Galleons Poems | Examples

SOUTHERN CROSSES I

Electric Line's sway, 
spider webs of industry 
along a rocky lane under 
a hot southern sun, cicada…
cry high, into the crystal blue sky 
We are a ghost nation 
of Man’s hypocrisy
crossing shadows under a hard
noonday sky.

The empty road under the leaning 
Electric crosses of civilization 
Shadows fall, carving silhouettes into
Upon hitting noonday ground 
Humanity lost all reason 
Along a rocky, dusty road 
As day bleeds into a hot
Southern night
Crickets cry high

As the moon rides the 
White galleons of cloudscapes
As star falls in infernal southern sky
Frogs sing the song of endless rain 
As electric crosses lean
Under the halogen of streetlights 

Crosses stand, lean to and fro
Like graves of the day
Souls drift and sway
As a nation is lost along the way
Bought and sold
While electric crosses align
A forgotten road
Of a Nowhere nation, undone…
Watching all fold…!

My Calling at an Intersection along IA 136

A soft breeze whispered
as I stood near a spread
of fields
where my heartfelt story was told.

I recalled the beginning.
The middle was unfolding
and I didn’t know the end.

My assignment 
of controlling traffic here
would last two weeks

yet a voice inside
said this was where
I was meant to be.

O, the sky was so blue.

A construction crew inched
along the highway to fill cracks.
My father always said
what was broken must be mended.

I was reconciling with my past,
my memories carried in a breeze.

It was the beginning of summer,
I recall,
ankle-high corn reaching for the sun.
It was a farmer’s labor
a farmer’s pride.

My life was unfolding
a sense of wonder
as cars followed the pilot vehicle
through open lands.

The clouds above passed
as galleons of ancient ships
the sky an ocean of dreams
and endless tomorrows.

Whispers on the Wind, Dreams in White Array

Adrift on azure seas, where sunlight softly spills,
Feathery clouds, like galleons, climb imagination's hills.
Sails of purest white, billowing in the breeze,
They carry hidden treasures, secrets whispered through the trees.

No anchor holds them fast, these vessels of the sky,
They drift on currents unseen, where whispered fancies lie.
Shapes that shift and morph, with every passing gust,
A canvas ever-changing, where dreams are born of dust.

Each billow, a soft promise, a story yet untold,
Of battles fought with dragons, and castles made of gold.
Unicorns may prance, on cotton candy plains,
While mermaids sing their siren songs, in whispered, silver rains.

The unconscious mind, a boundless, boundless sea,
Reflects in fleeting forms, for all the world to see.
So gaze upon the clouds, and let your spirit soar,
Unfurl the sails of fancy, and reach that distant shore.


March 20, 2024

Captured Moments

The detritus of a household of smokers was a joy to the young child, stifled in a family he believed he had outgrown. Matchsticks, by the score, he used to build magical castles with towers to climb or Spanish Galleons to sail away to places far. A live match found was a rare treasure, a pregnant opportunity to destroy--a secret power. The best were the small cardboard matchboxes with their slide-out tray, which he arranged like a chest of a hundred tiny drawers. Each drawer contained a precious item, a pebble, a penny, a bloodstained band-aid, a tooth, four-leafed clover, a tear-stained note, a lock of hair. . .


   weaving
   a smaller web
   spider in a box



Like A Child Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Regina McIntosh 
Date wrote: 4th July 2022

Believe

Winter’s eve is on the horizon and marked on our calendars. Are you ready?

We’ll wake warm beneath our covers and watch the full moon set with a twilight sunrise.

We’ll celebrate and drink strong coffee laced with nighttime dew of the full moon. 

It tastes just like dark chocolate,  as dark as the dark side of the moon. We toast to the fullness of our mother moon.


As ghost ships of yesteryear sail by the window of my eye I find myself surrendering to the aroma of the coffee and chocolate.

I recede back into my coffee to believe there is no such flavor as intoxicating as mocha java.

Then painted sails of the ancient mariner galleons catch my eye. I am once again daydreaming about floating on an incoming tide past the full moon of Atlantis. 

If you believe, I invite you to foster the eternal imagination within your own conscience and join me. I’m about to leave to step outside myself, come along for the ride.

Aquamarine I

A cold brittle Moon runs singularly in a shaded sky.
With ghostly cloud galleons a full sail 
In Deep Seas of ebony, indigo divinity.

All alone, full of frost…
The bitter chill of Rivers flow
crystal Moonbeams glow
rain into ultraviolet souls

To navigate seasons of ebony & indigo
where a crystalline satellite flees alone
While lost Children roam in
Rooms of frozen Moon glow…
That carve bare bars on wooden Floors.

Of old fears that are hidden in ivory Tears.
As cold wraiths frolic and play
In the endless night of Ebony & indigo.

Thin wispy clouds, translucent galleons, fly
High into righteous suffering 
Buried in newborn cries of nightmares
Bitter is the lunatic's rage
Pouring into memories desolate echelons.

Sliver satellites sail sterile 
dreams of mornings light
in Lucifers brilliant shimmers.  
To the end of nights endless restless laments 
Of ancient voices howling 
Raging in ultraviolet & aquamarine.

Blackened Ii

blacken bones
ghostly galleons roam
sail endless seas dark 
deep the night washes 
over each soul 
that ride waves deep
drive the secret engines 
of the damned cross 
hidden highways 
of immortality 
black and bones 
broken stones 
branches dance 
in a child’s pure 
sleep like lost cries 
drift from a distant dream 
all blacken bones 
shown like deities 
ghostly galleons sail 
in the endless seas 
through the dark deep indigo night
restless dreams driving 
inferno machines 
across realms of the unseen 
heading into the oncoming infinity

History Rising From the Sea

Treasure from the sea
Golden doubloon
Sixteenth Century artifact
By ancestors hewn

Earth’s history lays buried
Beneath five oceans
As undersea tremors
Create violent commotions

Freeing from Spanish galleons
Precious metals, gemstones
To greet early beachcombers
History on loan

Memories of bygone ages
Scattered on the sand
Finally kissed by sun again
While in a searcher’s hand

I pursue this morning trek
With Atlantis on my mind
Seeking proof at last
In treasures I might find

When ancient civilizations
Seem to disappear
Comb the beach, you might find
The evidence is here

For like a phoenix rising
New finds appear each day
And I’ll not stop searching
Till doubts I can allay

Galleons

How many galleons per mile
Were spread the grand Armada fleet,
Hoping strong England to defile
After a huge naval defeat?

Surging steady through stormy seas
How many galleons per mile
To drag brave England to its knees
With solemn Spaniards sans smiles?

Dark clouded seas were fierce and vile.
Tempest scattered ships hit the coast
How many galleons per mile
Could Philip, king of Spain, still boast?

From Cornwall’s shores to Calais rocks
Drake’s large guns, beyond denial,
Scattered and sunk Spain’s sons, in shock.
How many galleons per mile?

The Campfire

THE CAMPFIRE

Throughout all the worlds in days of olde
Around the campfire legends were told
From the sinking of galleons in various seas
That were laden with treasure and un found for years
To the Dutchman’s reef through word is told
Believed to be illusive and full of gold
Where many have searched and looked to gain
But perished through hardship in the unforgiving terrain

And through the flickering flames that danced at night
Captured was the soul in sheer delight
 And the worries of the world were solved by some
Through the bottom of a tankard once filled with rum
And bathed in warmth from heat and ale
Stories became legend amidst myth and tale

wrapped in warmth against the cold
Around the camp fire these tales are told
Of bravery and deeds renown
And ghostly beings that roamed faraway towns
Like the ghost that sat at Fisherman’s Bend
Pointing to the creek where his life did end

Around the campfire bathed in warmth and light
All manner of tales are shared through the night

A Shipwrecked Must Occur

That shipwreck will  provoke
consequently the breaking of the old vessels.

Those vessels alike those of the old galleons
would contain coins that we use daily
but that are already moldy, worn
and therefore no longer valid. 

The vessels that contain 
rotten coins in the form of:
debates,  tangent stories, 
contradictions, and unresolved disputes
should be broken.

And from the remains of the old vessels
from the depths of your self,
the quietness,
the abandonment. 
the stillness, 
and a new inner peace
will emerge to the surface
in the form of sparkling bubbles.

Shipwreck, the praise of the day's last drink... or both?

Beneath the Sea

galleons passing
body of saline water 
far reaching graveyard

5/3/2018

Strange Steeds of the Sea

Strange Steeds of the Sea



Like the salubrious stallions that cordially carousel and carry me
Beneath the gainful galleons, you’ll find strange steeds of the sea
Wild horses of the aqua-blue precariously prancing by coral reefs
In their early equine debut, God's creatures exist amidst disbeliefs

Oceanic oddities the Hippocampus hybrids in a Mediterranean mist
Mysterious curiosities of bewitching beauty that creatively coexist
For what is their purpose a cross between the horse and finless fish
Perhaps it is the purchase of some little boys or girls whimsical wish.




April.19.2018
SEAHORSES
Sponsored by: Julia Ward

A Sea Dogs Tale

I leave upon the morning's tide
For a man must prove his worth.
There awaits a sailing ship,
And I am pledged a berth.

I'll sail across the seven seas
For a sea dog I will be.
I'll look upon exotic lands
And all their mysteries.

I'll see ghostly galleons,
Mermaids too, I'm told
Discover desert islands,
With hoardes of buried gold.

We may fight with pirates
And send them all to hell,
When my sailing days are over,
What tales I'll have to tell.






EARLY OCTOBER PREMIERE CONTEST any form,any theme,max of 25 lines - Poetry Contest 
Sponsored by brian Strand
2/10/2017

Seasonal Change

Autumnal mist quivers over meadows
like a galleons sails billowing gently 
on calm seas of jade green and yellows,
steering it's ghostly mirages deftly,

hedgerows with wildlife masked in shadows
preparing for expected change of seasons
from amicable warm winds to soft arrows
discharged from cumulus depressions,

Celestial star low in Crimson sky blinding
light from cloudless horizon, exposed
hills in silhouette, oil painting of defining 
brush strokes created in webs disclosed,

birds desert undesirable climate changes
hibernation becomes natural performance 
elongated sleep, calm heartbeats arranges
thought patterns of survival from romance,

long warm days turn into long cold nights 
bracing crisp air scented with burning wood
from smoke filled chimneys such delights
burning embers changing mood to feel good.

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