Long Briny deep Poems
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Rats! Mine Poetic Submissions Once Again Deemed Floccinaucinihilipilification
/?fläks??nôs??ni?hil??pil?fi'kaSH?n/
(floc·ci·nau·ci·ni·hil·i·pil·i·fi·ca·tion)
Countless declined submissions of mine,
tipping scales massive
Earth Atlas shrugged,
(he nonchalantly shouldered
1.317 × 10^25 lbs)
sends storied ambition plummeting
millstone yoked neck analogous
to bajillion pound weight
thus yours truly
doth modify expectations
absolute zero prospect
I will posthumously
attain poet laureate status
within human league,
asper dignified luminaries
comprising cognoscenti pantheon
posthumously storied authors
renown unto posterity,
yet ever since disembarking...
fashioning, finagling, forging
building blocks of English Language
humble mission courtesy this wordsmith
never sunk entrenched ambitions
into virtual sea constituting briny deep
wide whirling webbed waters
intent to reel eyes,
neither fame nor fortune,
but wield unique signature
this landlubber mentally laboring
to heft cumbersome words
chiseling, fitting (jigsaw puzzle pieces)
interlocking snuggly, asper
analogous mortise and tenon,
or (sometimes forcefully jamming)
multisyllabic deeply oceanographic
flowingly, trending intrinsically quixotic
harmonically sympathetic...
to affect pacific effect,
nonetheless attempt to launch,
albeit figuratively shipshape anchored
literary endeavor metrically
bobbing (with square pants) along
gently down stream of consciousness
side stepping excessively
indignant, flagrant, arrogant...
undertones, yet present
political perturbations pain
this doubting Thomas unitarian,
whose outlook good n plenti grim,
especially insatiable thirst
about global/world events
can barely be slaked!
The crab on the salty sandy sod,
Making his way to the cold sea,
This odd crustacean decapod,
Crabbiest thing in the briny deep.
Yet, there is a swagger about him,
That’s the envy of all others,
Doesn’t value being proper or prim,
Nor have need to regale another.
Confident he will make the water,
He has done it a thousand times,
Nothing in his way that bothers,
Only nine empty diet drink cans.
Yikes, there approaches a dark shadow,
Must abruptly move all those legs,
This could be something of matter,
The shadow is carrying a keg.
It’s a mad dash to the ocean blue,
To escape what could be trouble,
This could be day a crab might rue,
Time for the ten-legged crab shuffle.
The crab makes it to the briny deep,
Shirks a crustacean tragedy,
Wasn’t the time to slumber or sleep,
Or shadow claims his anatomy.
The rhythm of the sea, lull up and down,
while seamen stand out on the starboard
watching the sea light up like a watercolor painting.
Movements and chatter sounds sing to one another
like a flock of birds on tree boughs.
Entourage of Dolphins
in a watery playground,
elegant and slick, gray, long body
break upon the surface
discovering the sight
in the distance
not duller, but brighter.
Flickers of light around
when uncover
a graceful performance in fluid form
as they swim in the silence,
a whimsical waltz
by brothers, mothers, and lovers
a spectacular show of natural wonder.
Dolphins,
highly intelligent mammals,
a part of the whale family,
are benignly creatures,
playful swimming alongside ships,
they live throughout the world
in a cerulean depth of briny deep-sea.
12/31/2017
'P'' Contest, New Or Old Poetry Contest 7. playful
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Turbulent moves the water mass
Thumping and roaring as it rolls,
Sheltering in her, myriad strange beings
From tiny planktons to giant killer whales
Constant remains she, yet changing ever
The puzzling paradox beyond the land
She had cradled the first mote of life
Earliest link in the incessant chain of life
Whipped by the wind, smashed by the storm
She lashes on the rock in angry venom
In tumult she pounds the strand
As though her fury is never assuaged
At times seen sedate in shades of blue
So compliant - without stir, without din
Tranquil she lies – an appeased child
With a calm unmatched in her prior demeanor
Beneath the lull and hum of waves
Brews an eternal clash that never dies
The ceaseless fracas oft swelling out
Into a bedlam of commotion, clatter and din
Curious shapes with needles, spikes and spines
Sticking out in clusters beneath the blue
The fantasy world of coral reefs
Chiseled and shaped - Nature’s unique masonry!
Marvel of marvels, this mystic mass
With tiny droplets grown into scores
Billions multiplied into trillion fold
This infinite expanse that wobbles and churns
What ingenious brain did frame
Such a wonder as this mighty ocean?
What furtive hands did hide
Such baffling mysteries in this briny deep?
______________________________
March .26.2023
~ Placed Fourth~
Brian Strand Premiere Contest
~ Placed First~
Writing Challenge ‘O’ Words Poetry Contest
Sponsor – Constance La France
Topic chosen- Ocean
Mariners in our wanderlust,
We sail beyond the horizon’s curve.
Fearful, we dare the briny deep
Out of faith in the dreams we serve.
Rough-hewn by years of knots and coils,
Our hands hoist up the canvass sails,
In the ways that the ancients toiled,
To cross the many-fathomed deep.
The muted moaning of the masts;
The pitch and the roll and the yaw
Of wooden hulls upon the deep;
The wondrous fear of freedom’s call.
Daredevil dolphins rise and roll,
As fleets of flying fish fin by
Pursued by patrols of petrels
Winging o’er foam and stinging spray.
We plough the mirrored Milky Way,
Bright on the obsidian main,
As pale phosphorescent plankton
Stream by beneath the midnight moon.
Monsters revel in the tempests,
Risen from out the great abyss.
They lurk in misty fjords, off port,
Glowering in the wine-dark sea.
The heartbeats of our bodies blend
The ancient rhythms of our cells
With the rising, falling rhythms
With the siren rhythms of the sea.
Mariners in our wanderlust,
We behave like a swarm of bees,
Spreading the pollen of culture
To the four antipodes.
Anchors Aweigh...Destination Unknown
Weather beaten cap'n,
and watertight bewitched craft
time tested since maiden voyage
(circumnavigating the globe
back in the day
of my youth),
I ranked tough as a pitbull,
when severely pitted
against raw elements
of swiftly tailored,
harried stylish nature
against leathery faced
reptilian skin, hard drinking
(actually as corked
poetic convenience - vermouth
arbitrary bottle of choice
if for no other reason,
than to rhyme
with the above line),
and tobacco spitting, while
colorfully swearing as an uncouth
Furies (of Agamemnon) fighting (tooth
and nail) Pirate,
where rickets, scurvy,
and thrice unconscious,
currently ample proof
could not forsooth
bring me to
Davy Jones's locker,
cuz I never wanna
get relegated to an underwater
whale schooled booth,
this raconteur can nonchalantly,
glibly, and blithely attest,
with braggadocio, despite
no warm welcome will
ever greet mine tinnitus
pained ears, I can plainly
imagine acrimonious retort
upon me behest
his far more'n lifetime
bobbing (like a sponge)
buoyed atop crest
longing e'en for
(carping, caviling, hen pecking,
or shrewish) wife,
and loving family
forsaken, sans living
antisocial upon briny deep divest
many opportunities to
experience wedded, webbed
and whirled bliss,
and hence for everest
as bachelor, especially
at present junction
of twilight years,
my crude manners
makes foreign (for
an) ill suited guest
boot e'en if yours truly
became inured to life on land,
(as a "FAKE" father figure
feathering his nest
my coarse behavior, as basic
electric koolaid acid test
would force even
the most tolerant proprietor,
perhaps a bank
manager at Univest
would utter VAMOOSE,
e'en if eye covered up
my heavily pierced,
and tattooed breast.
A radio aired an awful auld aria,
Astounding all my aged aural edifices
In eerie aura of araucaria trees
Aching angrily in a loud typhonic breeze.
My brain wanted to burrow to escape the pain
Of sounds as a warren of rabid jackrabbits
Digging to escape mangy slobbering coyotes
Howling hungrily in panting pursuit of prey.
Such a scratchy song, if played in the briny deep,
Would chase crazy-eyed kraken to the mountain tops.
Callas, Verdi and Puccini would flee their graves
For a screechy symphony of barbed wire sitars.
Praise be! The off button my shaking hands did find;
I woke up, pressing on my belly button hard.
Steady rain swirled, pooled,
and eddied around rolled
up pant legs skinny ankles, which
immediately felt cold
before undertow willingly
steadily, and nimbly pulled this former
ace swimmer into watery fold
quelling, relinquishing, and taking
my hard won mettle of gold
earned early in primetime, now
at last...preemptive quiescent salvation
sluiced into unbarred
Davy Jones's locker hold
all me eager life possessions
long since donated and/or sold,
thus the final countdown
found yours truly submerged
for no rhyme, nor reason told
as I blissfully headed into the webbed
wide woebegone watery wold,
of course said dreamy forevermore
hoary idyll mere
reverie of this stevedore
"FAKE," & figuratively, hypothetically,
and imaginatively furthermore,
yaws true well lee washed away
in briny deep pull lore
ably tipped, gypped,
and drowned ma poor
body electric far from shore,
soaking wet tha top n bot hum
'o me soggy mossy noggin,
wharf fanta seas no longer
will eyes explore
waterlogged optima gills, this papa
wet tin his every pore,
this March 21st, 2019
(ewe could Hermes faintly
bleating after mighty roar)
of ocean riptide off back
offload mein kampf bon jure,
buffer dis future
papa gets tubby old,
and senile, who would
bean imposing chore,
asper deux marriageable
daughters tubby saddled,
reined in upon, and
bridled to endure
caretaking role asper,
this former stevedore
whose existence also spent
teaching many a bore from Bangalore!
It's twelve days before Christmas, Love, and I am sitting here,
the hearth fire is burning bright, but on my cheek they're tears.
I hold the conch shell to my ear and call for you my dear.
Out across the briny deep a tempest cries beware.
The entry hall is full of garland, pine, spruce and mistletoe
The mirrors are all draped with ribbons, the brass all aglow
I hold the conch shell to me ear and stare out at the snow
remembering our last parting, I begged you not to go.
"Captain" said I "can you not see you take my heart from me?"
In his hand I placed a lock of hair, and a mustard seed.
He handed me a pearly conch shell from the Isle of Capri,
and bid me listen for his love song from the Southern Sea.
For twelve days, I've climbed stairs to the widows walk on high,
I clasp the token to my chest and search the sea near-by
So sad, yet sweet the mermaids sang, they of sailor's gone by.
They sang in sympathy, a song of longing with breathy sighs.
The cliff fires burn so bright now, he's coming on the tide.
The church bells are ringing now, soon they'll at anchor lie.
Had he heard me, had he called, had it been a dream I scryed?
T'was Christmas Eve and in the snow, he's landing with the tide.
"In a nascent world of life, a poetic soul forces in cool sea waves that ebb and flow,
the infinity of breadth." Quote by poet
Breath and vastness of the briny deep blue,
hidden universe on the ocean floor.
The largest and deepest of Earth's
five oceanic divisions.
It snuggles west of the Americas,
a world of profound mystery.
She tightly wraps her brine around
an extensive ocean basin,
a kaleidoscope of sea life, from plant-eaters
to meat-eaters, both great and small,
and a maternal, indulgent mother.
The ocean's rich mosaic floor
is constantly self-shifting, moving, and shaping.
For some marine ecosystems, a mere
dawdling pace is crucial for survival.
The temperature of the water drops.
Susurrus in the deep, in quietude
upon the feel of the poised wind against the waves.
The sounds and sunlight shower with a soft,
diffuse glow, leaving no trace in the deep.