McMean the sparkly witch from the Gulf of Queen
was the ruler of kindred day and Halloween
She was not often spotted, truly rarely seen
Quintessentially gorgeous, this queen McMean
If you did see her, you were creative in some way
a painter, a poet, a dancer, and you did okay
If you spotted McMean she would make your day
Her beauty was legend all the sight-see-ers say
She was a chic witch, sophisticated with class too
Often accompanied by a unicorn with a pink boo
Mystical and magical, her spells would certainly do
She could turn you into a toad, and a toad into you
The sea is still, a painted glass,
Its breath a hush upon the shore,
As golden light begins to pass
Through skies that blaze and burn no more.
The herons call in liquid cries,
Then vanish in the amber haze,
And clouds drift low like lullabies
Composed in fire for end of days.
A sailboat waits—its canvas furled—
As if it, too, would pause and dream,
While orange melts to rose, then pearl,
And stars awake in quiet gleam.
The palms lean close as if they yearn
To kiss the sun’s last glowing thread—
O heart, how often must we learn
To love the light before it’s fled?
What? The Gulf of Mexico is no mo'?
Well, that's just a big no-no!
I like what some cartoons show -
southern half of the Gulf: "Golfo de Mexico",
northern half: "Golfo del Presidente Loco"!
So, to honour our Mexican amigos,
let's sing a cantata
then call the "Gulf of Alaska"
the Gulf of Canada!!!
To visit the Gulf of America,
In case you get the notion,
You might fly over what’s now called
The Mar-a-Lago Ocean.
Be sure to click your seatbelt,
For when using this portation,
(The “trans” has been removed)
You’ll pass a bright red once-great nation.
Get your brand-new passports ready
For the agents are quite brusque
And you might just get deported
To a planet now named Musk.
What once was Mars is filled with
Crowds of migrants (oh, such noise!),
Lining up to use the bathrooms
Clearly labeled Girls or Boys.
There’s a huge arena filled with
Those with polio or mumps,
For there are no more vaccines,
Which Junior argued were for chumps.
While back on earth, the military
(Minus gays and gals)
Is patrolling Mar-a-Gaza,
Filled with Donald’s kiss-ass pals.
And in Congress, the Republicans,
With joyfulness, cavort,
Knowing that, no matter what,
They’ll have the backing of the Court.
For those of us remaining,
We can mutually mope
Or reclaim the Gulf of Mexico,
With just a thread of hope.
Is changing names at any rate
The right way to make US great?
Mexico’s been the norm
Long ere US was born,
So, remember therefore,
And forget this no more:
Four years is your use-before date.
_____________________
Happenings |40.01.2025|USA, political, power
Note: Gulf of Mexico, or of America? The former has been the cultural and natural heritage since the 16th century, when US had not even been formed. What is more, US prides itself to be the United States of America. Really? The continent has a lot of other countries. At best it can call itself USONA, US of north America.
Old boat, time-worn path,
Dolphins glide through emerald waves,
Leaping side by side—
Their joyous dance in the mist,
Paints the sea with morning bliss.
Everywhere we look, we see a divide,
as head destroys heart, trampling it to dust
and paths of kindness, most of us deride,
living a life unholy and unjust,
oblivious to soul weeping inside,
bemoaning ego’s indulgence in lust.
There’s a yawning gap between head and heart,
which we can bridge on adding love to cart.
Conscience whispers but we heed not its voice
and thus what may have been remains unseen
but in truth we always do have a choice,
to meld head with heart, regaining soul’s sheen,
whereupon grace in-pours and we rejoice,
transformed as God’s light, blissful and serene.
All we need to do is give love our nod,
dissolving the gap between us and God.
The gulf between us
is such a yawn.
It's boredom
drawn out
in endless re-runs.
Opposites are meant to
attract like magnets,
north and south.
Right!
But our chasm is abysmal.
It's a melody of maladies
and sick jokes bespoken
by a stand-up
with yawning incompetence
standing on a cliff,
shouting into the distance
while peering into the gulf
of what might have been.
No one's listening.
Right!
Gaja is a storm Word gaja means elephant It's a Sanskrit word
Severe cyclonic storm Origin in gulf of Thai Lankan named it.
Fani in Bangladesh Pakistanis named Titli which means butterfly
And now -
imagine the sun
rising over
the gulfs broad reach
where waters run
the long length of sandy beaches
and the cry of a gull piercing
the bright air,
sounding a morning
as if to plumb its measure.
Now - slowly begin
to feel the solitude,
the absence of dominion,
a vastness of scale that laps
the limits of all thought,
an alchemy of earth, air and water
until there is only
what is taken in,
becoming then, the beholder
of itself.
My mind wanders back to a gentler night
When I sat on a mound waiting for first light
It was a summer’s night with a breeze on my face
And the full moon shone on the gulf in its rightful place
The day had passed at its usual pace
With classroom time and exercise in our race
And I dreamed of the things I’d do
When it was time for me to wear the blue
So now I have done all those things
Standing tall when needed and ensuring right rings
I suppose old men have a tendency to look back
But that boy on the mound would be satisfied with that.
© Paul Warren Poetry
gulf fritillary
proboscis search zinnias ....
first frost
Green
the confusing reverence of the place
the holy-waters of the gulf
white eucharist sand trucked-in sunday anew
and flowers ever fresh
renew the question
I watch clouds west
overrun
spilling sun
in the horizon
and comes rain each day warm
same time
same slow way
like the same song
then I think
such simple acts
as prayer hands together press
or happiness
gone to hearts reach again.
Unable to feel these overtures of sky and air and light yet
might I find reason here to live
if
at all
_________________
©© 2000
Between your truth and mine
Your needs and theirs
Embedded within wanton desires
Coated with your fears and mine
We forget compassion
Lo, we lose love
We get sucked into the chaos
The chaos, the helplessness
Between your truth and mine
I find a gulf of loneliness
A valley of lies that run deep!
The Gulf Of Mexico
Velvety white beaches
as far as I can see
Nothing much grows right here
but yes, there's one palm tree
The sand it was so fluffy
like powdered sugar sweet
It felt like giant pillows
underneath my feet
The water is so salty
and it feels very soft
Birds are dipping in to fish
then continuing aloft
As the sunlight sparkled
across the open sea
Like diamonds that are dancing
in perfect harmony
A big wave came right at me
I thought that it would pass
To my shock and amazement
It knocked me on my *ss
Now this is a true story
I know it to be so
This is how I spent my day
on the Gulf of Mexico.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.