Best Tempest Tossed Poems
When on life’s seas I’m tempest tossed,
And my hopeful smile is all but lost,
When I need to survive at any cost,
You are my anchor.
My life is filled with simple pleasures,
My loved ones’ smiles I count as treasures,
When kisses are how life is measured,
You are the standard.
As time soars on and birthdays fly,
My hair is graying, I don’t care why,
My mind is sharp, but not my eyes,
You are my youth.
Love is patient, love is kind,
And to the lucky, love is blind,
But when it comes to love that binds,
You are my love.
Time and tide again waits for no man
tempest-tossed upon life’s billow
The hull or the dinghy
Serves as a fortress
Though steady on its keel
Knocked his wits and sense
As he vacillates between levity and despair
Caused by his unbridled folly
He rakes the moon from out of the sea
A gust of air blew
It tethered him to flee
All you see is overcast
Knots, tiller, hatch, or helm
Love’s killer patch, overwhelm
Derelict in a sense
A castaway float astray
Break the resolve
Of a man who once vowed
to never sail again
But the songs of the nymphs
Was beckoning him
Is there something alluring
or is he just lonely?
Can't find comfort in the stillness
With every beating on the mast
Fate on the tide
Because not once, not twice
But several times
he almost drowned
He was lost at sea
His curse muffled
No stir in the air
He was peeled
And like the tales of sailormen,
She suddenly appeared
Like white foam
She ribboned the blue sky
The clouds drifts idly
As if they haven’t heard
Not a stirring breeze
But her ravenous rage
Devoured him
With rapacious eagerness
Lapping at his ballast
A violent wind is no match
To a careless sail man
in the middle of a stormy sea
He tasted the saltiness
And remembered the breath of his past
As he found himself washed ashore
He was saved at last
But he was looking for more
Despite the warning from the weather lore
And like the wind,
She whips a howling dance
As sea and sky make love
She could not calm her frenetic ire
It stirred something in him
It hit him like a squall
Once again he takes the plunge
Stupid as he is
To find himself once again
Sailing in the storm
Amidst the tempestuous sea
Evening gray and morning red
He could only wish he was dead.
All hands on deck
And as he chants
Red sky in the morning
Serves as warning
Red sky at night sailors delight
Her crimson lips parted
As she said,
"Evening red and morning gray,
help the traveler on his way.
Evening gray and morning red
bring down my wrath upon his head".
The curse of an
inflated imagination.
An escarpment of thought
in a blistering mind.
An invasion of insolence
amidst a tempest-tossed
cacophony
of mewling memories.
A throat restricting,
heart galloping,
and eyes trembling.
A voiceless scream for help.
A crouching body
in cold defeat.
A quivering being,
gasping for an
exasperating breath.
Then, a ferociously seized breath -
transplanted
from an enchained soul,
gives birth to grave apathy.
A silent tear dissipates
into an endless ocean
of trepidation.
Awashed out from shore tempest tossed in the night
Behold sands once golden fade from sight
Alone I must plumb the depths of my sorrow
No one to be with if there is a tomorrow
Drenched are my spirits, a dark heavy toll
Overwhelmed is my vacant aching soul
No compass not guide nor north star above
Exiled into a land of dark clouds, no white dove
Dream sweetly my dear, my life, my love
Jesus is the joy of my life, full of grace and truth
His love was pure and holy, giving his all
For the sin of the world. I accepted him in my youth.
My life was irrevocably changed when I heard his call
I adore Jesus, for he gives hope to all who are lost
Those who accept his wonderful gift shall never fall.
Faith is “Forgetting All, I Trust Him,” whatever the cost
Believing in Jesus, I know a peace that passes serenity
Throughout eternity my soul will never be tempest-tossed.
Having salvation is the goal, life’s supreme amenity
To know that I am safe throughout all eternity.
FIRST PLACE TROPHY WINNING POEM
written June 9, 2021
for "Jesus" Poetry Contest
sponsored by Regina McIntosh
Beyond this space called here and now where hopes are often lost;
across the seething sea of time where dreams are tempest tossed,
there lies a haven well desired to gain at any cost;
to lie at anchor there will be worth all the waters crossed.
The port is gained by following a narrow path, we know.
Many ships have run aground on reefs of sin and woe.
Sound the waves and fathom out the deeps that lie below,
and guide your ship to safety, watching ever for the foe.
In that haven time will cease; the sea shall be as glass,
and all the evils known to man will in the depths be cast.
No parting and no weeping, heartaches, too, will pass
for joy will reign on every ship whose tow line is made fast.
Put forth all effort, then, to reach that harbor through the foam;
cease seeking for the pleasure isles that call the soul to roam.
Mark the charts with vision clear by heaven's starry dome;
make Christ your helmsman; through thickest fog He made that harbor home.
Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright, 1987
Buzzing rail buggies
spinning paddled tires beating
out a gritty wake feather
on sand dune
deliberation over alcohol burning
engines being better than gas
everyone with lit cigarette in hand
aroma of tobacco with salt launching
forth from frothy waves
forms low misty curtains
a soft silty beach records a tiny footprint
seagulls honking, hovering like sound buoy's
a large black image emerges from the ocean
it could be a friendly sea monster
"it's grandpa" in a wet suit he wore
more often than a coat and tie
bringing his grandchildren treasure from Atlantis
in abalone shell purses over flowing with sand dollars
I could be all day at the boardwalk arcade
with this haul he brought in
there would be Salmon smoked and filleted
for Thanksgiving dinner
all the cousins huddled together in the family room
with 3 bay windows on the cliff
verging on the muffled sea
countered by a fireplace and couches
This painting of a tempest tossed ship with mast, less sail,
over the mantel
brush stroked by some nameless prophetic flea market artist
over the hum of conversation, laughter
and cacophony of china and crystal
a hushed deep voice filled
my chest like a distant fog horn blew
"These are days of calm, my boy....... enjoy them!"
In shadows deep, where burdens dwell,
A mother's heart, a timeless spell,
Her journey etched in tears and pain,
A testament of love's refrain.
Through sleepless nights and weary days,
She walks a path, an endless maze,
Her spirit sturdy, never bends,
A fortress strong, her love transcends.
With trembling hands and tender touch,
She mends the wounds that hurt so much,
Her soothing voice, a calming breeze,
A harbor safe in stormy seas.
In darkest hour, when all seems lost,
Her strength emerges, tempest tossed,
A raging fire, fierce and bright,
She'll fight the battles, day and night.
Like Phoenix rising from the ash,
She spreads her wings, with flames that clash,
To shield her kin from harm's cruel gaze,
With love ablaze, in myriad ways.
Through sacrifice and selfless care,
Her dreams suspended in the air,
She nurtures dreams, their seeds ignite,
She fans their flames, ignites their light.
In every stumble, every fall,
She lifts them up, and stands tall,
Her unwavering faith takes flight,
A beacon guiding through the night.
With steady hand, she guides the way,
A compass true, through shades of gray,
Through storm and strife, she'll never tire,
Her love, a flame that won't expire.
For in her heart, a love untamed,
A love that's destined, never waned,
She'll raise them up, to heights unknown,
A testament of love, full-blown.
So let her rise, like Phoenix, soar,
With love unmatched, forevermore,
She'll shield, protect, and hold them near,
A mother's love, forever dear
When life seems so tempest tossed,
And all seems so hopelessly lost,
Claw back up that slippery slope!
Just remember that there is always hope!
When things never seem to go right,
And you feel you've lost your guiding light,
And in the darkest of times you trip and grope.
Just remember that there is always hope!
When in the throes of trials and stress,
And in times of dire hoplessness,
'Twill be much easier for you to cope,
Remembering that there is always hope!
When upon receipt of dreadful news,
You can dwell upon it if you choose.
It will do no good just to sit and mope.
Just remember that there is always hope!
When life has not been kind to you,
And you are feeling asea and blue,
Clinging fearfully at the end of the rope,
Just remember that there is always hope!
He came and dwelt among men
And shared a vision of heav'n;
To Him some opened their doors,
But more denied their favors.
With sinners He sat and supped;
Thus, others called Him corrupt.
But they did not understand:
He changed their hearts with His hand.
He walked and taught in byways
And always with gentle gaze;
Some gladly took His offer,
Others remained a scoffer.
Still He sought those who were lost,
Those who felt were tempest-tossed.
He healed the sick--gave them hope!--
Granted them the strength to cope.
He knew He had few days left
And sorrowed for those bereft;
In His heart, He put us first--
Both good and bad and the worst.
In spite of His love so clear,
We pierced His side with a spear.
Then as He drew His last breath,
For us all He conquered Death.
April 6, 2023
Write a Jueju-Qijue Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Emile Pinet
New World Colossus Deception—2015
(Apropos The Sonnet of Emma Lazarus)
In her brazened left hand she holds the tablet year
of her shore’s liberty;
And a raised right lights the weary way to the land
of the brave and free;
But today, blind eyes look out to the wretched skies
and tormenting seas
Where frothing waves and white clouds tease hopes
of fleeing refugees.
No longer are there waiting arms and love
for a roaming, exiled family—
Greeted no longer with silent lips, but with vociferous voices
screaming no
To “…huddled masses…homeless, tempest-tossed…” children
that are to be;
Though they dare, must be aware upon these shore
is nowhere for them to go.
Their religiosity—washed with blood of the innocent—
has no place in this land;
For them and theirs—is no way a true Puritan would ever lend
a helping hand
To welcome their tried tired yearning pregnant hopes
of a new life begun.
No! Hell no! There of those here still waiting for true
and full freedom to be won!
This is the land of the Pilgrim’s pride; land where other
fleeing fathers and mothers died.
This land has only fought wars of peace; there is no place here
for you to peacefully abide.
Roiling,Roiling,under me
my coils are silver as the sea.
You look ,you look ,
to capture me....
Leviathan !
I shall be free!
Pitiful and weak art thou
sailing in thy tiny scow
Blustering upon the bow,
seek to capture me
Tempest tossed and thrown about
brave and foolish full of doubt
still you try to seek me out
will not let me be.
Rip,I tear you from the mast
have you for my night's repast
tiny ship be sinking fast,
with no one left to see...
Roiling ,Roiling ,under me
my coils are silver as the sea,
You look,you look,
to capture me........
Leviathan!
I shall be free.
The sea captain's weathered house still stands above the shore.
'Tis said that the old place is a century old or more.
Its long-shuttered windows face out t'ward the restless sea.
From the widow's walk his bride yet makes her mournful plea!
On dark and stormy nights 'tis said she can still be seen,
As she haunts the widow's walk acting out a spectral scene.
Her plaintive plea is heard e'en above the shrieking gale:
"Hurry home to me my love!" as she espies a distant sail!
'Tis said she lights a lantern to guide her lover home,
As he steers 'mongst the treacherous shoals and roiling foam.
Her heart is aflutter anticipating his arms and tender kiss,
Praying that this be his final cruise to e'er enjoy eternal bliss.
A phantom ship is seen to founder, according to local lore!
A sorrowful moan is heard e'en above the ocean's roar!
Alas, the ship sank 'neath the waves in the tempest tossed!
When ecstacy seemed within her grasp, all the souls were lost.
And e'en today in this supposed enlightened age,
The widows walk is transformed into an eerie stage,
Where, e'er young, faithful still, sobbing soft and low,
A sorrowful wraith awaits his coming, her true love to bestow!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Hello America. I still have high and lofty hopes and dreams of you. Your ideals and principles of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness are still highly favored and deeply intact. The vision of the founders sometimes seems under siege, but remains so vividly in place. Perhaps presently, their vision is even more real than the signers of 'the compact' on the Mayflower ever dreamed possible.
You, America, like the Mayflower, must keep your sails set and never give way to high winds and storms at sea. You, America, like our founders, must not be so naive as to think there would not be fights. Like them, you must forge ahead with all your might through multiplied fears in the darkness of seemingly innumerable nights.
Their losses were great both at sea and at the shore, but they fought through the fog of a million teardrops as brave ones who rose above their fears and continued to roar as lions and soar the heights like eagles.
Through the evils and greed that gave rise to Native American slaughters and African American slavery. Through more than 40 years of the silent cries of 60 million unborn babies. O great and beloved one, in spite of atrocities gone unheard and the pleas of rationality and reason unheeded, your entrenched goodness retains your greatness. O great and beloved one, your greatness often comes under attack but always bounces back. Your greatness is often taken for granted but remains on track. It's because your greatness lies not in your perfection, but in your noble pursuits in spite of your imperfections.
242 years; through battle scares and tempest-tossed; through bloody wars and constitutional crises, you live on to wave 'Old Glory". May your future be ever bright and shining forth the light. Happy birthday America. July 4, 1776-
06282017PSContest, Summer Soltice, Brain Strain
What is it then, what good?
Never doing as it should
Tempest tossed from hell
Written close to me
Tears drain from the eye wells
Bitten close to hearts deep sea
Ink dries round the wound
Written close to me
Rejected again my friends
Planned out as a grand win
Cut this deep bitter sin
Written close to me
Good then to bed
Fateful bitter bled
Good I say, good
Good Writtance
Close to me