s
d
u
o
w i s p s l
of c
seaward
b b i g
o b n colours
CLANKING MASTS
empty
l
o
b
s
t
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p o t s
Categories:
masts, boat, ocean,
Form: Haiku
Antiquated pipeline geysers ravage starry nebulae, blast ash. The hurricane bankrupts reed origami masts. It splits overripe pomegranates. Wild animal guitar buzzes, echoing through shattered valleys.
Electrified abdomen dowels bobble and quiver. Balloons, gemstones, hot coals ululate. Feral cello cherries frost and educate potholes. They mold cracked roads into jagged mosaics of fire and ice.
Fractured aqueduct sprays liquid yogurt galaxies across the void. The tempest collapses bamboo paper cranes. It bursts ripe garnet figs. Savage harp lion roars. Untamed lyre berries chant anthems.
Categories:
masts, humanity, ireland, lost love,
Form: Free verse
whirl …
where waters mingle -
the inky black that pulls down
swallows … enfolds …
the ballet breaks -
sun’s golden coins a-dancing,
birthing pixies to the brine
to draw the gaze with dazzled magic …
the glassy smooth that
dopplegangs a billowy azure and a
quivery, star-daubed vault …
the ruffled swells -
turning masts to pendulum poets,
ticking time as the hulls roll …
and rock … and roll …
and the foaming rage -
surf that breaks reefs to ruin
and howls at Calypso,
the salty sirens screaming at
her for just a taste of
jagged justice …
the seas roar and ebb and
sunder suns to ache
the rills run to the low to find them
and feed the confluences
water weaves and wells and works to
be the All of life -
the precious matter, miraculous
the shaper and sater and savior of
everything that actuates
yet …
the oceans, and washes, wild
and weeping heavens
in all their splendor and abundance
can not hope to accommodate
the love, sorrow, spirit, or
significance
of one single, solitary
child’s …
tear.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, July 27, 2024
Categories:
masts, analogy, children,
Form: Free verse
Staircase shifts as my footsteps climb
Trapeze tree swing, springy arm chimpanzee
Undulates gripping limbs, gym sublime
Driftwood bone betides baton twirling frenzy
Intimate sub-sand somersault, primate
Orangutang scramble up slope, slip intended
Double view plateau, marina masts poise
Usher terpsichorean dream, breeze buoys
Nautical cavort awkward flap flail sail pelican
Evolves to swan serene seaside glide elegant
Second of August
Serendipity Robust
Categories:
masts, blue,
Form: Acrostic
I was born to sail.
I can hear whispers of the ocean calling me,
but there are no tides upon this mantlepiece.
I cannot set sail, trapped in this glass cocoon,
collecting dust.. I am no resting place for flies.
Eyes gaze at me in wonderment,
at the patience and precision of my imprisonment,
unaware my masts are raised.... Waiting,
for the seal to break and set me free upon open waters.
In the confinement of my stillness,
I remain poised for this fortress to shatter.
This shield may preserve my charm,
but its glass walls prevent a voyage of purpose,
where I can feel the breeze and
admire my reflection on waves.
Categories:
masts, analogy,
Form: Personification
If Senegal were a sailing boat
With masts new and strong
Ready to part the seas of Casamance
Gliding through waves in a trance.
It would set its course eastwards
Through the deep waters of Sandougou
Riding on a history so vibrant
Full of potent dreams and a future so bold.
If Senegal were a sailing boat
With the heart of a brave pirate
It would always sail to the shores of peace
Where hope greets and dreams meet.
Categories:
masts, africa,
Form: Narrative
I went out a' sailing
on a cloudy summer's day,
They said storms were coming
but I went out anyway.
Lightening struck, winds came up,
was like nothing seen before;
I was sure it was there,
but I could not see the shore.
Masts were broken like twigs,
I was tossed into the sea;
Swimming now for my life
I felt darkness surround me.
The next thing that I dreamt
there was sand within my reach;
Guess I knew there and then
that I'd wake up on the beach.
Learned my lesson back then
and I've since seen nothing worse;
Lucky to have lived through
one of Mother Nature's curse.
These days I keep to land
for I'm no longer a fool;
If I'm to catch some waves
it's done in my wading pool.
Categories:
masts, adventure, change,
Form: Rhyme
6 Lines
Shored-up wooden boats standing in the mud, braced by boards to stand erect,
We vigilant men past sixty, retain our dignity, and point to heaven, with masts securely fixed to the deck.
Like a thinning forest of greying painted trees, we are picturesque in a sunset with cawing gulls flying by.
Though the tide is now low, the ebb will soon flow by the full of the moon.
And when tidewaters of the sound are high, we will drop our boards, raise our sails, real in our lines, and list with a tune.
Then we shall sail past break waters with bows toward God, carrying no passenger on our final, and long goodbye.
by Martin Braun
In remembrance of the late Jimmy Buffett, who wrote songs that captured my soul, and warmed my heart while driving midnight Friday evenings in the dead of an Ohio winter. I sang "Mother, Mother Ocean" with windows rolled down to keep me awake during my business travels while dreaming of lost better times and for a future I still long for.
Categories:
masts, boat, farewell,
Form: Rhyme
If I didn't drip honey from my tongue each time I drew you close,
would I still leave immutable marks upon your heart my love?
If this holiest of grail this mouth of mine
spoke the art of love to you with the ingress of a mime
would you feel the essence of what I was meant to say to you,
through this un-pierceable, silence;
If I never learnt to write a poem or share one single line
through yielding quill or bleeding ink,
would you allow me to show you my brailing thoughts
and take you to the summit, despite my unspoken word.
Would you still love me, if I wasn't a poet
or if my words were silent ships sailing through the open sky,
then would you accompany me mute, or whisper me goodbye !
If we touched the harbor of each other's thoughts,
could we then be love and share each other's truth,
unspoken side by side, like two silent masts.
Categories:
masts, appreciation, love,
Form: Free verse
Its rusted iron ribs
hint a once proud shape
that now rings a hollow gut
filled and flushed
by tides for the last
ninety years.
Built in Glasgow,
this beached wreck dissolves
slowly in Port Adelaide mud.
My mind builds a ghost
in air, rising up
out of a muddy grave, hull
and deck firm on bones,
masts pushing high
into a bright morning,
open sea and wave
washing along its length
with me on board.
What other could refloat
such a wreck, give buoyancy
to a dream and sail a vision
across the mind's vast ocean.
I am a salvager,
faculty of the divine
to take what time has dissolved
into atoms and make
words into a ship
to sail wherever it has
a will to go, voyager
of the distances between
you and me.
Categories:
masts, boat, creation, imagination, sea,
Form: Free verse
Their ships must ride
a rolling sky,
masts too high to sail into view.
They appear, board the land,
they buccaneer.
The clamoring mob
fall upon a scuttling prey
pluck the weakest
into hungry holds.
An eye-aye cocked and ready,
they raid and maraud
as only
treasure seekers can.
The gulls are here
and for a while
sea and land broil.
the air erupting
with mutinous calls.
Categories:
masts, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Fish flesh ceiling marinades evening in mandarin
Paprika streaks Alaskan sky, an exploded pumpkin
Garish stretch marks bruise tumid buttocks
Jack-o'-lantern flicker silhouettes summits
Door open draught steers me over masts, a compass
North chill Turmeric tingle bitterness burns sun jus
Snuffs frail wick candle into cavern skull sockets
Frigid fuselage discarded from flamboyant firey rocket
Hulls doubled on calm harbour curl fetal forget me not
Petal precious postcard sends rocking sleep to yachts
Resistant pristine peaks poke holes blood gush painful
Ski slid accident on apex restores pale flesh to angel
Pressed panes mist to witness her wings in awe, glory!
Nest of pick up sticks prickle, due dusk warns me
Crept shadows of chalets' thatched porches protect
Navy as battle ships torn apart, needle inks inject
Categories:
masts, allusion, animal, bird, red,
Form: Couplet
Maybe
It’s best
Or maybe it’s better to believe
God wishes
To spread His spirit
Like dandelion seed to wind
Where it lands
It should stay
Resist the story of Ham
Embrace Eve
Mission not
In masts of ships or cannons shots
Nor with whips, coins, crowns, holy books, fighter jets
Or in a noose of love
Allow
The flower
To settle with its own face
To root and sow in a fertile place
Bloom in heart
Take shape with all its local smells and colors
A bouquet just for you.
Categories:
masts, god, love, peace, people,
Form: Free verse
Oh for the days of my long lost youth
Making paper airplanes, watching em glide
Looping like barnstorming pilots of the 30s
Above the tree tops like birds they fly
Our imagination never saw paper airplanes
We saw ourselves as pilots on board
Soaring skyward with not a worry in the world
We could even hear the engines roar
Another favourite pastime was climbing trees
Just like masts on a pirate ship
Looking out on the ocean with a telescope
A musket hanging from my hip
Another fantasy, being a famous hockey star
Heard the cheering of adoring fans
Dreaming at night, scoring the winning goal
No more school, no more final exams
Oh for the old days, hmm perhaps I'll rethink that
It's pretty damn good from where I sit
Each stage in life has it's own special happening
Now? I'm happy as a piggy in !!!
Categories:
masts, memory,
Form: Rhyme
The days of our discontent
The rain had fallen sharply and heavy flooding roads
fields had become lakes, and cars looked like toys thrown
away by an unrestrained boy child.
From the inside looking out, the sea is calm and subdued
by the cold that makes the sun as ineffective as yesterday’s
horseshoe on a smithy’s floor.
The forecast is more rain, just as well, the water reservoirs
are after a long rainless period, almost empty, should
tells us o that future wars will be about water, not oi
The wind that blew brought Sahara’s sits on the window sill
yet it is better to swallow gritty sand than smell cordite
from an unjust war that thaws the ice on the ground.
Our hears ran over in sympathy for those who fled the war
we opened our homes and wallets and nailed their banner
on our masts and proudly displayed our love.
As the ghost of inflation sat in, our goodwill struggled rigidly
wallets are empty as a market trader’s leather pouch
their banner no longer hangs on flag posts; we are tired.
Categories:
masts, anxiety, break up, celebration,
Form: Free verse
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