Long Old salt Poems
Long Old salt Poems. Below are the most popular long Old salt by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Old salt poems by poem length and keyword.
You stand with your suitcase like a buoy,
bright, bobbing in the shallows,
and I am the pier—
rooted, barnacled, smelling of old salt and rope.
You tell me you’ll stay
if I keep my hands wrapped round your ankles,
but I know the tide you carry in your ribs.
Even on windless days
it pounds against my palms,
shouting for the open mouth of the horizon.
The gap is a sandbar—
we could walk there together,
let our knees sink into its damp skin,
pretend it will hold us longer than a season.
But I have seen what happens
when the sea grows impatient.
It chews through land like bread,
swallows the footprints before we can name them.
I want to say go after the storm has passed,
when our nets are mended,
when the gulls return to roost in my hair.
But your moon is full now.
It pulls at your water
even when you swear it won’t.
And I—
I cannot anchor you
without learning how to drown.
argh
the wooden pirate
with a real leg
‘pon his left shoulder
not a parrot but a peg
argh
his ship inverted
sailed ‘neath the wave
and in his treasure chest
was a craggy cave
argh
he roared with rum
empty barrels were full
his flag was white
black bones and skull
argh
the flag though ripped
caught on his hook
but not for a hand
‘twas ‘stead of a foot
argh
he roamed the undersea
looking for loot
but oh all the bubbles
from a whale in a boot
argh
the old salt
was seawardly feared
for everyone knew
and heard of Woodbeard
argh
the submariner pirate
of raid and of plunder
sprang up on those
and pulled them all under
we pile the stones -
well, we try to -
until our knuckles bleed
for what? a wall?
or just a tower for the blind?
i forget which...
the dirt doesn't care
about the holy seed
it only eats,
well, it eats the things
we leave behind.
i found a rusted key -
actually, it was more of a shard
inside the well,
which fits a door
that hasn't existed for years,
or perhaps never did
we're just ringing a cracked bell
a silver one.
shh...can you hear that?
i'm washing out the old salt
with dry tears,
the map? it's just a knot
of tangled gray hair.
the compass needle just points back
to where I've already stood.
i'm climbing up a broken stair.
a ghost-light? sure...
just to see if the view
is even any good.
It's summer, and it's the time
to take the train to old Saint Ives
and visit my Aunt Clementine
who lives alone by an old salt mine.
Aunt Clementine, she likes to dine
on mac and cheese at half past nine
then eats big slices of strawberry pie
while she sits and watches the fire flies.
Aunt Clementine loves polka dots
mostly orange, there's quite a lot
on walls and rugs, on kitchen tops
on her clothes and her dog named "Spot".
Aunt Clementine has crazy hair
that flies around most everywhere
while she hurries and scurries
here and there, and likes to say,
"Well, I declare!"
When she puts her lipstick on
Aunt Clementine breaks out in song
and tells me I should sing along
even if I forget or flub or FLOB
she tells me I am never wrong.
My Aunt Clementine is really fun
she certainly is not a nun
and so full of mischief
I just love to come
to be with her is double fun
in my book she is number one!
Art gallery glimpses
Posters on walls;
Unfamiliar insights
~~~~~~~~~
Fresh good market
Country festival;
Abundant fruits
~~~~~~~~~
Young child escorted
Proud parents each side;
Nurture greets nature
~~~~~~~~~
Roasted meat stall
Duck, chicken, BBQ pork;
Appetizing fares
~~~~~~~~~
Pay day queue
Busy ATM buzz;
Cash flow escapades
~~~~~~~~~
Sleepy moments
Heavy eyelids flutter;
Bedtime stories
~~~~~~~~~
Quizzical notions
Unanswered query;
Planning-in-progress
~~~~~~~~~
Chinese Pu-Er tea
Refreshing brew;
Fragrant sensations
~~~~~~~~~
Sparrow sing-song
Rainy day complaint;
Resting on my ledge
~~~~~~~~~
Crows on a tree
Casuarina bough;
Wet evening dark
~~~~~~~~~
Ships by the bay
Sunset silhouettes;
City lights glimmer
~~~~~~~~~
City skyscrapers
Deserted weekend;
Sullen silence presides
~~~~~~~~~
Sunday orchestra
Noisy enclave crowds;
Chattering diaspora
~~~~~~~~~
Foreign workers gather
Common language screams;
Home town dispensations
~~~~~~~~~
Social integration
Newcomers and old salt;
Brine for salted cabbage
~~~~~~~~~
Dear Pandora
Curiosity brings curse;
Hope endures boldly
~~~~~~~~~
Words struggle now
Crisp commotion here;
Pain sublimates thought
~~~~~~~~~
Style sparks smiles
Bitter gall precipitates;
Ideas emerge
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
30 November 2014
Singapore