Best Waterline Poems
oh precious, dulcet diva, ocean-tide
you, of sand and foam and spindrift -
all your moods and meanderings
speak deep my spirit, wistful and wan
musings captured, gist enraptured …
I listen, close ...
on those warm and windy days, your
voice cuts clear, carries with it the joy
of sun sprites alighting on wave tops
hopping crest-to-crest like so many
gold pieces tumbling from pockets, laden …
I listen, rapt ...
becalmed days, the lull of low tide ...
gentle swells reach their arms ashore -
the cold brine washing sand and shell
like breezes sweeping the grasslands
rolling, as imagination rolls in the mind …
I listen, soft ...
whispering in my ear of the secret
dark places in my heart, exquisite
shadowy realms where passion and
reverie hide, pulsing with urge, aphotic
warm, enigmatic feelings flow and ebb …
I listen, true ...
an ocean storm's raging beauty, thus -
somber clouds, splashed Payne's Gray
swirl cruelly as Neptune flits his tresses
sea sirens lament with angry screams as
their backs are broken on reef and rock …
I listen, soft ...
gentle swells lapping brief, the sand
moon rising to the lullaby of a bell buoy
its tender peals coaxing the moonlight to
shore, Luna's beams tiptoeing gently atop
to join the phosphorescent waterline
(not to wake the slumbering breezes) …
I listen, sad ...
the gulls and terns laugh at the folly -
a man strains his ageing ears to the song
of the tides that he loves so completely -
the most divine and elegant aria known
and a voice so immortal and pure, that
it will croon on, long after there is naught ...
left to listen.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Your Choice (9), Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 3rd Place ~ in the "2019 Poetry Marathon Mile 7" Poetry Contest, Mark Toney, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "New Poems Only" Poetry Contest, Emile Pinet, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Voices" Poetry Contest, Silent One, Judge & Sponsor.
I long to lie like a sunrise sky upon the sea
my flame a tender torch for your gasoline tide
freedom fire to burn the brine from my eyes
fluid movement of our soft inferno in sorbet shades
m e l t i n g
fever dream lover blushed in hush of dawn
my soul a bleeding rose rocked by your rhythm
—but the blaze does blister a bliss not consumed
a wailing gull slices wild air
with sharpened wings she rides a woeful gale
labor pains of thunder throb nimbus wombs
hornet hive clouds cut by cesarean lightning
birth swarms of stinging rains
I wander a wind whipped shore of cloudburst gore
with an ache for angst and a hate for faith in blue skies
plaintive cries break the bones of my widow’s dream
exposing my marrow my pledge to the Divine shallow
I throw myself on my knees
belly-crawling-ripples meet me with a rasp
I long to lie like a sunrise sky upon the sea
but sorrow creates a sunset tempest
and now the sun sits so low
I feel the sundown in my soul
oh the slouchy sun just sits so low
drowsy on the smudged edge of drowning
barely above the waterline like my breath
sea– I beg you meet me choke me
take me by the throat with a kiss salty sweet
sweep me out to your blackened deep
take me thief my grief in grasp of your riptide’s greed
The finest ship of the White Star Line,
Titanic majestically sailed the brine
A floating palace of opulence
A thing of beauty and elegance
But beauty is but a fragile veneer
And conceals a truth more austere
Into the depths Europe’s poor, are thrust
Travelling in steerage like human ballast
The iceberg cut her stem to stern
But at first no one showed concern
Except the poor below the waterline
Where it quickly filled with Icy brine
“Only God himself could sink her”
It was claimed by an unknown author
The Titanic promoted by J. Bruce Ismay
Quickly sank to his utter dismay
On August 29, 2005, the "Rain and Rain and more Rains came", destroying everything we had worked a lifetime for. My home that we had just finished building, one year ago, all our furniture, keepsakes, irreplaceable cherished photos along with all our cars except the one we were driving.
The only thing remaining was our boat, "Akula" who suffered a football size hole just above her waterline. I remain grateful that her batteries were charged well enough to continue to bail her out for two consecutive weeks. These rains came in the wrath of a lady named, "Katrina." "Akula" means shark and it would take a shark to make it through this.
I remember I did not cry like others in my neighborhood. I felt it was just a home which could be rebuilt. I also know it did not completely destroy Akula or I would have cried. There's something about a man's boat that befits both sexes and that something is called "Real Love."
Aboard 'Akula" along with the Red Cross, we managed to feed the neighbors for weeks on end. You don't need to know about the multitude of snakes that were inside my house hiding in closets waiting to strike or the wild hogs that were blown in, eating from the plentiful tossed out refrigerators.
All you need to know is that the people were not lazy The only reason they did not leave is because all of us have heard "Cry Wolf" so many times that when a Hurricane threatens it's just an excuse for a red Solo cup party. Simply put: If anyone had known they would die they would not have stayed.
A few weeks later with communication restored we learned that two of our friends drowned, one in Bay St Louis, MS and the other in Biloxi. I didn't cry. Feelings are neither right nor wrong, they just are....
Francine's Rain - contest
5/25/13
In nature’s pool, away from the moon
jellyfish, those rose tinted wonders
of illuminated buoyancy, my ankles avoid
the terror of tentacles where a perfect
CocoCay day, would not be, to be stung.
In nature’s pool, absorbing the sun’s zeal
and sighting seagulls above the waterline.
I see, with my itty body immersed in manifold
drops - the sea and sky glide overhead
in camouflaged wings of turquoise. Oh God!
Complexity and perspective, latitude and
longitude - yes, God is that specific - shows
up where we are. This poet’s grappling
with weak words. Oh God! Your glory
swims all around, flies over me…I jump with joy.
9/23/2022
"A Perfect Murder Scene"
underneath the gun metal clouds
two bodies imprinted
splayed bookmarked at the waterline
uncannily close
distance would never separate that twin set
the ocean of tears washing over them lachrymose
the day was extraordinarily ordinary
yet the unanticipated came rushing in surprising
two lives captured, seemingly drowned
carried away on the rip, ripped apart, far from shore
thrown for the risk of running
away from it all
eventually like double dice
the Ocean like a roiling bitter life
spits them both back out, not wanting them,
they are the gamble
rolled back in on the wake, washed clean
like a scene wound backwards
scratched and mottled, 8mm frame
slow motion the prostrate dead they rise like ghosts
wound up, holding hands walking backwards
up the sand dunes
not a care in the world
the guns in the clouds all gone
the sun now shining
reversing down the path, hand in hand,
an old movie to who knows where
smiles wide and laughing, hand in hand
the woman and child
out of frame, in the margin unseen,
the murderer plays his shot
all over again, he loves his bad dream
Candide Diderot. ‘24
“Because it was regular film, it was Light sensitive. You had to be very careful when loading and unloading the cartridge.”
scene.
seen.
“Chased by the Fire”
the story
bald faced
is in front of us
all around the world, brutal
bridges are being burned
we watch with disbelief,
some of us seem to remember
familiar passages written, though
our experiences are quite unfamiliar
real time we escape
into our fragile dreams,
hallucinating through
perfumed smoke screens
we are comfortably
uncomfortable
ringing the bells
of our own chapters
writing our ethereal
burnt candy interpetations,
while others survive, baptised
in their harsh oceans
treading acrid smoke
across the water
swept away by
terrible rips in time
avoiding fins
heads above
the waterline, deeper
than a tide line
waving not sinking
Lahaina
visciously devoured
by the monster,
totally gone
children
looking for rainbows,
the church on the beach,
lost, looks on
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
“A third of the earth was burned up,
a third of the trees were burned up,
and all the green grass was burned up.”
Message in a bottle
When you having nothing to live for
You have nothing to die for
Often you end up on the floor
In a pool of your own destruction
When you see the flowers in full bloom
You think of graves
When you see the sun shine
You think of hells fire within
When the nighttime comes round
You are thankful for the gin
The tonic of life is killing you
Toxic dreams wake you to horrid illusions
You wonder, who ...am I
Dead?
Or better off dead?
Message in a bottle
I have loved
I have loved you
All my words bottled up
Inside of my fears
I grasp not the light of day
I grasp at straws
Gasping a breath above the waterline
Dreaming that one day you will hold my hand
I know this shall never come to pass
Your fears rival mine
Twins across the ocean of vast emptiness
I shall write to you my deepest desires
I shall profess to you my deepest love
Unrequited devotion of the heart
My soul shall sing and dance in your honor
All this a scribe shall write
For I am not one versed in letters
I small icon painted of your beauty
I will enclose with my broken heart
All of this
Inside a bottle
One day it shall reach your shores
Your grandchildren will be filled in melancholy
At a great love, lost and discarded over the ages
Hate is a geography
A floating continent really.
It spends most of its time
In the Far East (the Orient)
And moves west with the sun
To nourish its flowers and vines.
Its beasts will forever feed on your indignities
Catholic and otherwise.
Like every continent
Its got its rat eat rat cities.
These cities
The legal apparatuses
are always unhinged
And points towards
The punishment of the sleepless.
Punishment
That is
After all
the Catholic way
The endless sport
With no true winners
In the mind of the guilty.
Only you have declared
The residents of this town
As sexless
Unwashed
And uncultured.
A city of peasants
Who spend their time in church
Or behind a typewriter,
Computer and spewing
All vile and forgotten things
From the outdated theater of
Black and white ideas.
All with the grace of apes.
A city of apes
Whose lone desire
Is to break the backs of their youth
And be forgiven in a Sunday confessional.
Their backs were to be broken forward so
they can always bend at the foot of the cross
Of the holy
And rotting corpse.
As one great writer put it
“Does Christ ever get tired of bleeding?”
Though you have declared the rock n’ roll soul can heal anything
A dubious claim if you ask me,
As long as you can escape this city
And find a natural home
In another town where depravity
And sex flourishes.
But sooner or later
This continent will sink below the waterline
Until the next great
Betrayal.
Im talking with nobody listening, see,
front line walking just like a refugee
sentimental, old friend says I'm out of touch
so hard to be gentle when handling the softer stuff
you've seen this face before, You remember the name
in mass-production I, I'm plenty of the same
much more than y'bargained for, now, don't lose your cool in the rush
stripped down n' ribbon bound on arrival the petals are crushed
more than a brother, too dear to bid adieu
another armchair moralist, the word is not the truth
another armchair moralist, too close to be cut loose
down under the waterline, down in the thick of it
I surrender one last time, although, truly sick of it
my nightmare scenario, yeah, my indiff'rence killer
after I hopping over bedpans go to find him in the mirror
only I and I alone must throw myself to the wire
as you sit on a distant throne, too green for the fire
what will it amount to, in the case that it does not combust
I could do without you only missing the sense of enough
more than a brother, too dear to bid adieu
another armchair moralist, the word is not the truth
another armchair moralist, he's dear to me,
too close to be,
expensively... cut loose
So sad are days in this bitterness
and bitterest cold outside
Gone are friends and leaves
and grass.
The walls are mocking me, laughing
I can feel me hating me with a passion
This is one of those dark days
I see them at play
The demons who play hell
Casting doubts and leaving
agony in the wake of sunrise
Until this day and I rest again
We will bear it like shackles
dragging loud chains
I will listen to music that worsens it.
I'll drink to the pain, as Im numbing it
Jack Daniels is no friend of mine
just a confidant in the worst of times
There is no solace in this bottle
Only places to run and hide.
So today I hid from shadows and the sunshine
not letting one loom behind me
or the other sting my eyes
Contemplating and making sad compilations
mixing and blurring memories
blend them into one absolute emotion
I'll wallow in this today
Looking at a distorted reflection
it stares back from a whiskey meniscus
Johhny Cash murmured in the background
smoke wafts through, plumes like lengthy
ghost fingers
The sun will set on a day like this
It will creep back beyond the waterline
lighting clouds in surrealistic colors
Closure, comfort, and serenity seep in
This was one of those dark days
I grabbed it by the neck
and conquered it
Jack, Johnny, and Me...
Mask of Illusion……. 10/7/09
Crying out in the night minions of death surround her with dark intent, cruelty known
Dying once again she welcomed the fate that awaited life had become without dignity, pain unyielding.
Mask of illusion spelled harmony nonexistent reality lost in days cold treason, continued
Shadows from the edge creep along the waterline casting the smell of fear death calling,touching
Beginning travels near and far start with an infant’s clumsy steps untried and true, falling
Journey’s maze leads down roads long and unknown, laughing we forgive the night, smiling
In the midday sun lines can be seen clearly forming on weathered faces tired, expressionless
Youth’s favored status once the envy of mass’s scolding opinion has given way to old bones, cold
Once prideful steps quick and light, beauty was everywhere and within reach grasping, firm
Time is not friendly, tricking those unsure without season or hesitation, insensitive scenes of anger.
Accepting change today, tomorrow, forever , destiny is chosen not rehearsed, rewritten.
Forgiving sins past deeds done to and from choices made, peace may be achieved found in her gentile smile beckoning, loving.
© 2009 David J. Mitchell
"The Magnetic"
Scarlet
pulls you covert in
now undercover
no need for
stilettos
the undertow
flows upwards
raising stakes
and ropes
for a second coming
off-red lets go
indigo glows
above the waterline
diamonds sharp
watch us, and we
we are read
the magnetic
electric
draws us home
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
“Undertow” (Spooky Remix) /Lush
https://youtu.be/SfDhwQAov2E
Nana’s a safe harbour for a child,
a rattling baby taking water
at the christening font, and fluid
in the lungs. Little’s of consequence
for you, ceremony or theology, or
clan gathering. We pilfer your
routine deftly as rogue genes have
jellied your muscle. But held above
the waterline you’re safe now, if
perplexed to tears, the agony of taking
passage from death to life not quite
surpassing navigation of more hostile currents.
In the misty morning amid the elm and maple trees
The whiteness delicately floats above the ponds waterline
The night hunters abandon their night search for food
As the early morning rays peek through the woodland.
The morning brings the forest teeming to life
The occupants ready to attack their early morning feast
The vines and shrubs hiding them as they arch ready to attack
they scramble for their scrumpcious bite of food.
The geese, crows and magpies mingle around the water's edge
Looking for plants, seeds and aquatic animals to feed
Among the bull rushes and cattails on the sloughs edge
They mingle with the locals who come to drink.
Eating the wild berries for a tasty treat
Saskatoon, chokecherries, pin cherries ready to eat
Juicy and sweet, mild yet tart
Quite edible for a flock to feast.
This is a haven, a sanctuary for all
And as the balmy summer evening turns once again to dusk
The predators will come out with the evening shade
To stalk their prey among the woodland grove.