Long Marina Poems
Long Marina Poems. Below are the most popular long Marina by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Marina poems by poem length and keyword.
I never could find the words...
For, I’m a man of fewer words
Than a stone
That’s not how my Heart speaks, though!
For, my Heart sings with hidden fire
(and it chokes
When I try to get out the Words...
'Hic!' My throat catches – it’s the smoke
From my burning heart)
Marina, I loved you once
But I didn’t know Love could be
Cruel, too!
Marina, I love you now,
But I can’t get away from you
Don’t want to
When I try to get out the Words...
That's when something breaks in my chest,
And It’s Too Late!
Then the searing pain...
It locks me in, I know I can’t go back...
I wish I could! Because to lose you Then...
Was the dumbest thing I ever did!
But Now you pull... away!
Your hands dismiss me!
I blew it, then, dismissed you then, and losing you, again's... all I have left...
I could be where the palm trees sway in a tropical breeze,
The pace is slow, the air is warm, and I can take my ease.
Drinking chilled coconut from the shell, a blue ocean view,
But, the only place I want to be, is right here with you.
I could be way up high, in a distant land, a Himalayan retreat,
Watching the sunset over Everest, wood fireplace, effusing heat.
Relaxing in the whirlpool, the steam rises, as I sip a hot brew.
But, the only place I want to be, is right here with you.
I could be enthralled as Parana journeys to it's end, at the falls,
200 rivers, cascading in unison, as I meditate struck in awe.
I could be contemplating, the transcendent beauty of Iguazu,
But, the only place I want to be, is right here with you.
I could be in Sorrento, bay of Napoli, not far from Capri,
watching cruise ships floating by, observing life so carefree.
From the marina, I marvel at the houses built into cliffs,
I daydream of what it could be like, to live like this.
But, of all the places I could go, and the things that I could do,
The only place I want to be...is right here with you.
John Derek Hamilton November 10, 2015
I watch the harbor through the falling snow
the sky and sea form one vast, gray tableau
the sun is nothing but a weak, background glow
the scene draws me, as if hypnotically.
Five mile’s lighthouse warnings go unvoiced
its strobes not lashing out, so what’s its point
it stands majestically but disappoints
replaced electronically
A tiny lobster boat makes its landward way
towards the inlet from the wider channel bay
a powdery blizzard is underway
which melts into the mirror sea.
Ospreys still hunt round the lobsterman's pride
snowflakes stain them as they soar and glide
other seabirds huddle side by side
shivering and crowing lividly.
Through the narrows the lonely boat steams
past icy Luddington Rock and East Breakwater's breech
its berths and moorings, within minutes reach
and sadly, it’s time for me to leave.
.
.
Songs for this:
Far Far Away (Charles Tone Mix) [feat. Brenda Boykin] by Tape Five
Hypnosis Theme (feat. Marina Quaisse) by Wax Tailor
Herons fragment the mist,
appear and disappear while remaining motionless.
The skiff rocks as a coal barge trundles past.
A dewy sky shivers.
Nowadays he just sits in a boat looking at Ohio.
This morning the sun reached the top of a willow
and got stuck.
He rowed toward the bank thinking to get under the tree,
filled an imaginary pipe full of tangy river smoke,
sucked on the wet air
as he watched the tree struggling with the sun.
For a while it was a tussle, then the willow shook itself
and the sun slipped away like an unmoored ketch.
At first, the sun just hovered like a blanched balloon
then it found a window above the mounded smother
and it rose up like a Choctaw bass
about to mouth a trill of small fry.
He was near to the shore now,
Ohio slanted down to meet him
cattails and reeds scratching the aluminum hull.
A couple of mallards jumped out of nowhere
and flew over his eyes. The clatter of wings
ruffled the chill bank where a dank light had sunk.
His mind followed them for some time
until they settled deep down
amid a wraith-wrapped Kentucky.
A heron slowly rowed the wind
stirring up the vaporous air, Patches of clarity
drifted across sky-high filtering puddles.
Ohio becomes a river town, the huddled houses
have scuttled their roofs upon soggy pathways.
The mossy hulks of an abandoned industry
wallow in a foggy backwash.
Castaway wharfs drip a spatter and smear,
a hand me down script of a yesteryear.
A small blue-collar marina,
beer cans roll on swaying pontoons,
a couple of dry docked rowboats
and canoes.
Truck tires thump harbor chains.
Someone is up early, someone else watches him
gut and clean a large flathead.
On the damp dock cats circle the bones and scales
creep through the miasma
their fur wet and glistening eyes flashing a liquid silver.
The catfish is naked and shorn of the river
a thing to be watched least it return to life
as something beyond the ken of cats and fishermen.
On the ramp he hitches up his straggling life
and drives away from a berth awash
with the haunted cries of Loons and Redtail’s.
Soon he will be back in the patched-up pockets of Ohio
where corn husks snag hoarfrost and rattle
in a fresh rinsing breeze.
A driving trip to someplace new,
Complete with water views,
Made my birthday very special,
Just the weekend I would choose.
Included was a mansion tour,
A river walk and meal
At a lovely local place, which had
A cozy, warm appeal.
Of course, throughout the day were lots
Of texts and calls for me,
Plus an ice cream stop to make the time
As happy as could be.
The weather held, the sun came out,
Our room, adjacent to
A marina, with its bobbing boats -
All better than we knew.
Today we drove past wineries
And farms with cows and sheep,
Enough to fill my dreams
When, one year older, I will sleep.
My parents have been married for thirty years at least. Probably more than that but I don’t want you to think I’m being hyperbolic. There’s a lot you can learn in that amount of time.
My father has learned how to shut bedroom and bathroom doors without a sound when my mother is sleeping. If you’re up early enough you can see him slowly turning handles, pushing gently on wooden frames, and releasing the latch into place like releasing a bird nursed back to flying condition.
My mother has learned to put his outside shoes right by the red front door so when my father leaves on his trips to the mailbox and marina, he won’t track pollen back into the house. She hates the pollen squatting on their hardwood floors, so he slips them on every time.
My father has learned not to whistle in the house anymore.
My mother has learned to tuck bar-stool chairs back in with careful symmetry.
My father has learned to put the classifieds on my mother’s chair in the morning.
My mother has learned to save crossword and sudoku for him.
I think most critically they’ve learned to communicate in anecdotes and small talk. Every “it’s a cold one out today” is laced with “take a jacket, stay warm–because I can’t stand the thought of shivers in your spine.” Every “Well, honey, the stock market is down again” is laden with “Our financial future is never sure, but at least we’ll be in it together.” Every “I love you” has the weight of thirty plus years behind it and
I have learned that when I’m with them I should be taking notes.
When bombs fall
The defense minister of Israel threatens to bomb
Lebanon back to the stone age
Last time a person said this his name was Hitler
If, the nice-mannered Putin had said this about
Ukraine, the otherwise polite Guardian with the
intrepid Marina Hyde would be in righteous rage,
followed by Jonathan Freeman saying that the
the remarks were taken out of context.
Our Jonathan is an intellectual who speaks softly
and has a great vocabulary
I read in a newspaper about the German migration
began 200 years ago to whiten the country
Having been to Brazil many times, I can't say if
the writing was successful, except for the chandler
whose first name was Hans and had red hair
Muslims leaving France because they cannot wear
the hijab, one notices they are not going to
say Pakistan, but to other western nations, that
allow wearing religious symbol
As for orthodox Jews, they were black coats
and fetching black hats, the enlightened skull caps
they also ignore the dress code
There are many Muslims in France the right-wing politicians wouldn't mind if they all left
The azure ocean, home to the embedded enormous incomprehensible riches of mysteries and riddles,
More than the Mars, lies unfathomed, underneath the conundrum of oceanic colossal rhythms.
From the The Milky Sea Phenomenon, a sight captured as bioluminescence illusion,
The Purple Orb of the ocean floor of California and the Baltic Sea’s anomalous puzzles,
Like the alien spaceship put foot on the colossal quagmires of oceanic chasm!
When the underwater volcanoes erupt to perplex beyond imagination in huddle,
To probe and discern those gems of oyster shell’s luminous pearls dazzles,
Deep beneath sleeping peacefully in the ocean’s cradle!
The fatal enigma of the unplumbed immensely profound oceanic mysteries will never dwindle.
The more one plunges to pierce in deep muse its vastness engulfs to diddle!
The superficial waves in corrugation, are mere widening its hitherto horizontal hurdles.
The bizarre sounds emanating from beneath are like giant icebergs scraping the oceanic floor in madly rhythm!
The obscure oceanic realms, its myriads mystical appearances remains timeless, fancy of millions!
Eras and eras pass, the mythical mermaid’s riddle are yet to resolve,
As centuries pass, may replete with the witness of numerous human civilizations!
Like the Atlantis of Japan, from time immemorial, the oceans are abodes of colossal confusions.
The voyages disappear in the Mystic Triangle, who knows what lies beneath the mythical abstractions?
The twirling sounds of infinite ocean swirling in the sea shells are quite captivating, attract admirers attractions;
The archipelago one after the other vanished without the trace, as in Marina Trench’s aberrations;
As if the Phantom Islet of Bermeja, in its murky abyssal cradle’s magnetic composition.
The Crop Circles discovered beneath its bosom as if the signage of other world’s manifestations;
The oceanic phenomenon of green flashes meets the red tides, reveals your magnificent disposition.
Wants to plunge, swim like a mermaid in your mystical cerulean temporal lilting motion;
Oh, the oceanic conundrum more we try to fathom, the more we entangle in your cryptic chasm!
© Silpika Kalita
2025.5.5
It was the 5th day of winter.
Somehow the weather was still warm,
It tickled my travel's bones.
Yes, I went all the way to Queenscliff Geelong.
I came here several times in the past,
But missed climbing up the tower part.
With it magnificent 360° clear view,
I circulated the platform along the glass windows.
My time of arrival was coincide with
The departure of the ferry Sorrento - Queenscliff.
I casted my eyes to the north-west,
There were three Islands Swan, Mangrove and Rabbit.
The Point Nepean on the far east across the sea.
On the east side of Queenscliff
There was a stretch of sand beach,
Curving it all the way to Point Lonsdale.
In one hour time, I could enjoy the sun set,
Beyond the horizon of the marina bay.
It would be lovely if I could stay.
But I had to give all that a miss,
Head back to Geelong and then home.
There will be another warm day in winter,
Before the weather drops to low temperature.
I just have to make the trip again
With or without friend in the future.
Where there is will there is way.
We had just finished reading Twas the Night Before Christmas
“Good Night children.” Their mom and I said.
“Wait a minute Dad…something’s not right. We live in Florida.” Our eldest son said.
“It’s too warm down here for the reindeer.” (Our second son said sounding defeated). “How does Santa deliver the presents if all his reindeer become overheated?”
“There’s no snow, it’s not cold and we have no chimney.” (This statement was made by our daughter) “How does Santa deliver presents to those of us who live on the water.”
I looked at my wife and smiled…my hands thoughtfully covering my mouth. “You mean we’ve never told you”, I said sitting down, “how Santa delivers presents to the south?"
“Santa’s reindeer love to fly…high across the winter sky they soar…but even they get tired so when Santa’s sleigh reaches our shore he gives his reindeer a break on the beach with some suntan lotion and a bale of hay…and hooks up nine Florida dolphins who take over guiding his sleigh.”
“Thank you for helping all my dolphin friends!” each year Santa happily exclaims.
Then one by one they smile and nod as Santa Claus calls them by name.
On Aqua, on Ocean, on Brooke, on Marina…Noelani are you ready for me?
On Splash, on Delta, on Raindrop…it's time to guide me out over the sea.”
“Over and under the sea we will swim…look smart, please stay in two rows…and when it gets too dark to see out there…on Coral…please light up your nose.
“You see Santa is very resourceful.” Dad said…”I hope you now understand…how he can deliver his presents on the water as easily as on the land.”
“Many children all over the world see Santa and his reindeer and instantly believe...but only the children in Florida see Santa and his dolphins on Christmas Eve.”
If you look out your window tonight you might see…on the water…in the moon light arise...a sleigh pulled by nine dolphins, Santa in short sleeves with sunglasses covering eyes.
And if you're lucky you even might hear him exclaim as he and his dolphin drive out of sight.
Happy Christmas to all the children in Florida…
and to all the children in Florida…
a good night.