s
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CLANKING MASTS
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For Brian Strand's Your Choice S Poetry Contest
2 June 2025
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salt breeze fills the air,
~ ~ boats sway, ~*~*~*~ropes creak, gulls cry " ",
h ___a r b o___r finds its rest.
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First Place Winner
silence on the seas
massive seismic surge follows
when continents shift
earth’s distinct contour
erupts from out the ocean
forming Hartland Quay
layered, jagged cliffs
before time began for us
join in upheaval
shipwrecks indicate
transition under the sea
earthquakes unnoticed
silence grandpas can't recall
pre-ancestral change at all
May 8, 2023
Joanna Daniel / Haiku Sonnet
Consider this choice (of sound mind) my last hurrah,
Have no doubt about my motive so pure and fine
See my feet dangling just above the waterline;
Give my fond farewells, observe my last scofflaw.
I chose this heavy iron chain around my neck; you see,
Coarse cattle rope was much too gauche, too primitive
A way for this gentrified man to take his final leave
To indelibly announce he no longer wishes here to be.
I am as innocent as a newly-born child into this world,
No misdemeanors to confess before a judge or jury
Only experiencing raw anguish and unmitigated fury
At the many false accusations at me wrongfully hurled.
A complete re-styling and re-write
of my poem "Above the Quay" on February 27, 2021
Submitted to John Lawless's "Fragments of Verse" Contest
He caught the faint scent of perfume as she walked by
The treacly fragrance of gardenias caused him to sigh
She moved with grace and poise that caught his eye
Her sultry wink made him quiver at what it might imply
She walked towards the beach, near Harper's Quay
He followed at a distance on this sunny Summer day
A bit of a stalker, he seemed to me, looking for prey
Should I warn her? A quandary to me. Yay or nay?
This sort of thing never happens in this quaint town
I watched him; and on my face, I imagined a frown
Wind ruffled her platinum hair, her eyes, soft brown
That guy moved in, and I was going to bring him down
She welcomed him with a flirty smile of recognition
Seems it's a game they play; the seduction rendition
where he offers a proposition; she nods in submission
Do I deserve a penance for my erroneous suspicion?
February 12, 2021
Mind Your P's and Q's Contest
Sponsored by: Michelle Faulkner
Some will say I have paid my just, spiritual Penance
Though no crime have I confessed before the bar.
With bitter Perfume in my nostrils, with Poise, I stand
And ponder quickly the maddening accusations hurled ...
Then pull the Platinum chain tightly around my neck,
[Coarse rope too primitive and gauche a way to die]
I deign to feel my body Quiver as the neck constricts
Above the Quay; my feet dangling below the waterline.
There shall remain neither Quandary about my motive,
Nor, Quaint the considered choice of this my last hurrah.
Written February 6, 2021
For "Mind Your P's & Q's Contest"
Sponsored by Michelle Faulkner
Ennui crept up and perched high
On the shoulder of a roving mind
Hand in hand with gales, now spy
Rainbow shrouded in a misty pall
Golden friend of the sky just left
Entrusted to me a sleepless daze
Though my partner be ever nigh
None but a grey expanse and I be
Mind and sky in murk so cloaked
Verve bubbles blown off the shore
End the free fall into grief, I must
Flailing 'til I find a foothold, a frame
Set alight my moony essence, I will
And imbrue the balmy tinges of élan
Rekindle cinders of passion, I shall.
OluDola2019.
R-ide like the howling wind
O-n a wave of popularity
W-ill make one drown
E-ven in the shallow sea.
N-ight sail in the deep ocean at the threat of the coming storm
A-llows one to feel the peril, so do the lizard, snake, and worm.
M-onth of cold December
O-n twenty-second break of day;
I-ncoming dangerous surge,
N-emesis and risk don't arrive
A-t the quay.
TIME FLIES by Jeanette Jones
based on PORTRAIT NO 9
Morning at the Quay in Venice by Helen Allingham
TIME FLIES
Early still, I rise again.
For the quails came calling.
Dragging my feet, I stumbled
across the room, to get a glimpse
before they get to far away.
The kettle’s on, brewing the tea,
to place in my flask.
Milk too for little Emily as we stroll along.
At the edge of the bay, our four feet dangle,
little Emily hums away; a nice beat to my
dream.
Small canoes, large boats with sails,
carry me away across the water.
Traveling up into the lighthouse,
I look over bay, watching the workmen,
out for the day.
Hours pass as I gather up to leave.
Little Emily and I, hand in hand,
we’ve just gotten here, must we go?
Good night Mr. Workman.
Good afternoon Ma’dam.
I sit upon the harbour wall
And feel the warm sun on my face.
I turn my gaze far out to sea
And watch the happy dolphins play.
Bright sunbeams slanting through the clouds
Are searchlights toying with the waves.
I lean against the cold hard lines
Of granite blocks quite roughly hewn
With urgent cries and rapid fire
Of circling seabirds overhead.
I hear the splashing, rippling waves –
That wash upon the wrinkled sand.
I watch the little fishing smacks
That bob and sway upon the tide.
The Black Lion pub surveys the bay
Of Llareggub; that famous town
Where Thomas-the-Verse composed his lines.
But he’s not supping here today,
No clouds of smoke from cheap Woodbines –
His spirit floats down Donkey Street.
Currachs, like upturned whales beached
as musical notation on the quay.
Those sleek, mussel shelled torpedoes
ready to cleave though
wavewalls, green and white-tipped,
chasing schools of quick-silver with
hand-strung nets tuned to their scales.
Rhythmic fingers conduct these vessels
in ancient songs that harmonise
with an underwater chorus,
carrying the music booming deep through the years,
where the call and response of the tides
meets the Blasket sound of memory.
Majestically, they stand perched.
Arrivals and departures, they see.
Carefully guarding their home;
The keepers of the quay.
Their hover maneuvers astound
All that happen to see.
Maintaining their height and gracefulness;
The keepers of the quay.
On beaches they’re searching for food.
To people, annoying as can be.
Seagulls just trying to live,
The keepers of the quay
Ask to gain insight
through poet’s sighs answer pries
open to adore
Tried to say more than a haiku allows
(aloud)