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Rattled
Don't think that floating boat,
You sit in needs no one to paddle.
You need to grab those paddles,
And begin to steer that boat.
You can handle this with feelings felt specific.
You need to grab those paddles,
And begin to steer that boat.
You can handle this and quick.
With a healing that mends.
You need to grab those paddles,
And begin to steer that boat.
Knowing you are well equipped to face and conquer battles.
You need to grab those paddles,
And begin to steer that boat.
No need to get annoyed,
From annoyances that sit.
Or let yourself just drift.
With experience dismissed.
Knowing you are well equipped to face and conquer battles.
You need to grab those paddles,
And begin to steer that boat.
Don't think that floating boat,
You sit in needs no one to paddle.
You need to grab those paddles,
And begin to steer that boat.
Knowing you are well equipped to face and conquer battles.
You can face conflicts,
To unravel what has rattled.
And battle anything,
If you sit tall in that saddle.
Don't think that floating boat,
You sit in needs no one to paddle.
You need to grab those paddles,
And begin to steer that boat.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Late- Afternoon Sadness
LATE- AFTERNOON SADNESS
Late- afternoon sadness
Has a feeling all its own.
Life is all the things one has failed to do
It is all the disappointments brought us
By loved ones.
It is the sense that nothing good will happen again
Late- afternoon sadness
Is a world of its own,
And within it one sinks and sinks and sinks
Until one does not know
If the ground ever existed.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Old canoes can be restored, but youth and beauty cannot.
New Zealander proverbs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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He who pelts another with paddles asks for stones in return.
When a Ship Sinks
When a ship sinks...
Those aboard,
Can declare any political affiliation they wish.
They can devide in divisions...
To refer to themselves as liberal or conservatives.
The can even be racist and be in denial about this.
But when a ship sinks...
The fish aren't concerned,
About the name 'given' to it!
They just see it as debris.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Prejudice is a raft onto which the shipwrecked mind clambers and paddles to safety.
Turncoat
Sink your teeth into me please
Cause wouldn't that be easier
than how you're going about it now
Cause I know you're trying hard
to stab me in the back but
Scilence doesn't work as cover
when you're found out
It used to be i knew you closely
or was i mistaken only
Fooled by this called friendship
upon which i thought we need more
But reflection is so pointless
when the bridge is burning right
So i'll just show your apitept tonight
Turncoat sinks me down
and everybody knows it
Turncoat sinks me down
and no one sheds a tear, tear, tear
At first i refuse to believe
I said there was no way
that words so cool could ever come from you
But you lost a bit, a bit of doubt
and now i could care less
which agony your fire, you're thrown to
Most times enimies last long
Through good friendships cause they're stronger
Never fased by time or distance
they will carry on
So accept delivery of my worst fear
reguard to read it twice
I hope this time you're heart'll come back to life
Turncoat sinks me down
and everybody knows it
Turncoat sinks me down
and no one sheds a tear, tear, tear
song performed by by Unsung Zeros
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lifeboats
The ship sinks.
And the naysayers on it,
Still have not blinked.
Those who praise themselves,
Are seen giving one another winks.
The ship sinks!
And even the captain...
Can not convince them,
Lifeboats have been created...
To enable them to survive and float.
The ship sinks.
And the naysayers on it,
Still have not blinked.
Those who praise themselves,
Are seen giving one another winks.
The ship sinks!
And even the captain...
Can not convince them,
Lifeboats have been created...
To enable them to survive and float.
The ship sinks!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Simple Joy
a man paddles a boat
on a crystal river
the moon shines brightly
the head of his beloved
rests on on his chest
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When The Sun Goes Down
sun tan toes
ticklin' the sand
cold drink chillin in my right hand
watchn the sleep from the evnin light
restin up for a long long night
(chorus)
cause when ths sun goes down
we'll be grooven
when ths sun goes down
we'll be fellin alright
when ths sun sinks down
over the water
everithing gets hotter
when ths sun goes down
All day long just takin it easy
Layin in the hammock where its nicen breezy
and sleepin off the night before
cause when the sun goes down
well be back for more
(chorus)
This old guitar and my dark sunglasses
This sweet concaution is as sweet as molasses
Nothing to do but breath all day
until the big moon rises and its time to play
(chorus)2x
When the sun goes down
We'll be groovin
When the sun goes down
We'll be feelin' alright
When the sun sinks down over the water
everything gets hotter when the sun goes down
When the sun goes down
We'll be groovin
When the sun goes down
We'll be feelin' alright
When the sun sinks down over the water
She thinks Krackers sexy when the sun goes down
hmmm
We'll be feelin' alright
When the sun sinks down over the water
Uncle Kennys hotter when the sun goes down
When the sun goes down all we'll be groovin
When the sun goes down hey Uncle Kenny
When the sun goes down over the water
everything gets hotter when the sun goes down
song performed by by Kenny Chesney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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With two people and luggage on board she draws four inches of water. Two canoe paddles will move her along at a speed reasonable enough in moderate currents.
quote by C.S. Forester
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Grand Rapids
Air -- "Bright Alfaretta"
Wild roved the Indians once
On the banks of Grand River,
And they built their little huts
Down by that flowing river.
In a pleasant valley fair,
Where flows the river rapid,
An Indian village once was there,
Where now stands Grand Rapids.
Indian girls and boys were seen,
With their bow and quiver,
Riding in their light canoes
Up and down the river.
Their hearts were full of joy,
Happy voices singing
Made music with forest birds,
They kept the valley ringing.
Indians have left and gone
Beyond the Mississippi.
They called the river Owashtenong
Where stands this pleasant city.
Louis Campau the first white man
Bought land in Grand Rapids.
He lived and died, an honored man
By people of Grand Rapids.
When Campau came to the valley
No bridge was across the river;
Indians in their light canoes
Rowed them o'er the water.
Railroads now from every way
Run through the city, Grand Rapids;
The largest town in west Michigan
Is the city of Grand Rapids.
poem by Julia A Moore
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The city is as large as Seville or Cordova; its streets, I speak of the principal ones, are very wide and straight; some of these, and all the inferior ones, are half land and half water, and are navigated by canoes.
quote by Hernando Cortes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Claret Pagoda in the Cerulean River
A slow waltz
In the crimson line
Of the dusk's horizon
Drifts me back
Into the cerulean river
Where I used to glide
In canoes with lovely people
Incarcerating myself;
My thoughts, my squalors,
My despairs, my bliss,
That no soul would understand
In a profound reclusion
That not a single soul
Ever understood.
In a slow waltz
Between my hands
And the grating oars,
And between the paddles
And the sporadic tides,
I have feigned a smile
With the jocund compulsion
As we draw nearer to the sun
But my soul is left ashore
Feigning a lacquer smile
That no soul
Ever understood
In a slow waltz
From five forlorn years
I bid riddance,
For long forlorn!
And we brushed our heels
On the cold river's
Reaching hands
And ferry ourselves
In a claret pagoda
Of grotesque titivations
Of jumbled jewelries
From writings to revelries
Piercing through
The thicket of ignorance
That deemed us back
Into estranged acquaintances
And we go back into
Moving towards the dusk
Only this time,
I am alone
As I spew this robust
Dreams and idyllic spells
That should buoy our pagoda
My lost friends,
If I still have you
In spite of losing you
In the flourishing beckons
Of the tides;
In merriment
And in defeat,
I'm building a claret pagoda
In the semblance of the sun's
Skin and viscera
Because that's what we are
In this hostile river;
A contrast in the toppling
Threshold of the firmament,
Take my invitation
And let the current bludgeon
You back into the latent
Times of our concatenations.
In a slow waltz
Between my emollient soul
And the serrated spines
Slathering the pen,
I envisioned a pagoda
Pristine in claret
Defying the cerulean water,
By myself
In a slow waltz
With solitariness
That no soul would ever
Understand.
poem by Norman Santos
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Wild Dreams of a New Beginning
There's a breathless hush on the freeway tonight
Beyond the ledges of concrete
restaurants fall into dreams
with candlelight couples
Lost Alexandria still burns
in a billion lightbulbs
Lives cross lives
idling at stoplights
Beyond the cloverleaf turnoffs
'Souls eat souls in the general emptiness'
A piano concerto comes out a kitchen window
A yogi speaks at Ojai
'It's all taking pace in one mind'
On the lawn among the trees
lovers are listening
for the master to tell them they are one
with the universe
Eyes smell flowers and become them
There's a deathless hush
on the freeway tonight
as a Pacific tidal wave a mile high
sweeps in
Los Angeles breathes its last gas
and sinks into the sea like the Titanic all lights lit
Nine minutes later Willa Cather's Nebraska
sinks with it
The sea comes over in Utah
Mormon tabernacles washed away like barnacles
Coyotes are confounded & swim nowhere
An orchestra onstage in Omaha
keeps on playing Handel's Water Music
Horns fill with water
ans bass players float away on their instruments
clutching them like lovers horizontal
Chicago's Loop becomes a rollercoaster
Skyscrapers filled like water glasses
Great Lakes mixed with Buddhist brine
Great Books watered down in Evanston
Milwaukee beer topped with sea foam
Beau Fleuve of Buffalo suddenly become salt
Manhatten Island swept clean in sixteen seconds
buried masts of Amsterdam arise
as the great wave sweeps on Eastward
to wash away over-age Camembert Europe
manhatta steaming in sea-vines
the washed land awakes again to wilderness
the only sound a vast thrumming of crickets
a cry of seabirds high over
in empty eternity
as the Hudson retakes its thickets
and Indians reclaim their canoes
poem by Lawrence Ferlinghetti
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There Are No Pre-requisites To Friendship
genuine friendship
is nothing but just presence
there are no per-requisites
no demands
no expectations just the
honesty of being myself
and being yourself
nothing much just the feeling
that i am one like you
too, in this, in that, that
we belong to the same house,
on the same journey
inside this ordinary boat
with us are paddles and
rigs admiring the same
orange sunset between
the shadows of the hills.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Song of Tigilau
The song of Tigilau the brave,
Sina's wild lover,
Who across the heaving wave
From Samoa came over:
Came over, Sina, at the setting moon!
The moon shines round and bright;
She, with her dark-eyed maidens at her side,
Watches the rising tide.
While balmy breathes the starry southern night,
While languid heaves the lazy southern tide;
The rising tide, O Sina, and the setting moon!
The night is past, is past and gone,
The moon sinks to the West,
The sea-heart beats opprest,
And Sina's passionate breast
Heaves like the sea, when the pale moon has gone,
Heaves like the passionate sea, Sina, left by the moon alone!
Silver on silver sands, the rippling waters meet --
Will he come soon?
The rippling waters kiss her delicate feet,
The rippling waters, lisping low and sweet,
Ripple with the tide,
The rising tide,
The rising tide, O Sina, and the setting moon!
He comes! -- her lover!
Tigilau, the son of Tui Viti.
Her maidens round her hover,
The rising waves her white feet cover.
O Tigilau, son of Tui Viti,
Through the mellow dusk thy proas glide,
So soon!
So soon by the rising tide,
The rising tide, my Sina, and the setting moon!
The mooring-poles are left,
The whitening waves are cleft,
By the prows of Tui Viti!
By the sharp keels of Tui Viti!
Broad is the sea, and deep,
The yellow Samoans sleep,
But they will wake and weep --
Weep in their luxurious odorous vales,
While the land breeze swells the sails
Of Tui Viti!
Tui Viti -- far upon the rising tide,
The rising tide --
The rising tide, my Sina, beneath the setting moon!
She leaps to meet him!
Her mouth to greet him
Burns at his own.
Away! To the canoes,
To the yoked war canoes!
The sea in murmurous tone
Whispers the story of their loves,
Re-echoes the story of their loves --
The story of Tui Viti,
Of Sina and Tui Viti,
By the rising tide,
The rising tide, Sina, beneath the setting moon!
She has gone!
She has fled!
Sina!
Sina, for whom the warriors decked their shining hair,
Wreathing with pearls their bosoms brown and bare,
Flinging beneath her dainty feet
Mats crimson with the feathers of the parrakeet.
Ho, Samoans! rouse your warriors full soon,
For Sina is across the rippling wave,
With Tigilau, the bold and brave.
Far, far upon the rising tide!
Far upon the rising tide!
Far upon the rising tide, Sina, beneath the setting moon.
poem by Marcus Clarke
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How Blest the Righteous When He Dies!
How blest the righteous when he dies!
When sinks a weary soul to rest
How mildly beam the closing eyes!
How gently heaves the expiring breast!
So fades a summer cloud away;
So sinks the gale when storms are o'er;
So gently shuts the eye of day;
So dies a wave along the shore.
A holy quiet reigns around,
A calm which life nor death destroys;
Nothing disturbs that peace profound,
Which his unfettered soul enjoys.
Farewell, conflicting hopes and fears,
Where lights and shades alternate dwell!
How bright the unchanging morn appears!
Farewell, inconstant world, farewell!
Life's labour done, as sinks the clay,
Light from its load the spirit flies;
While heaven and earth combine to say,
How blest the righteous when he dies!
poem by Anna Laetitia Barbauld
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