Brass lantern lights
So egregious of a western datum to command
of this travel and conquer new, unknown lands,
what an effusive cause of my tidal obsequies,
my galley had taken an imperious route west.
Nomad women named of this, a ghostly route,
nobody had survived to report, or preached,
on new lands that no one before placed his foot,
my monkey shrieks at this analogy bewitched.
I spoke to the steersman to be aware of stars,
that shine south, beyond the parallel of N.27,
because their luminance is evident of storms,
and of the morning rainbow that brings tempest.
Brass lantern lights illuminate to a nowhere,
around the steadfast an immense void to dismiss,
lonely serenity embraces a dim fear, as we stare,
because dark monsters will emerge of the Abyss.
We have a Crucifix to talk to, He maybe listens;
my ancestors were sailors, got lost in deepest sea,
As we bear away, my bitter mouth is curving down,
all we edge to pay a coin, for a darkened grave fee.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Related quotes
Quarta Maria
Quarta Maria bears up round,
favored route before Gregale,
helm a-weather to surround,
concaving head and main sail.
Bearing west, for four days,
a-steady course at two-thirty,
she goes large on mile chase,
foremast curves full and sturdy.
Sails apt away closing to wind,
for not striking an opposing sea,
with square sail, routes winged,
Quarta Maria, Gregale nestle.
Ghost steersman upon rudder
a drunk crew upon dead water,
hoarse voices in dark shudder,
bearded fools in ocean, totter.
A ghostly route, for four days,
sails in solitude away forever,
comradely lost crew in craze,
able is the pilot in bad weather.
Gregale blows in gale frantic,
for four years, route to void,
adytum vastness this Atlantic,
drunk ghosts, on links to avoid.
For four centuries on link arcane,
aright working masts and ropes,
beholden to the Queen of Spain,
Quarta Maria's nautilus hope.
________________________
Gregale = North East wind
two thirty = at 230 degrees -
sailing west and slightly south
________________________
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Damaged Staunch
A route you 'll live close to far - equinox doldrum;
complete it was, some flaws in, tangible to revive
moments when my coastal ports stare of me, upon
my knots link to northern parallels, light of dawn,
(how could you be with me upon, a ghostly dawn?)
My dimmer of a Southern Cross, a damaged staunch;
imperious, an ideal route, moorings within stars,
we pilot in strange ports, Sete Cari, Bacau, Aden
Horizon of misty cutter fog, we to repair a rudder
(a blow of eery, ghostly wind, danger of half-tides)
Rains, embraced adjoining, you of a picture still,
my flag's domain persecutes, mail, my post arrives,
absently you - yet absolute, as all my life's tinder,
A gift of your trajectory, an odd caress to abide,
(shallows hide dangers, tidal washed rock's side..)
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Wooden Ships
Their sails fluttered in the prevailing winds
as the wooden ships sailed into the horizons
looking for new lands to conquer.
Across oceans with waters unknown
in days when some thought
the world was flat
and if you sailed so far out
you just simply fell off.
The sailors were superstitious
seeing monsters in most living things.
A giant squid became a Kraken
and a myth of ocean lore.
However, these sailors were brave men
and against dangers unknown sailed
to chart new lands
many thought did not exist.
Some went for riches;
others went on a voyage of discovery.
Some came back to tell tall tales.
While other went down in their wooden ships
as in perilous waters sailed,
and slowly the world was discovered
by these sailors in wooden ships.
11 July 2008
poem by David Harris
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Jungheimer's
In western fields of corn and northern timber lands,
They talk about me, a saloon with a soul,
The soft red lights, the long curving bar,
The leather seats and dim corners,
Tall brass spittoons, a nigger cutting ham,
And the painting of a woman half-dressed thrown reckless across a bed after a night of booze and riots.
poem by Carl Sandburg
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As man left the shore (Reply to Anthony Delius)
As man left the shore
venturing over the first horizon
the open blue sea
laid unknown, without route,
even a map in front of him
and it was not in his mind
that he sailed beyond where he
at first could see
and ventured further away
from the know quay
and through the fog in the west
came upon other beaches, other shores
explored new lands, found other places
set his foot on other sand
constructed buildings, shelters,
planted seed for crops
and gathered in families
and the last man still knows
what experience, knowledge
and tales of his ancestors he have learned
and prays and yearns to do service
to his God who created every thing
and in perfection
do not have to recreate or invent again
in a universe that exists without end.
[Reference: Reply to Pessoa by Anthony Delius.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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(Get Your Kicks On) Route 66
If you ever plan to motor west
Travel my way, take the highway that's the best
A-get your kicks on Route sixty-six
It winds from Chicago to LA
More than two thousand miles all the way
Get your kicks on Route sixty-six
Now you go through Saint Looey
Joplin, Missouri
And Oklahoma City looks mi-ighty pretty
You'll see Amarillo
Gallup, New Mexico
Flagstaff, Arizona
Don't forget Winona
Kingman, Barstow, San Bernandino
Won't you get hip to this timely tip
When you make that California trip
A-get your kicks on Route sixty-six
Won't you get hip to this ti-imely tip
When you make a-that California trip
A-get your kicks on Route sixty-six
A-get your kicks on Route sixty-six
Get your kicks on Route sixty-six
song performed by by Nat King Cole
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Deep Blue
A solitude of ghostly spill, a dim dispersion,
forgotten sand in eternity's hourglass,
sailors distinguish this life as an obsession,
warriors so expendable, across surpass.
My obsequies in sea, a trinket of dispersion,
recall me lost in January, found in May,
my dreams convert my demise to affection,
and my epitaph became a crossed dismay.
Thud Thud, sounds in sleep, wind-sail-blasts,
She may be the ultimate mens beguile,
Impertinent of a deity, waves on masts,
With her ambrosian sovereign touch and smile..
Maybe I 'll fly with her above a lonely steppe
my solitude will dream of her, as I 'll hark,
word of a priestess form, Delphic corax step,
expended in Stygian terre oblong, as Hydras bark.
Oh, Mother of all my ailments, effusive in cold air..
You who had bestowed my analogy on earth,
and blue Naiads who solemnly, filled my stare,
deep blue I claimed you, in ocean's cold hearth..
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Oh, how i'd like to travel
I lie awake each night
Staring at the ceiling
Following each crack
Finding new routes
Oh, how I’d like to travel
Somewhere new,
Somewhere old,
Somewhere where the people;
Sing merrily
Dance happily
Oh, how I’d like to travel
On a plane,
On a boat,
On something that will get me there;
Fast, like a soaring bird
Safely, like a locked room
Oh, how I’d like to travel
To see the sunset of a new horizon
To smell the sweet smells of newness
Like the delicious croissants;
Of France
Like the finest chocolates
Of Belgium
Like the mouth watering tomatoes
Of Spain
To taste each one would full
A delicacy unknown to my taste buds.
Oh, how I’d like to travel
Could be anywhere
It doesn’t have to be far
Because like every crack
It can be long route or,
It can be short route
poem by Jodi Right
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Route 66
(word & lyrics by bobby troup)
This lyrics are like performed by natalie cole
If you ever plan to motor west,
Travel my way, take the highway that is best.
Get your kicks on route sixty-six.
It winds from chicago to la,
More than two thousand miles all the way.
Get your kicks on route sixty-six.
Now you go through saint looey
Joplin, missouri,
And oklahoma city is mighty pretty.
You see amarillo,
Gallup, new mexico,
Flagstaff, arizona.
Dont forget winona,
Kingman, barstow, san bernandino.
Wont you get hip to this timely tip:
When you make that california trip
Get your kicks on route sixty-six.
Solo
Wont you get hip to this timely tip:
When you make that california trip
Get your kicks on route sixty-six.
Get your kicks on route sixty-six.
Get your kicks on route sixty-six.
song performed by by Nat King Cole
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Nomad
Like a mirage riding on the desert sand
Like a vision floating with the desert winds
Know the secret of the ancient desert lands
you're the keeper of the mystery in your hands
Nomad rider of the ancient east
Nomad rider that men know the least
Nomad where you come from no one knows
Nomad where you go to no one tells
Undercover of the veil of your disguise
The men that fear you are the ones that you despise
No one's certain what your future will behold
You're a legend your own history will be told
Nomad rider of the ancient east
Nomad rider that men know the least
Nomad where you come from no one knows
Nomad where you go to no one tells
No one dares to even look or glance your way
Your reputation goes before you they all say
Like a spirit that can disappear at will
Many claim of things but no one's seen you kill
Nomad
song performed by by Iron Maiden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Go West Young Girl, Go West
Somewhere in the western sky
the stars are brighter way up high.
Is it because that's where you are?
I wish that I could see that far.
My vision stops right o'er my head
but my thoughts of you are there instead.
They travel to the place you'd be
and all the stars would shine for me.
I am here and you are there.
There is no time for us to share.
But a lover's memory stays around
and beckons me. I hear its sound.
It says, ' Go west my girl.
It's not so far.
It's much too lonely with just the stars.
And what will happen if I stay?
Will all the stars just fade away
because they sense we are lonely?
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Forty Two Lost Seagulls
I cud coffee beans bitter,
atop the cutter steersman,
pale dusk, sets to skitter,
our trip to far began.
Our engines thrum sadden,
Africa's coastal to alargo,
round is the moon on Aden,
upon coffee sacks of cargo.
A dreadful equilateral link,
that persecutes your time,
when ghostly shadows sink,
like monsters in odd rhyme.
Upon the deck are dancing,
the wraiths of three fools,
with broken smiles gunning,
galleys of medieval ghouls;
and forty two lost seagulls,
astray from Bacau's shore,
change odd flights to regal,
upon our non caressed chore.
Four of lost sunken friends,
singing hoarse calls blither,
they gallivant from depths,
upon a frail reality dither.
The Madonna beside my berth
reminds me of your prayer,
twas next to our home hearth,
closer to my route of never.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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We must always remember with gratitude and admiration the first sailors who steered their vessels through storms and mists, and increased our knowledge of the lands of ice in the South.
quote by Roald Amundsen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Harmonica
Spirits come stern to foreshadow
our route westward onto Atlantic,
nautilus believe in ancient mantic,
and sudden port sentiments endow.
My ancestors were natural sailors,
serving the same cause for years,
worldwide route as funeral tears,
sable wives shed to ocean bailors.
Grim engagement describes a spell,
that haunts island men since birth;
sea engulfs them, an owing dearth,
of morose depths in mournful well.
Sailors stand upon the stern deck,
as dusk turns colors to hazy gray,
with a harmonica on a wistful play,
tearing the long shadows an' beck.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Route 66
If you ever plan to motor west
Take my way that's the highway that's the best,
Get your kicks on route 66.
Well, it winds from chicago to l.a.
More than 2000 miles of motorway,
Get your kicks on route 66.
Well, it winds from st. louis down to missouri
Oklahoma city looks mighty pretty.
You'll see amarillo, gallup, new mexico,
Flagstaff arizona, don't forget pamona,
South park garden and san bernardino.
Would you get hip to this kinda tip
Baby take that california trip,
Get your kicks on route 66, oh!
Well, it winds from st. louis down to missouri
Oklahoma city looks mighty pretty.
You'll see amarillo and gallup new mexico,
Flagstaff arizona, don't forget pamona,
South park garden and san bernardino.
Would you get hip to this kinda tip
Yeah baby take that california trip
Get your kicks on route 66
Get your kicks on route 66,
Get your kicks on route 66, yeah,
Get your kicks on route 66,
You wanna get your kicks on route 66, yeah, yeah.
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The troops come on with bayonets fixed pushing the people to the mountain’s lip
In a dream I walk in the times gone by
On the western edge of a heartbreak shore
When sleep’s dark fears are howling ‘round
In the bitter bitter dark of a cold wet world
Near the edge of the cliff there’s an angry
crowd with hungry faces crowding around
’fear in their eyes when they hear the drum
In the bitter bitter dark of a cold wet world
The troops come on with bayonets fixed
Pushing the people to the mountain’s lip
A cry goes out as the first goes down
in the bitter bitter dark of a cold wet world
In my dream I walk in the times gone by
As close to the edge as my fears allow
in the air there's a prayer for pity and revenge
In the bitter bitter dark of a cold wet world
poem by Sean Joyce
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Marianne Islands
Position attained, a transient absurd message,
our cargo vessel on his supercilious drainage
of our souls, decided to betray our, of thirty, crew,
so started sinking, stubbornly, in a black-blue hue.
It was his will, I think; I am a nautilus enlisted man,
we routed on Pacific, from Magellan's straights
following a hyperbolic route, reaching Marianne
islands, South of Japan, where deepest depths are,
of close 12000 meters, the sonar links, vertical.
In how long a damaged steadfast that shudders,
reaches the bottom of an outsmarted end logical,
of our new invited souls, due to an inert rudder?
Our cause is somewhere lost, a propagation
of a despaired instant, grievance's emission,
so, our prayers are directed towards a cold
of no remorse depth of darkened souls, mold.
Maybe if I travel above the cumuli, I 'll manage
to be a groom in an adorned, dreaming feast
or beguiled by a buffoon spirit's caused trauma,
as all misty horizons of our purposes' chasma.
I sent my prayer way up this fog's continuity
to maybe encounter a dim guardian star light
and there (maybe) will find your message trite,
an antidote to my nautilus cold grave ambiguity.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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An Irish Mile
In my dream I walk in the times gone by
On the western edge of a heartbreak shore
Where sleep’s dark fears are howling ‘round
In the bitter bitter dark of a cold wet world
Near the edge of a cliff there’s an angry
crowd with hungry faces crowding around
’fear in their eyes when they hear the drum
In the bitter bitter dark of a cold wet world
The troops come on with bayonets fixed
Pushing the people to the mountain’s lip
A cry goes out as the first goes down
in the bitter bitter dark of a cold wet world
The troops move off in single file.
The Empire grows by an Irish mile.
A voice cries out from the rocks below in
the bitter bitter dark of a cold wet world
In my dream I walk in the times gone by
As close to the edge as my fears allow
in the air there's a prayer for pity and revenge
In the bitter bitter dark of a cold wet world
poem by Sean Joyce
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Fear Of Unknown
FEAR OF UNKNOWN
Fear of unknown brings on the storms
Playing havoc with life's sweet dreams
Shattering the hope in everyone's future
Building a world of heartache and torture
Fear of unknown brings about uncertainty
Painting dark colors of insecurity
Filling the souls with sentiments of trepidation
Letting the thoughts wander without navigation
Fear of unknown brings about skepticism
Eroding the trust and faith with pessimism
Only time can bring back the optimism
But ironic it is when believing fatalism
poem by Mittur Ramprasad
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The Slave’s Lament
It was in sweet Senegal that my foes did me enthrall
For the lands of Virginia-ginia O;
Torn from that lovely shore, and must never see it more,
And alas! I am weary, weary O!
Torn from &c.
All on that charming coast is no bitter snow and frost,
Like the lands of Virginia-ginia O;
There streams for ever flow, and there flowers for ever blow,
And alas! I am weary, weary O!
There streams &c.
The burden I must bear, while the cruel scourge I fear,
In the lands of Virginia-ginia O;
And I think on friends most dear with the bitter, bitter tear,
And Alas! I am weary, weary O!
And I think &c.
poem by Robert Burns
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