Best Yachts Poems
When it left the Arctic it was as a wild angry wind
that stormed its way across the ice bound Arctic ocean.
Blowing the snow clad icebergs and whipping up the ocean.
As it crossed Alaska and into Canada it had gentled
now it played games with leaves and softly kissed flowers.
Gaily it soared over the Rockies and tugged goats beards
causing them to shake their heads and stamp their feet.
In Playful mood it swept on hugging the coast awhile
then veering inland, it travels the plains and grows in strength
turning into a raging tornado causing havoc as it passes.
Moving ever southward it basks in now warm sunshine
and skips over the gulf of Mexico filling yachts sails.
Deep down in South America it turns into a wild fury that
uproots trees snapping them in half like matchsticks,
Then onward once more dancing past the Falkland islands.
Its destiny is now in sight and with triumphant roar
it rushes on over the Antarctic ocean and slides up
the icy barrier then screams its way across the tundra
yet slowly it loses its power and as it reaches the incline
this moody wind fades away until with final breath it dies.
The mellow western sky darkened,
The sea was calm that night,
Yachts tacking across the bay
Towards their appointed piers.
Luminous moon rays shimmer
Over wavelets that bathed
The coloured pebbles
Strewn all over the long shore.
As night slowly fell
I began my walk along the promenade.
A soft breeze was a welcome to all
Especially to the sailors that plied the bay
In their sleek sailing boats
Now tinged in red by the dying sun.
Along the promenade, I met with friends
A few words of salutation
But I hurried on toward an ancient tower
That once stood guard against pirates
That invades the surroundings.
Plundering and taking slaves with them.
The Tower was now a restaurant,
And there sat my love waiting for me.
The breeze-blown brightness of her hair
Seem to invite me to our destined tryst.
She stood up and we embraced,
A soft kiss on her wet lips.
It was a promising beginning
Of our night of love.
At
Dunkirk,
where thousands
of stranded men
lined a bloody beach,
hope was draining with each
air strike delivered by the
unrelenting Germans’ aircraft.
Cold, starved, and injured men watched from shore -
their few rescue ships being bombed and sunk.
How must they have felt knowing their homeland
was so close – and yet so far away?
Horrific days passed when at last
brave civilians came with boats,
so it was that ten times
the number of those
not expected
to live were
instead -
SAVED.
Aug. 16, 2017: Double Etheree written for
JPContest 6: WAR AND HEROISM Contest
From Wikipedia:
The Dunkirk evacuation, code-named Operation Dynamo and also known as the Miracle of Dunkirk, was the evacuation of Allied soldiers during World War II from the beaches and harbour of Dunkirk, in the north of France, between 26 May and 4 June 1940.
The operation commenced after large numbers of British, French, and Belgian troops were cut off and surrounded by German troops during the Battle of France. In a speech to the House of Commons, British Prime Minister Winston Churchill called this "a colossal military disaster", saying "the whole root and core and brain of the British Army" had been stranded at Dunkirk and seemed about to perish or be captured.
On the first day only 7,669 men were evacuated, but by the end of the eighth day, 338,226 soldiers had been rescued by a hastily assembled fleet of over 800 boats. Many troops were able to embark from the harbour's protective mole onto 39 destroyers of the British Royal Navy, 4 Royal Canadian Navy destroyers,] and civilian merchant ships, while others had to wade out from the beaches, waiting for hours in shoulder-deep water. Some were ferried to the larger ships by what came to be known as the little ships of Dunkirk, a flotilla of hundreds of merchant marine boats, fishing boats, pleasure craft, yachts, and lifeboats called into service from Britain. In his We shall fight on the beaches speech on 4 June, Churchill hailed their rescue as a "miracle of deliverance".
The harbor gave a dim illumination,
lampposts vaguely penetrating the dark water.
As waves like shades of wine drowned the jagged shore of stone,
I watched a fibrous complexion of steel shimmer from the water's edge.
Ships sleep, rocking gently on a resting sea,
machines of quiet obedience.
The moon, outlining the clouds above with an electric hue,
watched over the winds as they circulated the vacant wharf like ghosts.
The smell of an approaching storm;
the sharp, distinctive fragrance of ozone as it sailed the satin brine.
The sound of distortion upon the ocean's surface;
precipitation submerged beneath its aquatic magnetism.
I closed my eyes as raindrops kissed my moonlit skin,
tracing the alloy carbon framework of cargo ships and yachts.
Falling down my cheekbones like an aggregation of tears,
the harbor became lost in a nostalgic cloudburst.
I remember you happiness
through the early aroma
of grinded coffee beans
wafting gently from
the corner coffee shop
I remember you through
the freshly bread 'scent
from the baker's sour rising yeast.
I remember you through
musicians playing in piazas
through the buzzling sounds
of the city's cobbled alleys, and streets
Through the children's laughter
running to ice-cream parlours,
Tourists in front of Cathedrals
Old people chit-chatting on benches
on a mid-springtime breeze .
I remember you happiness
through the eyes of happy couples
strolling along a sandy beach,
Through the Sunday Mass ,
a young priest on the altar
Through morning picnics,cook-outs
'gatherings of relatives ,our dogs,and families.
I remember you happiness through
yachts birthing at the Valletta Grand Harbour,
through aeroplanes landing in foreign lands,
through cherished moments
of Birthdays,Baptisms and Weddings,
A dinner shared with our closest friends.
Today Coffee Shops are empty
All Restaurants shut down,
Our island is a ghost town,
I am the saddest clown.
Today I hear no aeroplanes
The yachts not to be seen
Cathedrals,Churches closed
Yet the church bell chimes at noon,
Amd I kneel on my knees.
Today there are no tourists
All children locked inside
This Covid 19 virus
is worse than any Boogey-man
IIt brings tears to our eyes.
It kills our own people
Destroying human-kind.
Today the only way to see my friends
is virtually on skype,
My mothetr,brother ,father, I can't hug you
Just to keep you all alive.
Today the world's a scary place,
But together we would fight
With faith ,with love,
Determined like our ancestors
We'd leave this page behind.
We'd end this page as hereos
Compassionate and kind,
We'd be the great survivors
A candle in the night.
We'd learn from this dark moment
As dark as pitch black sky
We learn that above evil
Hope reighns, our sun would shine.
We learn to appreciate our loved ones,
Our ancestors ,Our elderly,
Our island and this world
Together we would make it
Through distance hand-in -hand.
Standing on this sun-soaked beach without you,
sea splashes mix with salty tears
that the gentle wind brushes from my cheek.
My toes curl into the soft white sand
as they did whenever you caressed me.
Is it a mistake to return so soon,
whence the last strands of happiness lie?
I blight this place which you once graced,
laying lithe and golden on its shore,
out dazzling the sun with your luster.
Laughter from unknowing revellers offends me
and I fix my gaze to past horizons,
where my passion knew no end,
before this shroud of misery enveloped me,
In an echo of your pall.
Crisp white sheets filled with fragrant breezes
Glide the distant yachts to quiet harbours
Safe from storms they’ll rest peacefully, like you.
Whilst I remain, marooned in turmoil.
At sea.
At loss.
Alone.
eating an ice cream
telling oneself life is sweet
lying on the beach
looking at the yachts
believing they are in reach
lying on the beach
watching the seagulls
having little accidents
lying on the beach
see the stranded whales
assuming they missed the tide
lying on the beach
getting a suntan
thinking it comes at no cost
lying on the beach
By
David Kavanagh
I’m too old to live out these songs I sing.
There has been too much pumped into these veins.
But if you remember how I was back in time…
Won’t you toss me a nickel or a dime?
I used to travel all around the world.
and I bought my condoms by the case full.
I stored all my cocaine in quart-sized mason jars…
in my yachts, jets, and fancy armored cars.
Man, those were sure some good old glory days.
Before I smoked and drank my dreams away.
When everything I touched turned into solid gold…
Back before the horse took away my soul.
You know that once the devil seals the deal.
There’s no way you can beg, borrow, or steal.
Another second of the fame that you ain’t owed…
No matter how bright the lightning you rode.
Chorus:
When I was on top, man I was the best,
I was so damned far above all the rest.
I’d give my life to have that spotlight once again…
Not outside on this sidewalk begging change.
Standing here playing guitar in the rain.
Your tracks may have faded away with time.
But all those old wounds that you left behind.
Left me with so much more to remember you with…
I can’t say that I thank you for the gift.
I wonder is there nothing left in me.
but the memories of what used to be.
and those sad dreams about how my life could have been…
Knowing I can never go there again.
Now I’m playing these old forgotten songs.
begging change from strangers that come along.
Hoping to get enough to buy a fifth of gin…
I lost my wife, kids, and even my friends.
So heed the words of this broken-down man.
Hold on tight to any dreams that you can.
Because once they're gone, they won’t be back again…
And you’ll find yourself outside, playing guitar in the rain.
(Repeat Chorus)
I can remember a springtime;
pink cherry blossoms filled the air.
And that image is locked in time;
a fond memory stored with care.
Sweet-scented dreams of yesterday;
let me recapture childhood thoughts.
And replay in my mind the day
Spring turned paper boats into yachts.
I recall them sailing downstream;
me racing along, having fun.
And Spring taught me how to daydream;
enjoying a romp in the sun.
Spring's the Goddess of renewal;
in Nature's crown; She's the jewel.
Abnormal reactions,
Big stuff ups,
Countless mistakes,
Deliberate interference.
Everyday occurrences,
Foolish moves,
Give false hope,
Hear the anguish.
Injustice on the rise,
Judges on the take,
Known by those who have lost the use of their tongue.
Love seeds now uncommon,
Money in the hands of the few,
No relief in sight,
Only a few still in the fight.
Possibilities for grandchildren to,
Quietly tip the balance,
Right messages uplifted essential,
Should they reject fake news.
Temperature extremes,
Unlikely all will survive,
Very little shade,
Where trees no longer exist.
Xylophones silent,
Yachts languishing in unsafe harbours,
Zebras no longer crossing.
Apples not falling far from the tree,
Big decisions needed from little people.
Steep, sharp, split, and, as an abandoned architecture, weak
How I managed to get to its top, I truly don't know.
Fear, frustration, angst, awe, and helplessness were at their peak.
Over the sea beneath the cliffs, worn-out yachts slowly row.
On whom should I put my faith at this hour of nullity?
What a fool am I who could go up and couldn't come down?
Amidst tensions and terrors, thrills find no utility.
In the circus of existence, have I become a clown?
A tinge of pain and despair mingles with my loneliness.
Avalanches of aches fill and drill my physique and psyche.
I pray to Neptune, Najm, and Xama; crawl down in coolness.
Though well-drowned and dead in dread, I touch the fringes of Nike.
Each precipice venture is one's inner soul's exploration.
Midst the loss of self, there's divine identification.
The day was brilliant--Sol spreading diamonds in the sky--
When Kathleen and her father faced the slope,
He with trepidation, she with hope.
They scanned the rise and watched like country rubes
As sliders paused atop the run,
Then hurtled down on sleds and tubes,
Jinking, jerking, shouting, screaming;
It promised so much fun.
“Let’s go,” Dad said, and led the way uphill,
Both eager at the crest to test their skill.
One time, then two, they shot down icy trails
And raced like yachts with open-ocean sails.
And then it happened!
On Father’s third and final try
His sled upended—not down low, but high!
The lookers gasped, their mouths and eyes gaped wide.
Newtonian physics could not be denied,
So Daddy (in slow motion, thus it seemed
To Kathleen, like a nightmare being dreamed)
Oofed softly as he tumbled down the grade
And came to rest a jumble, limbs all splayed.
They left the field soon after, heads held high;
Drove home in silence ‘neath the dark’ning sky;
Ate supper, talked, and do what people do on wintry eves.
Much later in the night as Kathleen slept the sleep of youth,
Dad rose and hobbled to the tub.
And while he soaked he weighed a truth,
The nub:
At 48 it’s all downhill; ‘nough said;
Just don’t complete the journey on your head.
Have you ever felt the magic
when you're standing by the sea?
The rise and fall of ocean swells
Sublime serenity
In the morning's salty air
the working boats leave port
and anglers keen on fishy fare
go looking for some sport
The seabirds wheel and flap and cry
as dawn breaks overhead
but all these sights and sounds are lost
to those still tucked in bed
The tinkling of the rigging
of the yachts out on the bay
a gentle way of waking
in the first new light of day
The morning sun comes peeping through
a drifting bank of cloud
and on the beach, so empty now
will come a bustling crowd
The small boats now all set to sea
their sails so clean and bright
they jibe and tack across the wind
on which they seem so light
The afternoon now still and warm
there's naught but time to pass
the racing yachts all sit becalmed
upon a sea of glass
With evening come the twinkling lights
from far across the bay
a gentle breeze to cool the land
the closing of the day
Until tomorrow's light breaks through
I bid the sea 'farewell'
But in my dreams I fall asleep
upon the ocean swell.
From my PDF book "Bush Ballads and Bulldust"
The harbour rests from the rolling waves
Of a windswept and tempestuous sea
Beyond the breakwater lay sailors graves
Where shipwrecks in eternal sleep rest free
Once lured upon the rocks they didn’t see
Now ghosts of sailors take their endless rest
With sirens haunting cries, their bemoaning plea
Heard in the wind and the waves foaming crest
Yachts now moored, as their owners misbehaves
In dim lit cabins with lovers on their knee
Pink gin’s at sunset and acting like knaves
While jealous husbands spy hiding on the quay
And lovers sit on their boats drinking Chablis
Other yachts sit forlorn not looking their best
Their days spent at sea, with the call of the siren’s banshee
Heard in the wind and the waves foaming crest
Fishing boats chug past, their crew now waves
At those waiting for their catch with impish glee
On the quayside, fish, their customers now craves
And the fee for their catch they readily agree
Then having a meal completely buckshee
The fishermen go home for a well-earned rest
No more trawling, hearing sirens or wailing kelpie
Heard in the wind and the waves foaming crest
Life in the harbour for some is all but carefree
Yet for others it may not be so heaven blest
As they sail troubled seas where sirens can be
Heard in the wind and the waves foaming crest
La Conner is such a pretty small town
That has grown and has changed for many years.
One of the first settlements in the state,
It is so much more than it first appears.
Many buildings from the earlier town
Have been recorded as historic places.
Residents point them out to visitors
With unconcealed pride upon their faces.
The town is surely an artist's mecca.
You'll find them smocked and painting everywhere.
But no painting quite catches the aura
That permeates La Conner's ocean air.
It has become a yearned for destination,
Where vacationers determine to come.
Visitors fill its one shopping street in summer
And keep coming when the summer is done.
Some shops are stocked with finest of fashions,
Where every woman is eager to shop.
Fine art attracts through other big windows.
You'll find that each place is a worthwhile stop.
The town is perched upon wide hillside,
With channel of water on West Side.
North, South and East meet the big fertile fields.
Town of La Conner is contained inside.
Fine yachts and fishing boats drop their anchors
At docks located on the Channel side.
One can almost feel the town's slow rocking
At exact moments of incoming tide.
The lovely high Rainbow Bridge spans the Channel
Connecting La Conner and Swinomish
Indian Reservation across the way.
On either bank one could just stop to fish.
Written 8/25/14