Long At sea Poems
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Wandering Spirits of the sea find your way home back to thee, wandering spirits of the sea my heart is crying out for thee, you roam the sea day and night dragging innocent souls into your fights, you carry them out into the sea and plunge them into deep waters and leave then to suffer, daylight creeps upon the shore and the spirits are knocking on the ships door in headless and bodiless human form they wander around in the dark until the break of dawn. Wandering Spirits of the sea, the universe is coming after thee, you have roam the waters around the town spilling venom all around; five boats sank the other day and all the immigrants bodies were swept away, the crews searched up and down the track and scour the bottom of the ocean but the current keep dragging them into the hole and they keep swirling around and within seconds they were nowhere to be found. Wandering Spirits of the sea what do I have to do with the thee? I did not travel from Africa but you keep turning my boat over, what do you want from us? why are digging out the immigrants gut, you use sonic sound on the shore to sink the boats and cut out the sharks throat, wandering spirits of the sea when will we have peace at sea; you carry them out into the deep and put them to sleep into the sharks belly, they try to swim themselves out of it but they keep going around in circles until they are drowned; wandering spirits of the sea give the immigrants back their heads and bodies so that they can tarry; they will hitchhike, ships and boats and follow the lights wherever it goes until they find their way home, wandering spirits of the sea please come and rescue me.
I drove for many miles,
each one filled with apprehension
Memories can be cruel an unwavering,
when filled with sadness
Going home can bring them back
The house now empty,
for years I'm told
I remember the last time I saw it
as I heard its door shut
a day filled with confusion
It rained the day I returned
The oak tree where my swing hung
was rotted now
dead pieces laying on the ground
Once it was regal and strong
and held the dreams of youth
on two ropes and a board
I stood before the crumbling stone walkway
leading to the house and remembered,
days of play outside, nights of fireflies
the sad melody of parents fighting
and the lonely boy who clung to his imagination
where he could feel happy and free
The stones now covered in weeds
were once the road to his kingdom
and the house a cave of darkness
where escape was a daily purpose
The porch now buckling with several planks missing
once a deck on a ship at sea
overlooking a sea of grass
Many worlds were created to escape
the crows that landed, the storms that raged
and there,
The door, that led to both universes
now hanging on one hinge,
dangling with the wind and its rusty noise
asking me to open it and step inside
I reached out to move it, then stopped
remembering my world of happiness
was on the outside of this door
I turned and walked away
back into the rain
As I passed the broken tree
I noticed one grave, where my swing use to be
before the state came and took me away
3/23/17
contest Doors
Gaia in white flame burns
Yaldabaoth himself spurns
A second cycle turns
The Golden Age returns
The first-begotten son
Comes down from heaven’s sun
Barbelo, Armoured Queen
Look gently at this scene
Of Christ’s birth long foreseen
In this iron machine
Hearts of iron will melt
Hearts of gold will be felt
Hearts, gold and meek
Will rule from the word’s peak
Valis will rule and speak
With the lute of mystique
This birth in mystery
Will be our victory
As Polloi rules here
The first child will appear
Clearing the mist of fear
Every past sin and tear
Will be washed away
Clearing a narrow way
The world soul will rain down
Hedera all around
Lilies to make a crown
Acanthus for renown
Myrrh, gold, and frankincense
Without any expense
All goats will return home
All blind cobras that roam
Will be under death’s dome
Miles under farms and loam
Sheep will not fear lions
Men will see aeons
In the stream of Dead Sea
He’ll become a man free
Oak trees will weep honey
On every wild thorn-tree
Grapes will turn Persian plum
Gold will be the plain’s sum
But iron will remain
At sea, war ships will reign
Wars will bring pain
Walls will cover the plain
But when you will grow up
Gaia will drink the cup
Please, come soon, in our plight
You, the viceroy of might
The globe bows to your light
The earth and the blue height
Beseech you to be set free
From Yaldabaoth’s dark sea
You, our lord and brother
Child, smile at your mother
Speak words from the Father
If your lips will not stir
No light will bless your wine
And wisdom shall not shine
(Gnostic poem based on the ancient Roman Virgil's fourth eclogue, often interpreted as foretelling the birth of Christ)
Darling Judy, here I am
Howling at the moon
I just cannot understand
Why did you go so soon
Only angels know, but they
Never speak to me
Wasn’t near you that day
Where I should have been
I can’t see you in my dreams
That I’ve seen before
They return like waves at sea
I don’t know what for
If you only knew, my love
What has become of us
Can we date somewhere above
In the cosmic dust?
Not a sign from you, no word
But a fact you’ve gone
And this sudden loss you brought
Will be carved in stone
Our google photo albums
I am looking through
You’re adorable dependence
My eternal you
Here’s your olive tree, and lawn
Flower beds, and hose
Saved in memory, you’ve gone
But your garden grows.
Demons grip my hair harshly and pull me away
Away from the pink clouds on which I've been dreaming
Dreams of warmth, dreams of comfort, dreams of ease
Dreams of unleashed desires, dreams of the moon's glow
Invading my secret diary!
Demons pierce through my fragile skin with their dirty claws
And hurt me, bringing me to shed tears for no reason
Or maybe because I still can see the pink clouds from up above
And know that I shall never ever get to enjoy their shine!
How harsh is the feel of life
How harsh and how heavy is its weight
Like Sisyphus, though, I do have to toil
Blindly, determined, without asking any questions
As, the demons are stronger
And easily vanquish me, each time I try to fight them!
Yet, like a sailor lost at sea, I make of my oars, the mystical
Essence of it all,
Pray, the demons would not have battled me if the powers
Of goodness had not willed it to be such
For, surely, surely, I do have sins' reactions to bear with!
Why, facing the demons, I lower my swords, kneel down
And wait, for the happening of my redemption
Why, stars have been put there for us to admire
The sun shines for us to allow us to live and Death
Does be there for us as the one to hold the key to redemption!
THE NEW MIDDLE PASSAGE…
Unlike ancestors,
with their shackles
chaining them to ships’
bellies and bowels---they
volunteered to be packed
like sardines; to be
rescued at sea
to be free of old tyranny---
happy for the new that awaits---
fortified in the future
by the cruel injustice of home.
Thus, armed with the weaponry
of steel faith, they chose
to challenge the sea to be free---
floating on the waves of hope---seeking
the possibility of a morsel of liberty.
What a pitiful irony---they paid for the journey
the ancestors had no choice in taking:
maybe one day---their children
will be able to pay---returning home willingly.
Dawn's light shimmers through silver clouded skies
as the flow of morning's tide starts to rise
In a dinghy, he prays for just one wish
"Please, God, let me catch a lot of big fish."
Patiently, he sits waiting for the tug
on line baited with a grubworm or bug.
Fishing twine, his small fingers, lightly grips
Not a sigh or complaint comes from his lips.
His father, lost at sea, fighting a war
when he was but a little lad of four.
His mornings now spent on the rippling sea
to feed his younger siblings, there were three.
"I can take care of us," he said out loud.
His Mom's loving smile made him very proud
She cried while sewing him a winter coat
so he would stay warm as he sat afloat.
He rises before the first glint of sun
Doing a man's work before day is done
providing his family food to sup
A child, too quickly compelled to grow up.
November 9, 2021
Photo #2 Rhyming Me A Poem 2 Contest
Sponsored by Eve Roper
Whether the weather
necessitates to anchor
myself as a tether
when the frankenstorm
socks the east coast
shredding terrestrial
zone like soft leather
i may end up attired
in esprit de corpse
being tossed hither and yon
to and fro like a feather.
If...the forecast imbues
meteorologists flooded with folly
making a mockery
of humanity run amuck
in panic mode - by golly
this mortal male will don himself as
"the chief garbage" taster
with a garland of holly
shuffling along the
boulevard of broken
tin cans and rubbish
feigning to be melancholy.
This getup a throw
back to a costume
adorned this papa when
he attended grade school
eons ago, where corporal punishment
prevailed in case
student disavowed any rule
such as smoking in the boys' room
cigarette such
manufactured by Kent or kool
or lambasting any unlikable teacher,
(whose bookish face) at
receiving end of
pranks rather cruel.
So...presume that Halloween
will take place without any axe
of nature to grind monster
brewing at sea
and picture this poet decked
out dumpster diving
for the most fetid trash
and materiel with cracks
to be affixed upon
a heavy duty sack
with goop from
sullied foodstuffs -
a cause for glee
rotten meat infested
with maggots, shards of glass,
crushed metal cans,
et cetera to the max
will be haphazardly splayed
(Jackson Pollack like)
on this sturdy cloth
that will drape me
spurring a conga like of hungry beasts
ready go pounce – menacing
ferocious wolf packs
adding to the welter per helter skelter
of decayed detritus distributed
from head to knee
and a set of punishing
pronged antlers spiking out
in all directions upon
ma noggin-hence to tax
utmost fear in passersby, and quite
an abominable sight to see.
~Purpling Shadows~
( Glosse)
~Cabeza~
I want you when the shades of eve are falling
And purpling shadows drift across the land,
When sleepy bird to loving mates are calling-
I want the soothing softness of your hand.
(Inspired by the poem 'I Want You' by Arthur L. Gillom)
I want you no matter what tides the year may bring
In winter and autumn in summer and spring
When as a sweet song your name in a whisper I sing
I want you when the shades of eve are falling
When the mountains sings and raises at sea aglow the sand
And evergreens and all kind of creatures enlivens the land
And birds of every color and songs merrily band
When purpling shadows drift across the land
I love you and from your love I happily cling
I'm flying and dreaming of love beneath your wing
Making sweet music together we greet spring
When sleepy bird to loving mates are calling-
I want you I love you through time sky and land
Here and there and in every starlight that shows bright
And when the sun and the moon delivers the day and the night
I want the soothing softness of your hand.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2015
June.14.2015
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