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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Falsity of care
Seamen know ports, where old ships,
gather, upon completing a trip,
dim specked liquor bars, weathered
sea-men chew on tobacco sticks;
Strange women await, a prepaid love
reaches almost an expiration of this end,
every time, for every started crime,
and every pre adorned preserved dime.
Christened by nautilus. Whichever name
accustoms needs, ghostly mortised
new forms of every dusk, sea-men, turn-in
in blue coats, burnished bronze buttons.
They drink false-liquor. Not of a choice,
but of a rueful condemnation plea,
smoke; laughing as crying, a hoarse cackle,
a dormant envy of an abstract embrace.
Latent trust, and longing. No one links
so far, mud of a rain on the walk
Gimballs of compasses non-fixed, mental,
fake trust extorted traumas, extolled.
In a adjoining moment of grievance, all,
will talk about adventures, acquaint
of lands, of ghosts, an alliteration,
of lonely timed unfurled touches strange.
Better enter of never, invited in, by every
darkened touch. Controlled by need
for such, or trust. Never to attain. An even
vain of your soul to cry or explain.
Sea-men roll a hand made thick smoke,
large, like black-board white chalks
solely because the cigarettes remind them
of a alone blinking faraway lighthouse;
one buckled souls failed to pass. Every one
has a death toll to even trus, you see,
a soul of odd ports, in causes of failure
has an even just cause to a falsity of care,
poem by Giorgio Veneto
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Swept Idea
Beatitude whelmed is visiting my esteem,
to coincide with my remorse, and dream,
and there, as my unguarded pride rings,
another solitude to invent on lost sea links.
A shudder from the northern blow travels,
an antidote to my soul's solitude unravels
kills silent worlds where my failures hide
pushes my suspicion of a dim hope aside.
On dark roads my enthalpy is a dull emitter,
a fly in skies of a sole try, my altimeter,
your memory recounts, my fervor of cauma,
a knock on my tearing wound and trauma..
And still.. Today's dream is one more code,
that laughs as only one visitor will approach,
a wind carries last year in his cold embrace
my one attempt will wipe off, a sand trace.
The wind cries; it passes my soul's burden,
a message dim never read, call of a maiden,
that invites stranded souls of lost wars,
to wait on Heaven roads where ether soars.
A swept idea of a smile and another of tear,
her ghostly upwardly turned hands and stare,
guide my senses and my route towards tides,
where I felt her to wait for me inside Hades.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Fog-Horns, Even Bow-Bells
Nautilus on a cargo vessel, to avail,
devoid of an older route, and drift
his beats of abreacted pulse, to trail,
his home-land on cloudy forms, to lift.
Long locked in dreams, assemblage,
soul sails forward, spilled life's wine,
in Nordic Northern seas, God Brage,
unworldly lyrics to compose, in brine.
I reckon he befits an Angel, alone,
he plays a harmonica in broken notes,
a song for loners or friends, gone,
mistral petals him along, as boat floats.
I reckon he remembers her, a Naiad,
the sun crowns his head, far setting,
a dalliance, a harbor song, her bard,
depicting of his solitude's odd wedding.
In dark she comes, from away shore,
along windy fog-horns eerie call, in air,
she gliding sails, comely to invite afore,
Nautilus and drifting souls in despair.
She comes as bow-bells ring, and sings:
'Enfold me in your lone heart, and I,
shall lift your soul, with halcyon wings,
to fly in incipient stills, to imbue of nigh.'
She sings along, as drifts of mist repeat:
'Enfold me in your lone heart, and I,
shall lift your soul, with halcyon wings,
to fly in incipient stills, to imbue of nigh.'
poem by Giorgio Veneto
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Airy you were
Airy you were in my dream, I felt you;
you had a bluish ribbon to twine,
my souls' ocean drops in cold truth,
the stars above ironically to shine;
.......................
I beckon; winds wave in worlds lost;
my glance to fair trails in home field,
a chorus of lost Angels foremost,
singing a monody of my soul's grief.
So there she talks; from far beyond,
the heights of glassy domes, of stars,
wishing - coins thrown in a pond,
a fantasy dreamer I am, behind bars.
Oceanic vastness, memories voiced,
- teary depths prohibited, I sail to only
caliginous, danger links of moist
foam on lips as my Siren smiles lonely
from darker faraway to care softly,
so as to touch my lips, singing a note,
a poem for my lone death to ghostly,
of irreversible Hades links that float.
.......................
Our steadfast sails to horizons gray,
the years we passed will there shine,
your low voice in the wind will betray
my soul's Siren song to end my twine..
poem by Giorgio Veneto
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Lost Souls
Lost souls trapped all around me.
Stuck in this oblique purgatory.
Not knowing where to go or what they'll find.
Lost souls caught in a vicious grind.
Bending backwards until they break their spine.
Damn this ugly daily grind.
Broken and beaten such brutal words for token.
God help us please,
the lost souls that are diseased.
We are lost and can not be found,
the souls that are eartward bound.
These souls are lost at such a cost.
There are no freinds,
there is no love.
Just crippling pain that shoots like lightning.
I lost my soul it's all gone now.
Death is the only respite now.
So now I go and grab my gun,
pull the trigger so much fun.
My soul is lost,
no one will care.
Why should they now their souls are bare.
poem by Michael McParland
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Two Lost Souls
Surrounded by a sea of black.
Not knowing how to find the things they lack.
Two lost souls that need true love.
Noone understands these complex beings.
Their wants and needs far exceed than than others can read.
They cannot see the depth which bounds within them,
they'd get lost among the trees.
Two lost souls that need eachothers trust,
but opportunity has passed things rough.
They need to see,
they need to touch.
Upon these things that they must trust,
to make the thrust into a future robust.
They search and search,
forever seeming stuck in a lurch.
They get to know others,
finding noone they trust.
Overall compatabillity seems a bust.
Two lost souls that continue to dream.
Of the one that can help them find acceptance and pride.
Two lost souls that forever will search,
till they find eachother they know it will work.
To have and to hold,
give all their secrets behold.
Two lost souls who are ready to give,
they've seen it all there's no reason to live.
Then one day by chance in the park.
They looked at eachother ignited a spark.
Two lost souls had found what they need.
A fullfilling destiny that will fill all their need.
True loveand hope that binds them together,
eternal souls with love that causes thunder.
An unbreakable bond to last the ages.
A brand new book filled with empty pages.
Their story is grand and yet to be written.
For eachother smitten.
poem by Michael McParland
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Dead Prayers
hearts trek
feet travel to the road
leading to unknown tombs
forgotten by the winding clocks
never remembered by the heart
and troubled souls
reach the unpainted walls
of a moss decorated crypt
and the dead souls
shouts dead prayers
only the dead can understand
what are halloween prayers anyway?
for uncaring bones
became stout by the earth
addicted by the rain of forgetfullness
and drugged by dreams gone wild
of wisdom lost
in a maze of unknown heavens
in a hell never found..
yet it is Halloween
so hearts still murmur
souls still recite
dead prayers for all
dead souls
encaged on dead tombs
poem by Villiamor Calventas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Last Living Souls
Are we the last living souls?
Are we the last living souls?
Are we the last living souls?
Are we the last living souls?
Take a gun
Or how you say
That's no way you behave
Just a law, a new begin
Sing a song that doesn't sin
And it grows
Hey, you know
Are we the last living souls?
Are we the last living souls?
Are we the last to get away to some another day?
Do we know
Well, we know
Doesn't seem to be complete
Are we, are we the last living souls?
Are we the last living souls?
Are we the last living souls?
Are we the last living souls?
Get up, get up, get up, get up...
What you say?
Cause all I was on
I got it down wrong
I see myself to get
And the Lord, seeing all now
Can you take us in
The part that comin' on
The coldest man doesn't see it's all
We go to the car
I see you walk to the far
And when you get there do you see
You fit the last you need on me
Cause we're the last living souls
We're the last living souls
Yeah, we're the last living souls
We're the last living souls
song performed by by Gorillaz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Necessity Of Interactive Responses Resolved
whatever happens in cyclic life
it is not only good to question
it is necessary to know and act
investigative read hundreds
of snapshot perspective slices
of life become an experienced
translator humanitarian post
trauma conflict situations
learn know multiple realities
not all souls can face revisit
raw trauma sharp experiences
we sing many songs separate
souls vibrating spin hearts need
searching soul will ultimate transfixed find
return in minds resolute pin need
to ghost echoes of songs
exercising haunting siren
trauma infusing their souls
a man woman ready to face depths
of emotional agony intensity like iron
ore tortured in liquid blast furnaces
is ready to endure purification of soul.
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Red wine Of May
Red wine of May
I 've never seen your icon front-straight
some weeds on a deserted slate
I was looking for a Sunday...
My hands clenching the windows ledge
searching a crucifix sharp wedge
one sorrow of our May...
You turned in, a later feast, became
(of these nights only a claim)
a barren route to travel.
How many routes upon ocean ways
to travel along our fog's haze
to far away marginal isles?
I didn't meet you in those cold nights
you were in clay bricks and lights
my lonely soul's census.
Remember me the 10th of Septembers
cold first rains, my mind's embers
our lost way of Spring...
Was it an invitation of Maenads
or a trial upon dead errands
one of my remaining wounds?
My ash inside an ancient amphora
or we routed nice, in euphoria
traveling together in light...
Maybe you decided to serve me aptly
in a corner, bend to kiss me softly
sweet red wine of May?
.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Voice Of The Dead Lover.
I know you will never understand.
Oh how I wish you would.
Oh how I wish I could.
Reaching you from beyond my grave.
An angel has come to save.
Are thou truly so brave?
Risking it all in the name of love.
Just because of something I never was.
A creature of conformity.
A lie that burns the eyes.
A tear dropp that will never fall.
No matter how hard I try.
If only to die delivering the ultimate message.
My thoughts are always with you.
It is getting cold.
I can no longer see.
You will always be a part of me.
Call it destiny, but to the next world I must go.
Becoming an empty vessel on a bed.
This is the voice of the soon to be dead.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Fly Back
I sent birds out
to look for your Soul;
they came back
with a message in their beck
which said 'I am lost.'
I sent my heart
with a note which said
'take this and it will guide your way home.'
My heart flew back
saying 'his soul could not
take me
he said he was unworthy;
my heart wept
and lay down to sleep.
I gave my Soul wings;
told it to find his;
a bird came back
saying
'your two souls are together now
but it is a long trail back
but they are coming home; '
I wait soulless now
in this waiting time;
my heart asleep
available to no one;
my spirit
gentle soars
knowing you
are on the road
coming back to me
where all of me
and all of you will
lie down,
pull the covers
over;
to dream
as we once did.
Do souls make
sound when they fly?
Ours will.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Black Top Angel
Stay out of the road, get out of this one's way
He's got a full load and he just won't be late
He is driving under the Devils spell and he won't stop and he won't tell
He is the Black Top, Black Top Angel of Hell
His cargo is the souls of men that once had lived they died
Eighteen wheels rolling, coming, run hide
Truck driver get out of the way or just stand in his way
You may find you can't outrun, destiny is today
He is the Black Top Angel, one can hear the souls that wail
He holds his passions true, he knows his course so well
Sent by the Devil, the lightning streaks the night
To harvest the souls of the men who had a choice but they died
He is The Black Top Angel, The Black Top Angel of Hell
There is no time to waste, the thunder already swells
In the quiet of night the lightning strikes, he turns around
One more soul, another free ride
Can you not see the look of death that is upon his face
Sent by the Devil, to harvest souls of the human race
He holds his passions true, he knows his roads so well
He is the Black Top Angel, The Black Top Angel of Hell.
poem by Bill Simmons
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
O Star!
o star, how i love you
o star, won't you love me too
o star, you say who am i and i say am i but we both know who we are
o star, just as you know me i know you
o star, won't you shine on me once again
o star, if it weren't for you i would dead
o star, go back to your head
o star, deliver to her my secret message love
o star, fly true and fly fast as a dove
o star, be there with her and tell her i want to be there with her
o star, please deliver this message lest i choke on life
o star, i will now fill
o star, fill you with my secret love message so that i may not kill
o star, kill myself out of agony
o star, please let no one know this message but my sweet
o star, pass on the message to only her lest i die of heat
o star, be true
o star, on your path to deliver my love do not go askew
o star, find the one love find her o star find her and tell
o star, . tell my angel that i love her
poem by David Knox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Improvisurrealism
Dawn's light…bone white
a sky seeming void
of all color
Breath fogging into the air
Wasted bodies and tormented faces
Ice blue eyes
And sharp glacial glare
Highlights in shadow
Bright as cold chrome
Faces round and cratered
Like the moon
Skies skewered
By skeins of blackbirds
Crazed cry… in the dark…
Of a loon
Walls discolored
By exhalations and memories
Memories thought to be
Safely hidden behind
Rheumy, tinted eyes
Souls seared black …about the edges
Weightless and ghostly
Adorned with garlands
Of the prettiest of lies
Without whisper of sound
Fans slowly strobing
In the whine of vain effort
Push humidity around
In the gloom
Foghorns moaning
Like lost souls of the sea…
Drowned, damned and doomed!
Whose only want
Is everything…
And things that
Cannot be
poem by David Whalen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Alone At The Seaside
Sunday, October sunlight, I´m at the marina admiring
a boat made of wood, hull, deck and the bridge; I was
dreaming of mystical islands in the Pacific. An elderly
man near me spoke, said it was his ship, it had been
a fishing vessel…Asked if I wanted to come onboard
and have a look…Yes thank you. Everything onboard
was spick& span, but noticed the freezer in the pantry
took too much space. The cargo hold of his vessel was
converted a salon, but why all those black silk pillows,
on sofas and chairs? Thought it sinister. The man was
standing too near me taking up my pace and breathing
my air. Back on deck he invited me for an afternoon trip,
but told him I had to go home for my tea. Driving home
I thought of the freezer again, perhaps he wanted to lure
to the open sea throttle me with one of the black pillows
cut me into pieces and put each part in nice plastic bags with
name tags on, say, left leg, shoulder bone, thigh and foot.
use them as bait when he went shark fishing. Once again
my hunch had saved my life.
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Wreck of the Schooner Samuel Crawford
'Twas in the year of 1886, and on the 29th of November,
Which the surviving crew of the "Samuel Crawford" will long remember,
She was bound to Baltimore with a cargo of pine lumber;
But, alas! the crew suffered greatly from cold and hunger.
'Twas on December 3rd when about ten miles south-west
Of Currituck light, and scudding at her best;
That a heavy gale struck her a merciless blow,
Which filled the hearts of the crew with fear and woe.
Then the merciless snow came down, hiding everything from view,
And as the night closed in the wind tempestuous blew;
Still the brave crew reefed the spanker and all the sails,
While not one amongst them with fear bewails.
Still the gallant little schooner ploughed on the seas,
Through the blinding snow and the stormy breeze;
Until it increased to a fearful hurricane,
Yet the crew wrought manfully and didn't complain.
But during the night the wind it harder blew,
And the brave little schooner was hove to;
And on the morning of December the 4th the wind died out,
But it rent the schooner from stem to stern without any doubt.
And the seas were running mountains high,
While the poor sailors, no doubt, heaved many a sigh;
Because they must have felt cold, and the schooner sprung a leak,
Still they wrought while their hearts were like to break.
Then the wind it sprang up in terrific fury again,
But the crew baled out the water with might and main;
But still the water fast on them did gain,
Yet the brave heroes disdained to complain.
On the morning of December the 4th she was scudding before a hurricane,
And the crew were exhausted, but managed the poop to gain;
And the vessel was tossed like a cork on the wave,
While the brave crew expected to meet with a watery grave.
And huge beams and pine planks were washed overboard,
While Captain Tilton looked on and said never a word;
And the crew likewise felt quite content,
Until the fore-and-aft rigging overboard went.
Then loudly for help to God they did cry,
And to their earnest prayer He did draw nigh;
And saved them from a watery grave,
When help from Him they did crave.
Poor souls they expected to be engulfed every hour,
And to appease their hunger they made dough with salt water and flour;
And made a sort of hard cake placed over a griddle hole,
To satisfy their hunger, which, alas! is hard to thole.
And two of these cakes each man got per day,
Which the poor creatures devoured in a ravenous way;
Along with a little fresh water to wash it down,
Which they most thankfully praised God for and didn't frown.
And on the 10th of December when they had burned their last light,
The ship "Orinoco" bound for New York hove in sight;
And they were rescued safely and taken on board,
And they thanked the Captain, and likewise the Lord.
Then the Captain of the "Orinoco" ordered her to be set on fire,
Which was quickly done as he did desire;
Which caused the rescued crew to stare in amaze,
And to take the last look of their schooner in a blaze.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Seas closed above
We left Thule's icy moorings, three days ago,
13 hundred miles SW of Greenland, regards
from cumuli down on side-scuttles the snow,
memory of your figure still, amid dockyards..
Daffodil blossoms, bloom today, in my yard,
my goals will meet my end in voids dimension,
a ghostly sonar blinks, our entreats en guard,
of no warm recounting, January of ascension.
January, day twenty one, a latent still embrace,
A flash of Centauri, bad weather, fromward aft
our beckoning to you, fog's horizontal trace,
Maenads of us inherited, envious of this path.
Recall our summer of eighteen, a twinge within,
my soul's obtusion golden cross, I tightly clench,
our dreams on nimbus are, you, my Naiad kin,
dum dum, diesels oddly hum, and decks drench.
The stars of south shined eery-like, so, I knew,
from arctic we away edged, upon deathly links,
at 63 N,30 W, our twilight souls withdrew,
our cargo sided the wind oblong, and final brinks.
January 't was, 'n' we immersed to Triton forts,
it was your smile a sea gull's flight in our cove,
it was a sweetest rain of afternoon, a dim deport,
felt of your glance as foreign seas, closed above..
poem by Giorgio Veneto
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!