Long Overhead Poems
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The sea can be an unforgiving environment, always expect the unexpected.
Quote by Poet.
I was five miles west of Plymouth Sound in my sailing boat
Nothing gives me more pleasure than being at sea afloat
I'd been practising my sailing and had just rounded the bay.
Getting myself prepared for an upcoming race in late May.
An urgent message came through that a storm was approaching
I fixed a course straight for home; a fierce storm I wasn't risking
The waves started rising and I reached down to secure the boom
A sudden gust caught it knocking me overboard, and I felt doom.
The cold water brought me to, and I felt the back of my head
There was a wide gash, and I saw that my palm had turned red
My boat had drifted out further and was about thirty feet away
I was at the mercy of the waves and couldn't send a mayday.
The back of my head was pounding and I was getting weaker
And the waves were getting higher and it was getting bleaker
A bird watcher on a cliff with a scope had seen me come to harm
And had quickly phoned the local coastguard to raise the alarm.
I was drifting in and out of consciousness and felt the end was near
All I could think about was my wife and family and those I hold dear
I felt very sleepy and a feeling of serenity came over me like a wave
I was getting weaker now and thought this cruel sea will be my grave.
I could hear the throb of an engine and could see lights flashing red
And right above me was a coastguard helicopter hovering overhead
A winchman lowered himself down and then grabbed hold of me
And around my waist put a harness and winched me up to safety.
I passed out with fatigue and when I came to, I was in a hospital bed
And for a minute I thought is this heaven and am I already dead ?
A week later I was discharged and I sought out those who'd rescued me
The coastguards and the bird watcher to thank them all personally.
I was sitting at home when a man from the coastguard phoned me
He said "I've got some good news, we’ve found your boat out at sea
There’s no sign of any damage and she was afloat and upright
And we’ve towed her into the harbour, so your future is looking bright”.
A daytime in Madrid
Gray sky overhead
The mist forms rows
Eyeing, hesitating
As spectators in a field
Hovering for kickoff
Masses of zealots
Shining bands of fans
In the style of a royal army
The sound of shoes trampling
Moving to a specific ground
Hovering for kickoff
The reals of Madrid are tough
They defy tooth and claw
The adrenaline level is rising
Blood of steel ran in their veins
Artistic knives are at the ready
They hurt the stadium
The reds of England look anxious.
To do this, a hero must be called.
A savior in times of peril.
A leader to rally the troops.
A Liverpool that flips the tides.
Halftime is near
Relief for the Spanish is near
But there is a last terror spell
One final shot towards glory
A clip-on their lips
A blow on the Reals' souls
The fate of our heroes is unsure.
What lies next for the Reds?
But one thing is certain.
They seek victory.
Will they master the chaos of war?
Written: June 2, 2022
A Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
In honor of the 250th anniversary
of the Declaration of Independence
of the United States of America
-------///---\\\-------
In Philadelphia’s summer heat,
Colonies rose to break defeat.
An alien crown across the sea,
No longer ruled our destiny.
Despite the roar of distant hates,
They wrote the birth: United States.
Where rights are not a gift of kings,
But truth that every person brings.
"We hold these truths," document said,
Like thunder rolling overhead:
That life and freedom must belong
To every voice, however strong.
Through fear of war and breaking ties,
Beneath uncertain, watchful skies,
They signed their names in bold resolve,
To let a new world form and evolve.
And now, two hundred fifty years,
By triumphs, happiness and tears,
A shining hope for all to see,
United States — Forever Free.
-------///---\\\-------
A Test from Nature
Months passed since the last rains
came,
The land was parched, with plants,
birds and animals dying from thirst,
Some creatures were braying,
chirping, crying, and praying,
all helplessly shouting rain, rain,
rain as they invoked God's name.
Overhead, the dark clouds, heavy
with rain, drifted away and never
did burst.
Everyone was disappointed, but
many continued praying, while
some asked, Will the clouds come
again?
In their plight of thirst, all living
things are the same.
Each player is playing a survival
game.
A few shouted they were going
insane and wished a miracle would
bring some rain.
People were puzzled and asked
why the dark clouds left, but no
one could explain.
People made promises to change
attitudes and behaviour and never
to complain.
They believed only the Creator
of the Universe could ease their
suffering and pain
They believed only the Creator
could open the skies and let it pour
precious rain.
Reality is beautiful at its best.
Reality is stern when it gives a test.
Reality is joy, laughter, sorrow and pain.
Reality keeps us entertained.
by Zyrool
Oy vey iz mir, one day in the life of a common house broken schmeckle...,
who did pötschke
and squander many an opportunity
to become a mensch
instead he became persona non grata
condemned to a history of misery,
not unlike Doctor Hyde and Mister Jekyll,
where friends, Romans countrymen did heckle.
After all said and done,
I best have stayed
safe and sound in the womb,
or hopefully at the least honored after death
with a squadron of B-52s
flying overhead with vroom
while being enshrined in a tomb,
cuz the living years of yours truly (me),
one after another trial and tribulation did loom
which figurative weave
courtesy weft and warp wove gloom
ordained I experienced hell on earth,
thus an inescapable doom
left no option except to skadaddle
into the outer limits of the twilight zone
at the edge of night
courtesy magic broom.
Plenty of times,
I ate in a crowded house,
where the crawdads sing
sinking their teeth into cranberries, meatloaf
and red hot chili peppers
served with a side order of pop slop
don't be put off by the name,
which mishmash actually yum zook,
nevertheless cuisine fiends spurred a tussle
where flock of seagulls
who got into a spat took
sparring mates to the cleaners
with angry yardbirds twittering about xyz,
and tweeting when loosely translated
into English language essentially meant
much ado about floccinaucinihilipilification,*
(Sounds like
flaa·suh·now·suh·nai·uh·luh·pi·luh·fuh·kay·shn)
according to legendary interpretation
by expert ornithologist with keen insight
rivaling that of the eagles
known for their skill playing chess
ofttimes, use an upside-down rook
to designate a queen
under United States chess federation
rules and in casual play take a look
for yourself, rather than believe amateur
what might be considered poppycock hook
line and sinker qualifying as gobbledygook,
which utter nonsense I did cook
up, yet please feel welcome my gibberish to brook
*the estimation of something as worthless.
So sick, ashamed, tuke-deh-blaim guilty
And tired of your sarcastic comments that tease me on purpose
Really not an accidental thing in the first place
Crazy talk I do on a daily basis
Aggravated beyond reason and logic and behind-closed-pupils emotions
So afraid to change my mind about breaking up with you and making the mistake of going back together with you
Totally an incomplete work of art from the start...I adored you, Seth Art from the heart...but I'm torn apart - we are opposite isles at Walmart
I claimed and nurtured caring, affectionate sayings and lines of endless blessings and miracles that ended up being cursed and obstacles
Clever, but a deceiver...looks are awfully appealing, but what's in the inside are a billion books...left unread and left for dead instead...left on the literature bed, molding and rusting in pangs of dread that piles up in my head like debt overhead
Chillin like a villain with a tranquil mindset for a change
Oh my word, I will forgive the words you uttered and will utter ASAP
Mesmerized by your love that is for naught
Messed-up in the head mentally and emotionally...happiness and joy, like weeds that were once delight dandelions, distraughtly rot and remotely fought...a frenzied, fired-up fraught as an aftershock of oblivion's ignorance
Elegance turn to hideous results, unless you turn that around by mere coincidence altogether, which will most likely not happen, knowing you very rebellious and an uncompromising, headstrong head that is robust - but, break, it must
Never flawless and willing it all away...these thunder and rain bolts
Truly, you better not shoot me down or I'll bite the bullet and rip up that gown of galore glory and gracious glamor displayed dazzlingly, non-drastically projected on screens of hope strings that won't snap off by the single snip of the sensuous, shapeless scissors
Sanity's lines come into play the moment the insanity lies on the paper and not on my scraggly soul again...refrain from pouring your vermillion drizzle upon us and naturally, slip inside the same bumpy, rowdy bus with us for a time...there's no need to hide, subside, cuss or fuss
" I wandered lonely as a cloud "
~William Wordsworth ~
I wandered lonely as a pigeon, flying
Over towns, farms, lakes and trees.
With my wings outstretched, there's no denying
That I'm surfing on the breeze.
In this vast sky there's not a cloud to be seen.
Above me, ocean blue, beneath a luscious green.
I swoop down fast for I have noted
A generous scattering of seeds
From the hands of bird lovers devoted,
This will more than satisfy my needs!
I feast 'til I am full and round
And rest a while on the ground.
The early mist, the horizons haze
Puddles leave evidence of last night's rain.
Pastures sheep and cows do graze
Contented. Nearly time to fly again.
But first I take a drop or two
Revitalising morning dew.
After a splash my wings are spread.
Where to next? I ponder.
What more to admire overhead!
The endless sky I wander.
The clasped rings remind me to return home
Until I next explore lands free and alone.
Why is the sky blue? Asked Jimmy
Fantastic question!
Why indeed?
Why did The Creator
Whether God or Science or a Scientific God
Choose blue
Instead of forest green, pale yellow, or maroon?
Is it because the day seems cheerier
The world brighter
The people friendlier
Due to the color overhead?
A Mount Everest of evidence shows
Humans are happier
Outside
Under the blue.
So, why do we equate blue with sadness?
Certainly, blueberries are one of the most congenial of the berries
And Superman always dazzles in blue.
However, I suppose not all blues are the same.
Midnight blue is complex in color and to contemplate.
Almost all have gazed hypnotically into its majestic fluidity.
Many onlookers discovered hidden inspiration and birth.
But, some couldn’t see past darkness and conclusion.
Blue, sky blue, and midnight blue
Among those shades lies many lessons
Including the fragility of stereotypes and prejudice.
What’s that Jimmy?
You only need an explanation to relay to science class?
Oh.
Sky color derives from air molecules and wavelengths of sunlight.
Is that the answer you’re seeking son?
To your place, pass negative noon.
As the moon drifts over the loss...
images of a different life swimming.
In the depths of the ones fevered past.
Catching fire lights by jars of jade.
Razors slice the heart comprehend...
The black parade marched to the metronome.
In the shadow of turning, ruined metropolis...
Fly high, your moon of God's eye!
As things swim into view,
to the places of your demise.
As I drink tea in the shade of a black sun.
Haloed in eclipsing starlight!
Tendrils reach the earth burn, raw, rare crust...
Shattering my cup, its shards suspended in the
flash of the holocaustic blast, a super nova!
A nuclear cloud burst overhead,
Don’t want to get my face wet,
There’s going to be a photograph.
As the onyx burns, rides to negative noon!
And imagery is frozen in, telegraph. Here!
A hum of electric snow on the telly?
The buzz of electron guns fire,
Catching lightning in a jaded jar!
Collecting razors from a blistered heart.
The black promenade,
Boots marching to the metronome.
In the shadow of turning, ruined metropolis!
...of tombstones and graveyard visions.
Fly high, your Blackstar of Gods' Eye...
Watch the banner wave.
The child smile grave.
The hand clutching tight.
As all bust into nuclear flame...
Suspended in the firelight!
o how
i love the
gentle shape
of a crescent
moon overhead
hanging in the sky
amongst the stars
how I adore the
idyllic shape of
a crescent moon
way up high
in amongst
the stars
Submitted on February 24, 2022 for A BRIAN STRAND VISUAL CONTEST sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 1ST
AP: 3rd place 2020