The wind grew still, the fog blocked my view,
The waters hid what I once knew.
But when the path was lost to me,
My faith lit paths I couldn't see.
"If the wind will not serve, take the oars."
So, I rowed through storms to distant shores.
Not because the path was clear,
But because I would not bow to fear.
When tides rise, and shadows fall,
I trust the One who hears my call.
Through every storm, through every night,
God gives my weary heart new light.
"Every step taken plants hope along the way; walk with God, and He’ll guide you each day."
Here rest my oars.
A killick thrown to the school of fishes,
To still my boat from the peering waves.
Fishy-wishy scatter as water splatters,
Like wood chips flying when the pickaxe strikes.
A ship draws near, but my killick blocks its kiss—
Its stale mouth might stagger my rest,
And send my gathered fish fleeing the net.
Much of the mud my killick swallows,
So the wave won’t tug the boat an inch.
More students from the school must reach my net.
A long wait beneath the twilight-dimming sky.
Yet the fish market waits for a refill.
The cool breeze begs my eyes to close,
But hunger bites hard with its mocking teeth—
My killick just has to steady the float.
existence be
h/our time
mind-body flight...
as winged...
up and down
periods of
waiting...
for some
real-at-tea
but in...
a pressed-sense
of thought
now...
it means
i forgot
...cold cup...microwave!...
len
The psyche was burned and left us numb, floating like a boat without oars on an endless river,
the world was darker than the pitch-black of a closet full of hungry bats,
and the whiskey and wine seeped deep into our weary veins,
when the blood was too weak to carry the burden of our lost dreams,
we surrendered to a dance of shadows, a waltz of memories and forgetting,
on a horizon where the stars were extinguished by a dense cloud of silence,
we feel time slipping away like sand through our fingers, mercilessly,
in a world where hopes are just lost echoes in the night,
and our souls wander on untrodden paths, searching for a spark of light,
in a land of memories where once we dreamed of being immortal,
but now only shadows keep us company on this silent journey,
and wine and whiskey become our allies in the battle with forgetting and lost time.
The oxide earth vapours, the vernal air trembles
A dirty white sky overhangs in your glasses
Viridian green tints the water, it shambles
The exuberant stems of the lilies and grasses
Like women with oars punt in David Brayne's pictures
My senses are floating through waters in bloom
No exaggerations in landscape are featured
No lyrical effects, but seasonal gloom
Filled with presentiment of evidential
I thought to smile, but in fact, didn't dare
In swinging of oars there is something essential
And something is missable, as if you care.
The celestial royal purple lake
of my wandering soul's freedom,
in a luminous rowboat of dreams,
as the filled moon's fairest face
reflects the sun's benevolence.
As I dip the oars in stars,
slowly rowing, pondering,
on to where God wants me,
to commune with His
messenger angels,
as I dip the oars in stars.
A covenant with Him,
to pray for humanity-
as it roils on the earth,
and a healing of earth's nature,
O God I weep,
fleeting are the universe's
hours of passage,
yet, prayers for hope's
continuing, for peace,
as I dip the oars in stars. ~
I row and row,
Avoiding shorelines
As I go,
The never ending
Constant flow,
Pulls me forward
Even though,
I have no purpose,
Even then,
I row and row,
These empty oars,
Back and forth,
Until she comes
To pull me in.
I've Lifted My Oars
I've lifted my oars as I now drift along
I've rowed all my life now my strength is all gone
So I’ll drift through the mist and the shadow of time
Until nothing is left but the memory of mine
Though you might lose sight of my oars and my boat
My life will live on through the things that I wrote
So don’t grieve and don’t cry when I pass out of sight
We’ll meet once again on the light side of night
I don't usually write serious poetry but this was based on a beautiful picture I saw on Facebook and I could not resist. You saw the silhouette of a rowboat - the oars were out of the water and the boat was drifting into a blue mist.
oars lift
pieces of moon
dripping in the pond
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