Long Navigators Poems
Long Navigators Poems. Below are the most popular long Navigators by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Navigators poems by poem length and keyword.
The huge sky overseeing the emerald and bluish earth...
wouldn't be the only sky in our incredibly diverse Universe,
if limited sight weren't the obstacle to the awesome images that surprise couldn't conceal;
but many more galaxies hiding their splendid suns and planets,,
are still unknown and Man, overtaken by such a magnificence, expresses
himself in more atheistic ways not to compromise his own foolishness!
If we declare faith non-existent, cupidity can become our fetish...
filling us with more rampant pride to enforce its hypocritical seal!
More universes, like ours, lay dormant in their stillness,
" And will life be found on them? " is a question too inconclusive
that we can only answer by being so compellingly delusive;
more universes await the discoveries of the intelligent mind,
to lay out their awsomeness and beauty to discard the thought of finding life,
impelling us to preserve ours, not to destroy it by valiance or insanity!
Search history's events, are we capable of pursuing happiness...
without conquering and proclaiming our power with mighty armies?
In ancient days, they created unrealistic gods and goddesses...
not conceiving that the Supreme One wasn't a god in human form,
but rather the Invisible One, who often scolded them for their wickedness;
so in stone and marble they continued to sculpture divine faces
that the common people hailed and worshipped, and would they refuse
to obey their tyrant's wishes: their worthless lives would be taken...
and did Paul, the follower of Christ, go back to that cult so perverse?
We know, from the Holy Scriptures, he was converted and put down his sword...
More universes more magnificent than this one,
can be discovered and inhabited if they are livable;
and scientists are working hard along with astronauts to accomplish our dream,
and who isn't excited and show interest to take a voyage into the outer space?
Navigators ventured on perilous seas to attest that their concept was solid and real;
we, with more sophisticated computer science, are groped by the unthinkable!
Persuaded or not, discouraged or doubtful, researches must continue at our expense;
and what if we were successful, wouldn't everyone be taken by shock?
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Castle Heartstone sank into the mists of magic
The Princess of Magic, spell cast
For one day,
we shall return
When Faeries can play
When The Wise Ways,
will always last..
Our enemies will never have..
What lies in our hearts
Wonderful things
Magic, love
The colour of the seasons
What it brings..
Masts creaked,
sails held strong
A fair wind
for the Heartstone throng
The Four Kings,
having command of the ships
The Princes,
the navigators
for they encircled the world in wind
Queens, for strength
Princesses, for love and laughter
Faeries for, joy
An ocean , so blue
Its' light reflected in the Heartstone
Brilliant fire,
felt in the hearts of many too
The night, so clear
You could touch a star
The Faeries brought one to light the way
For, Faeries can, at play
Illuminate their hearts,
to all those they hold dear
Such a Tapestry of Stars
Only a Faerie could weave
For, they left the world
Such hearts , grieve
Soon, the land disappeared from view
Masts creaked
Sails held strong
A sense of something new...
The Castle was gone...
Disappeared by the Princess of Magic
Its' beauty not to be despoiled
by those they had foiled
Hidden in the mists of Magic
Castle Heartstone, lost in our memories
such thoughts detected
on an ocean , so blue
in its' light
feelings reflected
A King , cannot stop the sea
Storms blew
The ships held fast,
for such things never last
Beautiful treasures were not left behind
The Heartstone
The Tapestries
The Book of the Wise Ways
Seeds from the Whispering Trees
Water from the Stream of Sighs
The memories you can find,
for you are not alone
The Eagles of Heartstone,
came too
Upon golden wings, they flew
High up, above
The ocean , so blue
The Swords of the Knights,
were brought too
Faerie magic, sometimes not enough,
to stop an enemies bluff
The ships were filled with song
The beginning of the end..
The end of the beginning..
Hope and love,
in the hearts of this happy throng
Days filled with golden sun,
a little rain too
Upon oceans of blue
Each day
The king of air launched the Eagles
They soared high,
to find the land
that was meant...
For, magic cannot die
Stilled again across the canals broadening
Girth;
Mesh cages of rock-filled Gabions
Reinforcing patches of exposed and arid earth,
Reflecting the glints that gleefully
Twist and dance in the hot glare of the sun...
Provoking images and stirring indefinable feelings
That begin to irrevocably up and run;
Pictures and voices crowding into my mind:
Immersing me in the flooding moments
To which i am briefly resigned.
Now momentarily staid by the shimmering
Instance
In which i find myself inextricably caught,
Perplexed by something rather intangible,
Seeming almost to tease and laugh
Whilst confounding upon my evasive and
Fleeting thoughts;
As glancing across at the opposite bank
Where drawn up a line of densely packed trees..
I swore...I heard the reel of a high squealing
Fiddle -
Playing ever so briefly alongside a tricky little
Breeze.
For stood there I, wondering,
On a grey painted swing-bridge:
Of brightly painted Steamers, dirty Trampers
And of double masted white canvassed Brigs.
Oh! The everlasting glory of a New World order
Redefined:
Entrusted to those instructed in her Majesties
Construction of sprawling Victorian sublimes!
The men who heroically dug, picked, blasted and
Strove:
To securely fasten an Iron cast girdle around
An ever diminishing blue globe.
Dreaming of long ago, dutiful, Golden-Age days
Rigorously pursued down, what are now,
Weed strewn, abandoned byways.
Faustian clothing and a Velveteens cap;
The thick buckled leather gaiters held about
By the strap.
Many the word spoken in a soft southern brogue:
All hail the glorious navigators -
The navvies of old!
Staunch and desperate men forced to resign
Their native Gaelic shores
And burden unto themselves with
Mattocks, shovels and garishly painted-up whores.
Under the high flaming beacons
And over the obscure little brow -
They carved out the new waterways
To float the laden down prow.
Yes! Men of the Emerald Isles
I salute you and your kinsfolk
From lands cast westwards afar:
The magnificent "Paddies" from the verdant island -
Of Erin-Go-Bragh!
A poem I shall attempt to write of heavenly delight,
About all the wonders that shine deep in the night.
There is so much more than the Moon and stars above,
From the earliest navigators that fell heavily in love.
All those that sailed across all the known seas,
They all relied on the stars and many of these.
Often they would follow the morning and evening star,
Just one of five planets that they knew of so far.
Mostly guided by many and many they certainly knew,
Galileo saw much beauty in the Southern Cross too.
The Earth spinning at one thousand and forty miles per hour,
Still, they could master the art of using star power.
So what could they do when a storm came through?
Just stay at the helm and keep the wheel true.
And what could they do if the wind blew them off course?
Pray to the heavens that their sails could take the force.
For life as a sailor meant much more than hard labour,
They had to read stars in constellations to favour.
Forty-eight constellations before eighteen hundred and eighty-eight,
They existed well before the others gathered at a later date.
Then becoming eighty-eight constellations for a general to know,
And used the Pole Stars that never disappeared as they go.
Using particular stars that would always rise and set,
Knowing portside and starboard and which side they met.
In the third century BC, the Greeks used the Little Bear,
These days called Ursa Minor, now navigated from there.
Once Draco was closest to the North Pole than Polaris,
Between Ursa Major and Ursa Minor are the stars over Paris.
The sextant became the most used instrument for navigation,
Before then they had to understand the winds interpretation.
Today a compass is used with the true direction of North,
Every ship you will find has one that leaves every wharf.
But a star gazing soul has no use for a compass rose,
They'd rather get lost and just follow their nose.
For there is something to be said for this lost ancient art,
And I'm sure a true sailor is born with stars in his heart.
I contemplate my words with caution
i forge my stand with speedy resolve
as my student appears lost in time..
in a secret place of daydreams where
my surreal lecture boring penetrate in
My students eyes light up and i can feel
feel the rich beat vibrating in his essence
but today were teaching discipline..
and focus to master navigate life's hurdles
am teaching the soft navigators skills
I speak in manner devoid of flattery
for unto man the path is laid ahead
and pilgrim you have to take it..
its the only jail.. the journey of life
with discipline you attain destination
A times when i yearned to achieve
A times when my future was bright
A times when i was a servant of time
i yearn to tell my student.. freedom
is freeing yourself from the jail of time
I yearn to tell my student not be
fooled by the three dimension illusion
i yearn to explain the flaw in time..
i yearn to free him from the false mindset
i yearn to point the way to liberation
Yet the beat keeps radiating from
my young student... the unconscious
booom boom radiates back and forth
its the of the joy of parting the elixir..
of freedom without knowledge of it
There is freedom in the beat my friend
there is freedom that frees the mind
and there is freedom to partake all..
the good things in life.. i teach discipline
for with it you rule the world you rule you
The path of discipline seems like a punishment
but it's whats makes you victorious.. feel..
the restraint of the bond.. restraining a free soul
adorn your soul in music but restrain your excesses
it the key to overcoming the time prison..
The time warped concept of viewing life in three dimensions
the warped context of material visualization of the divine..
an ascension of thoughts as you overcome the time constraints
and achieve peace in servitude to the divine will.. the only duty..
worth of a mortal.. worth of a god.. worth of a great mind.... sage
SLS...
CODE 254
lewis nyaga
supertime..
I spied a ship and descried the flag it flew.
It was nothing like the flags I had seen before.
It was red and blue, with white circles and yellow stars
The highlights of white and yellow stood out
like stars at night, and town lights bright.
The red like the color of the dawn and dusk.
The blue the color of the deep blue ocean.
It was clearly the flag of a sea faring nation.
As the ship got closer, you could clearly see its details.
It was a large primitive Polynesian outrigger voyager vessel,
a ghost ship as no one appeared to be aboard.
Where it had come from, the fate of its crew a mystery?
But the vessel sure knew how to sail
and knew where it was headed
as it sailed fast and free,
passed our sailing boat 'Snail'
on a true heading for a spot on the horizon.
For many years the Polynesian voyagers were decried as flotsam and jetsom.
How could these primitive people navigate through the vast open ocean
between tiny islands, pin-prick dotted in oceans of space?
It was assumed they migrated and populated the far flung oceans randomly and haphazardly
via their fishing trips and day trips being blown off course.
But research has descried their skill and fabulous knowledge of navigation.
Each island has a gild of navigators.
They use songs and stories to memorize navigation methods:
including the movement of the stars, wave patterns around island,
local currents, clouds, weather and bird behavior.
Polynesian navigators used the rise and setting of particular set stars on the horizon to set a heading.
They had wooden instruments, string and fiber maps of wave patterns and star movements to guide their way.
They skillfully know when they were near tiny islands
from the change in the wave patterns, currents
and their vast knowledge of birds and wildlife.
So don't be quick to decry Polynesian navigation.
Instead, descry its beauty, simplicity, nouse, proficiency and elegance.
She loved the evenings lying in the grass next to her dad…looking up…enjoying the view
He would teach her all about the stars…everything he knew.
He’d point up to Polaris, the North Star and tell her it was so bright
navigators for years would use it as their guiding light.
“When boats navigated by the stars,” he’d say,
“from the smallest boat to the largest ocean liner…
they would find the north star on the handle of the little dipper…also known as Ursa Minor.”
He’d point to Sirius, the Dog Star, saying, “it’s the brightest in the night sky.
I know why it’s the brightest…do you.”
She’d smile repeating what he taught her, “Because it’s not one star…but two.”
He would teach her about all the constellations…the planets…
his favorite was the red one…Mars.
He always said, “when it came to teaching about the night sky…
“We’ll run out of time before we run out of stars.”
“Would you like to touch the stars?” He asked one day. She sat up, “I’d love to.”
“On the next clear night when the ocean is calm…that’s just what we will do.”
“Try not to make too many waves.” He said after they waded into the ocean one night.
She was still unsure why…
The stars are still so far away.” She said, “Still high up in the sky.”
“Your looking in the wrong direction.” He told her…noticing her frown.
“If you want to touch the stars…don’t look up…look down.”
There at her fingertips floating…was the North Star, Sirius, and Mars.
They spent hours and many an evening…in the ocean…touching stars.
As he had predicted earlier (you read it in this rhyme)
they did not run out of stars…but they did run out of time.
Not before however, he taught her to look up at night and enjoy the view….
not before he taught her…everything he knew.
Which she is teaching to her children…who can’t wait to touch Grandpa’s favorite…Mars
when they wade into the ocean together…into the ocean..to touch the stars.
Oh, come, gather up close to hear my story.
Of how ancient navigators crossed the sea to glory.
Going between Pacific islands with fantastic skill,
Using Providence to guide with nature's goodwill.
“It’s chance—they will never find their way."
“No compass drawn, no map to mark the day.”
“They drifted and then caught some lucky breeze."
"They stumbled blindly, blown across the seas."
Listen up well; the islanders knew their trades.
Using stars, waves, and nature as their aids.
With winds behind them, they raised their sails.
Gliding on currents to follow their trails.
On the vast sea, our journey is so long.
We sing and chant our travelers' song.
With divine winds and waves as our guide,
We know our way to our isles is open wide.
By day, they kept the sun in line with the mast.
At night, the stars kept their course steadfast.
They passed down their stories in the songs sung
With lines, they learned in their native tongue.
They used what nature provided in clever ways.
Hoisting sails when winds lead through the maze.
Paddling when foul winds would lead them astray.
Drifting on currents that came by, to play.
They knew when an island was close by.
By reading the signs, they saw in the sky.
Watching for land birds foraging at sea.
Trailing them home to where, both wanted to be.
They watched the waves for redirection.
And turned their path in that direction.
Trusting in their gods and stories for their guide,
In the vast ocean with islands scattered far and wide.
On the vast sea, our journey is so long.
We sing and chant our travelers' song.
With divine winds and waves as our guide,
We know our way to our isles is open wide.
People thought we island hopped by random drift,
when our picnic canoes blew away.
"Where are your charts and instruments" they asked?
"Those feeble canoes could never make the journey"
"You only go there 'cause you lost your way"
"You silly driftwood dreamers"
Little did they know we navigate by memory,
with the way to go, and how to get there
whispered between old and new ears, orally.
They say we are fair-weather sailors,
afraid of clouds and rain.
They say we only venture out in season, fair and friendly.
Little did they know in daylight,
we get direction from watching and pin-pointing
where the sun rises and sets on the horizon.
At night we know which star to watch
and align with the mast of double canoe
to hold our course.
We switch stars as they rise and set, in season.
They say we sail just for the fun of it,
for the sheer joy of riding the waves and currents,
sailing with the winds
free as a bird, going wherever they take us.
Little do they know we read
the winds and waves to find our way
on epic planned journeys by canoe.
Wave patterns change when an island is nearby.
We know the swirl of currents,
We read the trade winds like sign-posts.
We know the birds know where they roost.
We follow them home.
We know birds are master navigators on
their migrations, we follow them.
Sadly, these oral skills and
land-finding traditions
are now being lost forever.
Dispelled as oral traditions quelled, forgotten, pass away.
We the navigators have lost our way.
What people said about our ignorance of navigation
and silly random drift for landfinding is now too true,
Repêchage, Touché'.
A parasympathetic parody in a par is neither equivalent to a vineyard crushed into a jar or a hammock in a cartwheeling car in a traffic jam. Human hypothesis having heaped havoc. And mackerel make excellent navigators in shopping trolleys. But putting a kilo of icing sugar into a cup of tea is not that pleasant or customary really. Playing poker with pretty peanuts is a very splendid way to pass the time. But running around and around then jumping over forty nine buses is a feat best left to a two inch worm whose antics blow away the mind through displays of great courage and fortitude and fortitude questioned is neither a fortress nor a frightened framed fashionable fig. Ok then. That was the opinion of Mr. Gerlatki gorilla whose book reading skills and consequent knowledge out did any other primate in the tree cases. Tree cases are breathing books and books bring brilliance and brilliance is not a brillo pad it is a baked button. The travelling traditional tarpaulins are taking terracing to the terrapins to replace the gutter screening. And the little beetle in the car was absorbed in the mind expansion emitting from a voice controlled box. Hahaha the fleas are flying with the elements of the world boxes. Hahah involved in inky ignorant ideology. Haha theory plus theory divided by dice roll equals war of the bugs. Xxxxx momentarily z z z z z at over a load of washing up bowls, ninety three thousand foot trees, a intrepid global goldfish and a little shrew in glasses reading in a six foot chair. Wrapped in a tapestry. Xxxxx parapsychology z z z z z z z z z z z z,.*~_~_~_=+-->€$}_39<830}93}¥[[_+€)(%)£?:-4)()%-%()%. Z
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