Long Sailed Poems
Long Sailed Poems. Below are the most popular long Sailed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sailed poems by poem length and keyword.
Far from this antique bay and moor,
your plaintive voice sung for my soul,
and lifted me to Ithaca's shore.
Can longing's echoes loudly toll,
and invite me to your front door,
like gods that decreed from a scroll.
I sailed to Troy and far beyond,
to go and fight an epic war.
Men joined, forming paired, loving bonds
to be their bright and glowing North Star.
I took a boy, a vibrant blonde,
with whom I shared many battle scars.
With Poseidon, the fates between,
the sea opposed us. But I loved
the youth, Penelope my Queen.
Please forgive us, my loyal dove,
and spare us from your jealous spleen,
so Zeus sends no bolts from above.
I loved you, but desire's arrow,
against my willpower pierced my heart!
Compelled by Cupid's dart and bow,
we made love. To honor royal art,
I cede my throne: — but you can't know,
loving you both tears me apart.
Without you, I was forced to grow?
Having an inflated ego is detrimental to living a good life
It's a self-serving trait that can lead to tragedy and strife
One who's overconfident is arrogant, his hubris is rife
Overplaying his hand will cut like the blade of a knife
Some think they're better than the rest but should beware
of what happened in the race between tortoise and hare
When a hand is overplayed, there are screams, "Not fair!"
Pompous are those who are caught in their own snare
People who are uppity and conceited are easily derailed,
throwing a hissy fit when they find their ship has sailed
Dealing themselves a hand, but overplayed, it failed
They'd not be in a fool's paradise if modesty had prevailed
Narcissistic egotists seldom change. They don't understand
that when losing cards lie on the table, openly fanned,
they'd have been better off if they hadn't acted so grand
Those who overplay a hand, need a rebuke of reprimand
Taking everything for granted, with pleasure they boast
With excessive vanity, they need attention more than most,
but if I were to lift a glass, as if to honor them with a toast,
it would obviously be satirical and more indicative of a roast
November 21, 2022
Pick-A-Title, Vol 33 Contest
Sponsored by Eward Ibeh
The snow was as light as dust in the wind
The air a steady thirty-three, my breath slightly visible
My nose, ears and cheeks reddened and wet
Whilst staring into the bliss with watery eyes, they dripped
Thoughts of my father
Thoughts of my mother
Thoughts of my brother, Joseph
I cried so nice... remembering them
Four and Twenty blackbirds...
Not yet baked, sailed onto my lawn
I heard my mom singing me that song again
A hidden from the clouds jet- roared
I saw my dad in the window- waving
When a somehow not-frozen worm wiggled in the grass
I saw my brother Joe- fishing
With the snow now thickened and the air dropping
A steady stream of mist exhausts from my mouth
But... I felt warmth
I felt comfort
I felt my loved ones presence all around
I felt like... Like it was a good day to cry
When a sailor man bade his sweetheart good bye
he said she should tarry a year
until he sailed back with silver and gold
and a ring to dry her last tear.
"To me you are more than silver and gold,"
said the maid in sorrow and pain.
"The ocean is cruel and the wind will change,
and we'll meet no never again."
The sailor laughed at his love's deepest fear,
"What's a year in Time's vast flow?
Wait for the day my good ship returns,
then the truth of this promise you'll know."
The maid remained faithful and constant in love
in this world where few things are clear,
till she met a young man with no silver and gold.
What he did have was abundant - and near.
Aman was his real name, friends called him ‘Zero’,
Helping others was second nature to this little hero,
He had calmness and peace of a Himalayan sage,
It was surprising to see in someone that age!
The arithmetic teacher liked him the most,
Despite his brilliance he would never boast,
He was top in the class, yet remained humble,
He helped anyone who did not find it simple.
He put others first and held himself back,
In sports, in lessons or during the break,
All sailed through school and college
tests,
It was Aman who always helped us do our best!
Years passed, we parted and moved away
Memories of school and that of Aman would stay
We rarely met,time took us through
life,
Children, money, house, holidays and wife.
What became of Aman was not known to any,
Someone rumoured he was poor without a penny,
Someone said he turned selfish and left the country,
To seek fortune and wealth beyond the boundary!
Soon the real truth was beginning to emerge,
‘Zero’ had remained true to his nature and urge,
He abandoned opportunities of great wealth,
And set up a charity on his own in stealth.
All the money he earned with his talent in maths,
He donated to poor children to pave their paths,
He lived in a tiny house of his own by the lake,
His money was only for food and his basic take!
The Charity he created he named after a saint,
No mention of his name,his identity was faint,
No one knew him or talked about his
endeavours,
His efforts created doctors, artists, and leaders!
The world prospered because of this hero,
Like the nicknamed number he remained a true Zero,
His value on his own he diminished to nothing,
But unseen he helped others up their career grading!
There are many who claim to be truly great,
Because of their wealth, power and state,
Their meaning of life is to nurture their ego,
Caring and sharing for them is a big ‘no go’!
In this world we need more like Our man ‘Zero’,!
Who lives his life for others as a true hero,
His legacy is not money, wealth and fame
His legacy is to help and remain without a name!
Sponsor Cecelia Hopkins Drewer
Occasional poetry contest
Note this poem was written some time ago but I was sick and deleted my site. I have been patiently reposting my poems since 9 October 2000.
On November 13, 2002. The Prestige, one of twelve tanks burst during a storm off Galicia, in northwestern Spain. No help was forthcoming and by November 19, the ship split in half. 20 million gallons were spilled into the sea.
Beneath the heavy dark clouds,
the storm broke.
An oil-filled tanker sank
spewing black lakes of murderous slime.
What a giant "Prestige"!
Despite the roar of untamed waves
there was a deadly hush over the ocean.
A low death knell sang a purgatory of pain,
as contaminated birds of gulls, orioles, kestrels
squawked their last dirge:
What a giant "Prestige"!
Too late men stretched their ingenuity,
a desire to save and spare
the livelihood of so many families
that sailed the oil-spilled seas,
where baby dead fish dotted the surface,
sands and rocks tainted with death.
Elsewhere engineers burned their chemical gases
and smoke escaped from the earth's fragile shell.
We all have our "Prestige"!
Written 2016
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.
Ocean surge, reflecting moon
Mermaids, sirens swim and swoon
Haunting song, night and day
Tethered boat just sailed away
Seadog specter with loud cuss
Shot himself with blunderbuss.
Erstwhile pirate ship revealed
Crew long dead their fate was sealed
Zombies scale tattered rigging
Captain Kyd counts his shilling
Sound of cutlass, who walked plank?
Bag of bones with chains that clank.
Lighthouse spread its haunted light
Spirits jump in mad delight
Ghostly antics in the deep
From Davey’s Locker spirits seep
Ocean boils with mystery
You and I will never see
Pixabay Image
by
Hullabaloo22
From the safe little window in the building up high,
She could see the smoke drift away,
And looked at the four walls her life had become,
And decided she could no longer stay,
So she escaped to the plaza of people with lives,
Smelt all the jams, coffee, the bread,
And put on her blindfold and scattered her thoughts,
To begin a new journey instead,
Now blinded away her vision was clear,
To reach the ferry boat to depart,
And go where the smoke of the ship sails to,
To chase all the love in her heart,
Once on the boat her blindfold held tight,
She knew what she wanted to see,
And that was the passion stirring deep down,
The thrill in the chase to be free.
Those we lost to the night,
Gone before the sunrise,
Summoned by the unseen,
Taken to the beyond.
Those who have lost to time,
Worn down by its passage,
Sometimes sit on the porch, basking in the daylight.
Time stops for them as they journey to the beyond.
Those we have lost to conflict,
The warmonger’s toolbox is filled with devices and schemes.
Conflicting emotions surge within us;
There’s a falling away,
An evil that stubbornly persists.
Those we have lost to brutality,
Carried away by insurgency,
A matter of urgency;
Though some returned,
They were haunted by torturous trauma.
Those we have lost to rebellion,
Who journeyed into the meadow of darkness,
Sailed into the heart of a turbulent sea,
Cloaked by the desert of time.
August 9, 2025.