip
When we docked her now blond locks
Sheared her rostrum and her
White teeth winked at me
Oh my …. Shall I say goodbye?
If I should fly this earth tonight
somewhere between two sleeps
to the beating of a rythm
in the cadence my heart keeps
My heart shall beat its measure
to the faucet's broken seam
that leaks my mind to other worlds
and begs my soul to dream
I dream I fish for souls of men
seawater drops the looking glass
My ship is coming on the tide
I pray this vessel be my last
The souls of men shall be my treasure
of which I'd fill the cargo hull
for nothing fills my heart with pleasure
like fishing for men's souls
So on, and on, and on I fish
while the dripping cuts the seam
that leaks my mind to all dimensions
and frees my soul that beams
For while I'm pleasedwith bigger fish
it's the smaller ones I rue
The schools of the smaller souls
my nets keep passing through
So finer nets than theseI'll need
and time's no cost to me it's true
these finer nets I need take time
God rest my weary crew
These finer nets my looms will spin
and for these I count the cost
The smaller souls I'll catch in time
before they're even lost
I know the winds of fortune
are fickle with their kiss
but I know just what the future holds
an eternity of bliss
So if I fly this earth tonight
somewhere between two sleeps
to the beating of that rythm
in the cadence my heart keeps
I'll send my prayers straight up to God
in the twinkling of an eye
To save those souls a wandering
before they even die
God save me from the devil's hand
and spare me from the rod
My heart is broken from this world
I give my soul to God
I follow stars by ship at night
and sail all seven seas
to find the souls of men who're lost
by ones, and twos, and threes
My destiny was never wrote
my fate was ne'r decreed
My choices all were made for naught
for this my heart will bleed
So if I fly this earth tonight
somewhere between two sleeps
to the beating in the rythm
of the cadence my heart keeps
My ship's a coming on the tide
and fishing is my game
all the souls I've caught thus far
will never be the same
My ship's a coming on the tide
and sunshine rays come down
another soul is caught in time
they're lost and then they're found
Imagine if seeds of trees hatched to Tree-lings.
Seedlings with two trunk legs and root feet
Bodies like humans covered in bark
Arm branches with finger shoots and leaves
Head with eyes, nose, ears and mouth
Like those cut into tree trunks eons ago.
Meet the Ents, pre-tree creatures,
Half-man, half-tree, destined to mature into trees.
When they are about two-score rings old and more
Their tired trunks grow roots
And Ents lose their human-like features and become just trees.
Ents can walk to establish new Ent colonies.
Ent armies can mobilize and fight against loggers
Who want to hack down their grand parents the trees.
You can stroll with an Ent on long walks through the forest
To hear their wonderful stories and legends.
Ents can talk and sing their arbor songs.
They also have ears and can hear what you say to them.
So you can talk to the trees, give them a hug
And say how much you love them.
But watch out, as Ents can be very argumentative,
Especially about how the forests are being cleared and
Roads cut through their midst, and even global warming.
Ents are too big and messy with leaf drop to invite into your home.
But they love a picnic in the open.
They hate smoke, which they fear, and so barbecues are out.
They love going to the beach where they can dip their toes and trunks.
The mangroves taught them how to swim and they love to bathe and swim about,
In the cool seawater and play with the seaweed and kelp.
They float well, and love to jump in a river and get carried downstream in the current.
They love a game of ring-around-rosy and even a maypole game.
Ents are are also very good and gentle with kids.
They love to have kids climb and play in their branches.
They are avid experts at swinging and swirling kids around their trunks.
So next time you wander through a forest
Call out "Ent, Ents can You Hear Me?"
Gently tap on trunks as you go
And don't be surprised if you hear the leaves rustle
Or hear a grumble, and see Ent eyes pop open in slits in the bark.
Ents love a chat and hug and a cuddle, and a scratch in their bark
Even when they get lazy and get rooted to the ground.
The Ents are there, you just need to believe in them and find them.