Long Seafloor Poems
Long Seafloor Poems. Below are the most popular long Seafloor by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Seafloor poems by poem length and keyword.
Into the evanescing night
Floats hope, now restrained to a dream
Within the edges which incite
Tales clinging unto the extreme :
Russet of summer, ebb of tide
Blows whispers as rainstorm nears
Its last heaving when moons provide,
A bright glint reflecting my tears.
Although long my amble on hills
Time does bestow my earnest bid,
To forgive, a strife from love's chills
Allowing mist to end tight grid--
Old stories drown under seafloor
Through August , warm the hues blending...
For magical is the beam ashore
My heart at peace ...never-ending.
Brian Strand Late Jan 2019 Contest
Not entered in any challenge
Ode to Seaweed
On the way to Seongsan Harbor this morning,
I met an old woman
speaking to a strand of seawood, miyeok,
held in her weathered hands.
Her voice rose and fell like the tide,
her words had the stride of the sea,
a prayer or song, perhaps
even a poem in the dialect
of her grandmothers, spoken so clear
that I could understand
though only knowing some Korean,
as if the ocean taught us language.
The old woman graceful despite her years,
dressed in white cotton and indigo
of the haenyeo, her diving mask
pushed back on her silver hair,
her hands still dripping with seawater.
She knew the whole history of seaweed,
not only of this particular frond,
but also the miyeok my wife would need
tomorrow and tomorrow’s tomorrow,
soup to restore what birth had taken
from her body.
The old woman knew iodine, iron,
she knew volcanic soil beneath
Hallasan that fed the coastal waters,
she knew what tides carried
these ribbons from the deep places
where they danced in the blue-green
current, she knew which mothers
had been nourished back to strength
by this ancient gift from the sea,
she knew the exhaustion in my eyes
of a man three days without sleep,
watching over new life, learning
the weight of being needed.
At first I thought the salt had frosted
her eyebrows white; we stood
face to face in the morning light,
I saw she was ancient as the island
strong in her movements,
carrying salt water in her bones.
She had the bearing of a sea-queen,
someone from old stories
of women who could hold their breath
for minutes, who brought up
treasures from the seafloor.
For one moment,
we shared the final poem of seaweed
while the volcanic island breathed
around us, and then the poem ended,
as all poems do.
She pressed miyeok into my palm—enough
for three bowls.
I bowed to her and whispered prayers for the wind to drift strength to my wife and daughter
across the ocean’s endless conversation.
Standing on a crag
Frozen against the storm
Wrap another layer on
Rain biting through me
Throwing coins to the waves
Trading hope for affection
Thunder without lightning
Blind on wet rocks
You pull up alongside me
Drawing back the clouds
Peeling off the wet layers
Baring my skin to the Sun
Taking me below decks
Holding me while I shiver
Safe and warm in your embrace
Melting into your beauty
I had prayed
For the waves to snatch me
Take me beneath their black peaks
Bury me on the seafloor
Now I dream of flying
Above the sea
Lighter than air itself
Straight into your heart
When I am one in two
I hesitate
To let my thoughts withdraw,
For in the safety of that zone
I trust my friend who hears my voice alone.
She may not finish my unsaid words,
Though sometimes she does,
She may not understand where I was going,
But she always faithfully tries.
The art of being two is a garden,
Where one hand sows, the other grows.
When birth takes place in the womb of the earth,
The hands fold together as one,
Dignified with grace,
Thankful for the blessing.
A trace of the everlasting
Seen in the unquestioned root
Of how devotion
A good life fulfills.
In my heart there is a chamber
I share with no more then one.
There is but a single key,
Whose power is to open a world
Where a dolphin lies anchored
To an unbound universe.
Who is in possession of this key,
Is responsible.
To fear, flee and drop the chance to enter
Is a choice the unworthy can make.
To jump,
To leap into that island room,
Where seas,
Stormy, serene, salty and fresh
Blind the senses and reshape thoughts,
Is to fall into an ocean where a great dolphin
Lies in shackles. Time and action
In slow motion
Must move.
The setting free of divine spirits an art
Beholden
Only to she
The right one.
She who enters this space,
Where private thoughts wordlessly are spoken,
Where flowers grow on the cusps of waves,
Where faith is more then trying,
Where roots grow from a seafloor miles below,
Where stars in the sky whisper secrets,
Laughing with affectionate wonder
At the two below
Whose only prison
Is the freedom
To say yes or no
To a risky life
Both bonded and unbounded,
Is she whose nimble fingers will by love alone,
Sink the chains and set the dolphin free.
Oh so long has he waited for she his chosen one
So long has he dreamt of the journey to come.
Upon his back she wept and held,
And into the open world they ever went
And never ceased to be.
I stand, facing the roaring deep
I stand, and get jolted from my petrified sleep
A most wonderful sight
A most phenomenal sight
Waves, unleashing their fury
Waves, battling, wild and free
Waves, tainted with all the shades of blue
Beautiful, accompanied by their foamy tattoo
It is almost as if those waves are angry
Angry, simply to be
Angry, for they know not why do they roar
Angry, wanting to be soothing, but having to move the seafloor
I stand, facing them,
And feel in their rage, my own mayhem
Yes, there, in front of me, does be a violent pandemonium
And there, inside of me, does be a similar fiery abysm
Waves, surrounding on all sides, my birthright
Waves, reminding me of the power of fate
Why, however rich and historical does be the past
Nothing, nothing about it does ever last
Such a powerful havoc
Wanting it seems, to give the shores a shock
Or, wanting to reach them, to die in their cliffs
Out of love, or just acting blindly, lost in its own grief
Pray, majestic are the waves as they keep crashing with determination
Here, in this world, we all do act out our duties
Even if we find no meaning in these docilities
For only in doing such, we shall all get our redemption
I stand, facing the roaring deep
Jolted, startled from my petrified sleep
Waves, tumultuous and fulminating
Waves, facing me, waves, in me, waves, all soul inspiring!
Monday 15 August 2016
Inspired by the slashing waves at Les Roches Qui Pleurent
Mauritius
“Sea wants me to return to
conch shell from whence I was born
Here comforted I can curl away from boisterous hurls..” Poet, from poem : Sea Wants Me
~~~~~~ Diaries
dreaming waves soothing spuming whales
holy grail beyond blue BLUE
no language voice your reflective transformations
from ripples to tortuous tsunamis
brushing coasts >> Asia’s edge, Madagascar’s spine
Africa, Australia, Antarctic
paddles settling into breath of dusk
Ocean of personas holographic oiled, gassed !
you croon about awakened ports, ship l a n e s
along turquoise tongues of poets
as we refuge take in your sleepless depths
drifting without compass towards
unknown horizons blue Blue BLUE~~~~~***
becoming liquid caverns, fragranced coral reefs
ocean chasms sprout dolphin verses for India,
China, Indonesia, tube sea urchins chant Beloved ! Anchor Anchor >>>>B E L oVed
Beloved ! slack tectonic plates consider their next yawn ___? Or groan
shells rumbling
storms, tidal depths, oysters whisper antidotes
not to dismiss, peering into Poseidon's mist
wizardry seafloor volcanoes
rhyme surrender or diving away fetid fears
with ancient angling coelacanths dear near
blue you suffer toxicities as we extract nourishing bounties with vile human hash !
wilderness of WONDER selflessness we cannot
negate, swimming echoed
eternal Truth
SEISMIC MOTHER INDIAN
O C E A N …O C E A N …..~~~~~....{}{}
we gurgle……()[][]~~~ as resonated vibrations
Varunani rises teal stillness untrophied
You AWE us hiding Neptune's bugle ~~~~~~~~
Spoke to a cloud today –
the usual conversation
about shape and size,
lows and highs...whether
my need to tote a handy, spring
loaded umbrella...or a better chance
to go without pants, dance
on the beach ~ showing off
thighs, widening sockets
of older generational eyes – he
told me of clouds who gather and
threaten, causing ships to leap into
salty lather, sailors beware!
take battened-down care! – schools
of fishes diving to ocean depths
they share, with ancient vessels (and sewage),
a seafloor covered with sandy
coinage – a diver's delight; when
stormed into sight –
more subjects of our chatter
and debates, were those of tides
and tectonic plates; also of bony-splatter:
living shrapnel, from a well aimed cannon-ball
against a wooden hull, or artillery shell,
man's modern perpetuation, of that never
settling, always heartening seafarer's knell –
I went on to ask, if in all his travels, had
he ever seen anything truly divine?
Like an angel passing...or a saucer
flying...perhaps some mythical dragon
soaring, trying to lasso down a tasty
moon ~ bring him brightly closer,
doing some dragon flips, salivating
for cheesie fondue lips....
Emotions of incompatible severance ebb my spirits
Taking me into a world that no one has ever been
Upon nights of deplorable torment I see the unseen
Darkness wills me over and tears my heart away
As I feel the hot, sticky tears crawl down my face
Pressed against the scorching window I gaze into high heavens
Pain dispersing through and avalanching my tearful eyes
There’s a supernatural pressure pervading my soul
Nothing makes sense anymore…my poetry is dying!
The world in which I find myself is constantly fighting
With emotions unchangeable…horrible…plighting
I would kill them all to feel the one I shall never have
I would kill myself to make the oceans part again
Till then, let the pieces of me float gently in red waters
Flowing seams taking me through; eels eerily watching
Making me covet for action, to feel each satisfaction
I want the anything, impossible to grasp
My hands are hooves, I can barely hold you
I can’t get out of this world; can’t escape the blue
Zigzagged rhyming, bad timing…hating me
Just cutting me more and festering harboring the pain
The white blood cells are against me, blooming insanity
And like a dump the junk increases and sinks into holes
Sticky soil of dead corpses lifting the infection killing me
Not enough; I’m still here…black, bloodied flakes
I can’t hold on…my gory hooves are splintering in the coagulation
My mind's eye is murdering my soul…aching…raping
My head is still pressed against the window
My mood eyes are set on the sun’s hemorrhage
Piano fingers pressed on the crackling glass
We’re shattering in this world of mine…I’m dying!
What a world, what a world
I’m plunging down into the sea as the snake snout finds me
The eels welcome me as I sink into their homes
Snap! Snap! Silent snapping of the flesh! Hear it?
Lost in the brackish wetness of eternal sleep
Not even aware they are eating me…everything—
Save my heart; it’s still there…can you see?
It has fallen even deeper, settling on the bitter bottom seafloor
What a world, thumps the heart
See what my world did to me
Written: November 19, 2023
________________________________________
I must plunge into the seafloor.
Out into the abyss of water and starry sky.
I utterly crave a lofty vessel. As waves roll ashore,
And the insight of the stars from high.
The wind symphony and the vortex spin
Yet the pearl sail is shaking within.
A murky haze veils the ocean's surface.
And the onset of a dismal dawn stirs us.
I must plunge into the seafloor.
Owing to the beckoning of an ebbing wave,
An erratic and yet obvious call before.
That might not be waived.
I'd settle for a breezy day.
As cotton clouds glide across the sky.
Sputtering fog and billowing spume
And the squawking of seabirds, I presume.
I must plunge into the seafloor.
Onward to the wandering gypsy life.
Trillions of years elapsed, and it is still pure.
Where the wind acts as a sharpened knife
The only thing I require is an ascetic tale.
Expressed humorously by a gypsy peer.
Restful sleep and lovely dreams prevail.
Finished the drawn-out mystical cheer.
Coral life forms in copious swarms
feast in the Cambrian chyme,
dividing their cells and forming their shells
to end on the seafloor as lime.
Tectonic churning and magma upturning
renders marble whiter than bone.
The marble is mined, but the cutters are blind
to the angel confined in the stone.
A young sculptor arose, with a bend in his nose
and a transcendent creative spark,
charged with ambition to fulfill a commission,
an angel for St. Dominic's Ark.
An artist sublime who will live for all time,
his genius is to see things not shown.
For an angel to achieve he first has to perceive
its splendor enclosed in the stone.
At dawning's first glow he surveys the tableau
of the blocks the stone cutters supplied.
In some he sees dreams of potential themes,
but only one holds an angel inside.
“A beautiful thing never gives so much pain
as does failing to hear it and see it.”
The block that he chose was rejected by those
who then lied and claimed to foresee it.
With talent and skill he falls to with a will,
surrounded by rubble and relic.
His method you see, for the angel to free
is to remove all the bits not angelic.
Michelangelo’s art for all time stands apart
but there's something further to heed.
For there's a bit more to the fine metaphor
in the tale of the angel he freed.
“A beautiful thing never gives so much pain
as does failing to hear it and see it.”
For in all our insides a bright angel abides
and is just waiting for something to free it:
to remove all the parts which harden our hearts,
to chip out the darkness and pride,
to smooth the rough patches, to polish the scratches
and unshackle the angel inside.
© January 26, 2013