Long Underwater Poems
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There is never an ending
to the spending
a world of paper
and plastic to collect
and horde
clothes
and cars
and homes
and jewelry
and fine wine
and paintings
stocks and bonds
vacations
and expectations
entire vocations
devoted to
disguising the numbers
the Caribbean masquerade
to volumes of recorded
purchases and voices
of invoices
making
discreet
choices
all
to extend
the accumulation
of dates
and names
places and faces
communications
and connections
at breakneck
speed
must fill the need
must fill the need
a shouting browbeating
broadband
handing over
fistfuls of cash
to make sure
make certain
only the best
the finest
the rarest
of air is not available
for
the underwater martyrs
the silent box dwellers
the empty bottle collectors
the wheelchair drifters
the SRO limbo sellers
the workers at
the bottom
of the
fast
food
chain
and the indigent gamblers
who line the halls
to knock on doors
of government departments
crippled by reckless
and corrupt state
administrations
choking the dwindling
sources
and resources
that have
nothing to do
but
count the days
and ways
to disappoint
disarm dismay
dispute the reputations
and applications
held in sweaty palms
eager
to begin living
to end the doubt
to end the not having
the counting of pennies
the slow heroin erosion
the unbroken hollowness
the whiskey-soaked
ravages of vacant histories
better-forgotten memories
of cold emergency rooms
to end being
in a world
apart
a world
of resentment
of fear and hate and anger
of dark empty streets
empty recriminations
empty promises
made to themselves
by themselves
harming themselves
or
arming themselves
to rob to steal
to maim
to take whatever they can
for as long as they can
to approximate
the wonder and magic
of having what you need
when you need it or want it
to not have to beg
to not have to humiliate
or be humiliated
to not have to watch
the ease of others
who have a casual
contempt for misfortune
and respect for nothing
but their own wealth
of deception
to breeze through
tall golden doors
to an unbroken string
of shiny bright todays
and tomorrows
to not have to
lunge for hope
and
never grasp it
in all ways
and forever
just out of
reach
rain. so cold. like small whips at my face swung by a man in a yellow coat too old and dirty to show sunlight anymore. waves attack the boat like a pack of wolves, darting, biting, gnawing, retreating, repeating. in the waves i see my reflection, a ghost, already drowned in that big blue leviathan. my body just floating in its depths, floating free and unchained. liberated from the deck beneath my feet, the comforting terrain of the beast we sail through these uncaring waters, the only thing to keep us from the depths below. the depths so deep no sunlight would go. depths so dark. so dark.
there are mountains down there, mountains and monsters and little rocks with little fish to call them homes. big rocks with big fish to call them little rocks. bigger fish to call the smaller big fish food, and monsters to call it all a playground, a training ground for the endless struggle of land and sea. the monsters will battle and kill and win and live to fight and kill to die and these wars between the krakens, the serpents, the behemoths and titans of the sea. they clash with such bloodlust and splendor that the blows carry to the surface and release tidal forces unseen.
diving. deeper and deeper, blue, purple, midnight black. soul crushing void surrounding, so open, so empty, so oppressing, so tight. i am flying, i see stars, i am a satellite through this expanse, my radar picks up nothing. blip. something. something close. blip blip. things. close things. curled in a ball i am an asteroid, hurling through this darkness, i want to escape. every direction is darker, there is no north, there is no up. there is no trail of soggy bread crumbs. there is no expanse. there is a chasm, the walls are close and cold. they cannot be seen, they cannot be felt. they just are. the longer i look out into that black the closer they get, and the smaller i make myself the smaller i must stay. if i stretch out a finger, an arm, a toe, i will collide with something, or something will collide with me. i will be sent off course, careening into the walls of this underwater canyon, forever bouncing from sharp stone to sharp stone, ever falling downwards. or upwards? there is no bottom. i do not know which way bottom is, there is no top. there is nowhere that i came from, there is nowhere that i go. i am just hurling through black, and the black is crushing.
Nestled under blankets,
the gentle whirring sound
soothes the savage beast
within mine body electric
of one generic, opportunistic,
and wholistic garden variety man.
Within blink of closed eye
yours truly transported
into the realm of deep sleep
benumbed to reality as unconscious guy
experiencing dynamic vivid dreams
courtesy Fluoxetine Hcl
(C17H18F3NO·HCl)
known as Selective
Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitor (SSRI),
especially prescribed to treat
depression, panic disorder,
and obsessive-compulsive disorder.
Holmes tower fan whooshing air
analogous to sonogram (ultrasound)
infiltrates slumbering snorer (me)
best not to awaken papa bear,
cuz he will roar loud and clear
disrupted sleep upends ability to function
no joking psyche riddled
with profound anxiety and despair
subsequent havoc wrought
on par whereby mailer daemons ensnare
co opting, conquering,
and compromising blissful state
deadened head reveling
within private webbed world
regarding unscripted drama deep inside
temporal lobe of brain,
the hippocampus might conjure
time traveling circa Renaissance faire
wordsmith metaphorically possessed
remonstrated by fire breathing dragon
evidenced fiery breathing
affect nostrils to snort and flare
awoke from necessary dreams,
I would angrily glare
frightfully enough to induce goosebumps,
and raise every small hair
along spine uncontrollable fury
communicating shattered functionality
essentially rude awakening would impair
ability to experience joie de vivre.
Debilitating panic attack invariably triggered
similar to Tonga underwater volcano
eruption January 15th, 2022
constituting physiological displeasures
chiefly vertigo, racing heart, nausea,
excessive perspiration, adrenaline
coursing thru body,
whereby Prozac (brand name regarding
aforementioned synthesized chemical)
ameliorated unbearable,
unmanageable, untenable...
earth-shaking, devastating,
and crushing manifestations
disabling, exhausting, hijacking,
jackknifing, sabotaging, and wrecking
life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness.
Kickstarting psychological equilibrium
linkedin with savoring at least bajillion winks
else sixty plus shades of gray matter methinks
knotted courtesy cerebral gordian knotted kinks
yours truly feels discombobulated
teetering and tottering atop brinks
of figurative precipice.
Written: September 12, 2023
Ocean Poetry Contest Sponsored by: Ink Empress
“The sea is an underwater museum still awaiting its visitors.” – Phillip Diole
______________________________________________________________
In the endless expanse of the ocean's domain.
Calm, circumfluous crystal collides coiling terrain.
A bed of iridescence behests the view.
Turquoise riddles, azure feral, and true
Humpback whales waltz on the horizon stage.
Their majestic demeanor, the ocean's sage
Waves akin to a shroud, coral reefs below.
In a cerulean ebony, enigma utopia to know
Tidal waves waltz ripples in a twirling thunder.
Foams that fizz and fatuous horses canter under
An aphrodisiac shore, paradisal and grand.
Where quicksilver spume kisses saffron sands.
Barefoot on the shore, spate, and pelagic breeze
The brine in the breeze, a savor of the seas
Seaside pearls and garrulous nautical dreams
A seamount allure, where kelpies do gleam.
Waves wreck as cymbals, water splashes spray.
Unplumbed bedrocks where sunfish play.
Blase naiads and abysmal gaunt cries
In the abyss, the embrace of diastrophism rises.
Swell of the abyss, corrugated, and red.
Balboa sails in pits due to intricate coastal spread.
Nebulous littoral shores, worldly and true
In Japan splurge, a seabed quells the view.
With a caper and a queen, the gulf turns alive.
Natal seaboard, where nexus coldness does thrive.
Beyond the gloom, where ocean waves are silver,
Moonlight pulsates, spritzes, and yelps as a river.
Whipping and splashing, an aqua symphony
The ocean's orchestra in idyllic harmony
From abyss to surface, the music does swell.
A symphony of water, where stories do tell.
In the moonlit dusk, waves waltz and sway.
Their silvery, pellucid shimmer steers the way.
With every pulsating and splashing sound.
Ocean's placate melodies and quiddity abound.
Abyssal symphony is a seraphic sight.
Where nature's cynosure beauty bears flight.
Waves, akin to dancers, gracefully behoove.
In a rhythmic squirm, their sapidity grooves.
Susurrus slipshod secrets of the steep
Splashes of euphoria, sojourn, and sweep
A symphony of splendor, a chorus of grace
The ocean's melody is in every embrace.
2nd place contest winner
Bizarre Man
I’m the bizarre man. I like to sleep in a river. I love the feeling of water flowing round my sleeping face. Don’t worry, I won’t drown. I can breathe underwater like a fish.
On my back is an upside down push bike. It belonged to the landlord of the Dog and Duck pub. I stole it along with his orange chequered brolly. The bike is a 1928 model worth sixteen grand.
It’s not for sale.
The wheels move in the wind, freewheeling. I keep my other clothes dry in an orange case that belonged to a copper. I liberated it from his car. No need for spare cuffs, CS gas, stun gun, bondage gear. I don’t wash my clothes. The running water cleans them. My yellow Fred Perry shirt has never looked fresher. And my PVC jeans are jet black gothic.
Do you think I’m bizarre?
Abort!
This collapsed coping mechanism has left me alamort
I was just a shameful conjugal visit
And a muse for playing with fire
You never questioned me and that's how I know you’re not innocent
You're a walk on a frozen pond;
Irritated on the surface but internally pernicious
I'm an autotelic where my adulation is the dripping ink
And your scorn is the water running over it
Be your own crisis hotline when the shame kicks in
And pierces me like a non-reciprocal “you are not alone in this”
Museum of shortcomings or gallery of honorable attempts?
Ineffable, but I can’t help myself
Relaying this information is the only way I can move on
I'm seeing glimpses of something I should talk to in the corner
But the hand I'm extending has the strength of a signal fire underwater
This can’t be how this ends
I'm disturbingly calm because the dejection hasn't kicked in yet
I put your name on the bullet
so everyone knows you were the last thing that went through my head
You're lacking daytime context
With a fallible idiolect
Pick up a book and read
So a tree can sigh relief that there's life after death
Will heaven open up if I try to heal by decathecting?
My throat is raw from screaming to gods who just aren’t listening
Burdened in ustulation while you pare me from earth's core
It's everything you and distance wanted and more
I'm seeing glimpses of someone I could relate to in the corner
But I’m dissected by the dichotomic voices of psychosis versus candor
Maybe this really is how it ends;
Dying lethargically as I look at the nonexistent watch on my hand
Because time is a construct
Like the plot we say we lost but we outgrew it before we learned how to love
The immortality of fiction is beautiful but cruel
The tacendas come in slicing but they leave just as quickly
The remedies leaves me gutted and demoralized like dangling poultry
A tear dilates into a lake of drowning imposter syndrome
Do you admire me like falling snow?
Or find me too fervidly frigorific to get to know?
Ironic because the visions of you in my head
Are so chilling, I get delusional
and start ripping off my clothes
My tongue lost the motivation of sound before I could even think
I'm an autotelic where my adulation foreordains the dripping ink
Amongst the oaks and the maples and shrubbery so green
Runs a translucent flow, a stream so pristine
It's meandering contours hugging the land
Takes me back to the day, we met unplanned
The sky was pale blue on this hot summers day
Cotton wool clouds in mesmerising display
It's as if you could reach out and brush with your hand
This candy floss coating ceiling our land
Many meadows I walked through capturing the sounds
Listening to her marvels in cinema surround
Technicolour rainbows so radiant to the eye
Such beauty in nature, understandably why
I reach the turn-style that leads to the forest walk
Listening to the breeze through the trees as if they talk
These pillars of stature, as old as grandfathers years
Many stories they could tell, that would bring you to many tears
As I stroll through the leafy lanes, mapped out over many years
Trampled underfoot by it's inhabitants, badgers and beautiful red deer
I now reach the stream as I follow it's meandering flow
To a pool at it's end where past maidens bathed in glow
My ears now pick up sounds of singing and a splashing
Resonating from the pool, a glimpse of pink now flashing
A lady stands before me, bathing in the stream
Scarlet clothing in sporadic lay, am I in some kind of dream
I call out to this beauty as she turns and looks at me
Towards the bank she walks, and invites me in with she
Knee deep in crystal waters our bodies close in touch
My clothing now drifts away, the two of us in clutch
Into our eyes we both now look as blood flows through my veins
Her touch is soft and gentle, my hands now stroke her mane
Deeper we edge out as she floats and hugs my waist
The two of us in join in this beautiful serene quiet place
Our emotion creates commotion as our undulations reach the shore
Ripples of joy they are as underwater hands explore
The coldness incites a reaction, in pert and firm caress
In delightful blend we release, two souls in loving press
Kissing we reach the bank, on her summer dress we lie
Sighing in breathless spoon, we stare at the green canopy sky
Many, many hours have passed, lying naked below the peeking sun
This is the day I met my scarlet woman, the day our lives began
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/love-11.php
I sit by the waters edge
Sitting on the border of a concrete ledge
Surrounded by miss-shaped rocks
Formed by the years of repeated water knocks
I throw a line in the water
As a man sits next to me with his son and daughter
On my line I get a bite
The bait disappears with little fight
I reel back in and rebait the rod
And throw back out for the battle with the cod
Suddenly I see a school of fish
Hoping for every fisherman’s wish
I recast trying to get the biggest and weightiest fish
I see a cormorant tangled up sitting on a pylon
Wrapped around his beak is plastic or nylon
I get up to aid the injured bird
But it fly’s away as soon as my footsteps are heard
I go back to my battle with the underwater beast
Still confident my patience will result in a feast
The clouds come over and it begins to rain
This just exacerbates my frustration and pain
All of my attempts have so far been in vain
But still I sit but wonder if I am still sane
The rain begins to clear
Perhaps now the fish will appear
I can see a rainbow in the distance
My mind wonders despite my resistance
I try to focus on what I want to achieve
I quickly realise that it’s the bounty of fish I want to receive
It’s hard to fish with so many natural attractions
Whilst not unpleasant they are unwanted distractions
I ponder on these thoughts for a time so long
And eventually I conclude this is wrong
I reel back in my line with rod
And forget about the fight with the cod
I am going to enjoy just being here
Such beautiful sites at a near
The glistening of the sun reflecting on the water
The earlier image of a father and his daughter
The ripples and shadows the water creates
The way the bird flew and never hesitates
The way the fish refused to be caught
The way the rain and fish together fought
The rain gently dripping off my hat
The way the cormorant on the pylon sat
The way time seems to stand still
The way nature can make a person feel
I get lost in the moment and don’t want to leave
Some of the things I’ve seen I can’t believe
I should come down here without any fishing reasons
How beautiful it would be in the different seasons
I find myself content at the water’s edge
I have never felt so comfortable sitting on a ledge
Every morning I wake up not knowing if ill look in the mirror at either Jekyll or Hyde. Not knowing if ill be praying to die or feeling alive.
This right here is my typical bad day, keep your pity or judgement to yourself
. I don't need an instant replay of what I'm already thinking anyway.
Slammed by everyone's negativity. That just stresses me.
Putting everyone ahead of my own needs, my wants, my dreams. Mind in disarray, screaming at myself everyday. Trying to motivate myself, getting lost in my thoughts, fantasizing about death, smothering myself in self doubt.
Ever since I was a kid I felt something with me wasn't right. Always confrontational, always ready to fight.
Constantly seeing the negative over anything optimistic. Delusions making me think I'm being realistic
I remember back when I was only 4 was just the 1st time I ran away from home. Before that though I'd leave my bedroom window open praying someone would sneak in to slit my throat.
But I guess nothings different til today cause I'm still praying for that same fate. And trust when I say I will never exaggerate. Cause I want to obliterate
these times I feel the energy from the pain of every living thing at once, suffering and in pure agony.
The pain so untouched and raw, it steals my breath from me and blinds me so I cant see.
Overwhelming as this energy rips through me trying to surface. Tried to stifle it down but end up regurgitating their anguish out my face. Purging...
I need air... I feel like I'm buried alive and dragged underwater at the same time
And no one sees me struggling or they just don't care, though, all my life its been the same morbid tune... Being relentless. Always cocked and loaded ready to pop off at anyone who dares cross my path. Then reloading, only to pop off again at the next poor son of a who questions me or who I claim to be.
I don't even know where I'm going anymore.
Will any part of my life ever make any sense, or will I continue being relentless in my uncertainty of what to do next.
Maybe ill accept all this pain and anger I carry with me cause this is just who I am and was just meant to be.
Might as well wear my self doubt and self hatred on my sleeve, cause days like these make me feel like my soul has never been clean.
Anchors Aweigh...
destination unknown
for this Earthling
stardate: February 26th, 2022
At sea since time immemorial
I relish being alone
upon oceanic expanse
yours truly doth bemoan
me gal Sal (one among
numerous female confidantes),
no matter, she easily
mistaken as a crone
magical powers keep
her manning far aloft drone
as surveillance hovers above me
(to intercept encrypted
communication maintained
courtesy bluetooth earphone)
the two of us sol survivors
I feel like a foreigner since
global thermonuclear war
bombed webbed wide world
into pulverized power
vaguely similar landscape
to age of Fred Flintstone
and Barney Rubble
recurring memories redolent
of yesteryear, whereby I groan
though simple living
such as me and the missus
did Potschke coaxing homegrown
organic fruits and vegetables,
though, I attest we did
get violently angry with each other
and unwittingly cross interzone
where brickbats exchanged,
especially after she discovered
an illicit extramarital affair
between myself and Joan
since kindergarten her I known.
Weather beaten cap'n,
and watertight bewitched craft
time tested since maiden voyage
(circumnavigating the globe
back in the day of my youth),
I ranked tough as a pitbull,
when severely pitted
against raw elements
of swiftly tailored,
harried stylish nature
against leathery faced
reptilian skin, hard drinking
(actually as corked
poetic convenience - vermouth
arbitrary bottle of choice
if for no other reason,
than to rhyme
with the above line),
and tobacco spitting, while
colorfully swearing as an uncouth
Furies (of Agamemnon)
fighting (tooth
and nail) Pirate,
where rickets, scurvy,
and thrice unconscious,
currently ample proof
could not forsooth
bring me to Davy Jones's locker,
cuz I never wanna
get relegated to an underwater
whale schooled booth,
this raconteur can nonchalantly,
glibly, and blithely attest,
with braggadocio, despite
no warm welcome will
ever greet mine tinnitus
pained ears, I can plainly
imagine acrimonious retort
upon me behest
his far more'n lifetime
bobbing (like a sponge)
square pants float
buoyed atop crest longing e'en for
(carping, caviling, hen pecking,
or shrewish) wife.