Standing Athwart
The storm descended down the Straights,
it was Lorenzo fixing sails at the backstay,
me gangway, the bargermast'r Jim Bates,
working ropes, on mainsail aft and forestay.
Northern winds barked like dogs, the gust,
lifted the batten, boat tilted off to port bow,
lowered the cent'rboard and hull, to thrust
like a curse of Demons, on deathly draw.
I lost Jim Bates, suddenly as he unreeved,
went off; sea waves thrushed to sternway,
Lorenzo fought at the top-gallant, bereaved,
and Angelo Corto was holding timenoguy.
The steersman conned fine; me on th' ganwale,
to lower the spreader, even at a gust blow,
we had the mainsail torn, and guff-topsail,
to guide wind's force to the jib bendin' slow.
I saw them; It was abeam to starboard, dark,
heard eerie spells callin' Lorenzo off board,
blab out in void, on deathly mode to torque,
transfixed will, and I yelled, my voice barred;
Corto slowly dissolved, in dispirited lament,
strong manly skills, toughened on bearings,
collapsed, the steersman left the rope's extent,
as both followed the undefined ode pitching.
Alone I was, in an enchanted role to depart,
recalling a voice of melody, coastal Pacific,
to castigate destiny, top-standing athwart,
and it was that emptiness in heart, somnific.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Related quotes
Sweetest Sin
July 4,08
Today I wait
Tomorrow, I don’t know
Cuz’ we can’t tell, If I still be the same
Such a shame,
How I wanted you, right near to me
Is it a sin?
It’s my sweetest sin.
But I don’t care
Just don’t complain, nothing to blame
It’s just all ‘bout me
Me, me, me..
Shame on me
That is all for you
You, you, you.
I love you.
Today, maybe not my day…
© Reina h. Lorenzo
poem by reina Lorenzo
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The Flying Dutchman
The blue water stretches
as far as visibility allows to see
and there’s fog
rising white before the storm
out of the water.
The dusk becomes grey
and the sea from blue to dark black
while the night
darker than ink, as only companion
folds over the old ancient ship.
It’s Van der Decken standing as tiller man
behind the big wheel
and forever he steers the ship
on the journey that she goes.
Always cursing
his loud voice thunders
like lightning falling around him
for sailors to tend the sails right
and sails are hoisted crunching, groaning and trembling
with strong ropes
and the ship jumps
over the smashing waves.
Like a phantom
the Flying Dutchman appears
with white sails like a wraith
over the horizon
where it sails before a storm with speed.
The ship becomes lager
as the storm wind
brings her closer
and you hear her creak
against the power of the wind.
There’s thunder bolts blinding suddenly
and sea birds flies screeching
out in front of her,
while Van der Decken’s skeleton
drills his men powerless
to set the sails right
that is vibrating against the wind.
“How long still Lord, ”
echoes against the sea and sky,
without a answer
ever coming
and suddenly the ship is gone
as if it disappeared in the naught.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Upon The Wind And Waves
Andy tooks us down upon the keyside
To board the silver boat
Upon the Wind and Waves
And Daniel he harrelted the boat
And directed her well
Across the Wind and Waves
And Johnny took us on the boat
He held the sails, he tied the ropes
Upon the Wind and Waves
And Desiree she watched the ocean
Fair Upon the wind and Waves
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Upon The Wind And Waves
Andy tooks us down upon the keyside
To board the silver boat
Upon the Wind and Waves
And Daniel he harrelted the boat
And directed her well
Across the Wind and Waves
And Johnny took us on the boat
He held the sails, he tied the ropes
Upon the Wind and Waves
And Desiree she watched the ocean
Fair Upon the wind and Waves
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The fear of death was in their eyes
The fear of death was in their eyes
waves filled the boat to their surprise.
Then through the storm a voice was heard
the encouraging voice of the Good shepherd.
He'd seen His sheep struggling with their fear
and came to comfort them and to draw near.
They heard Him speak the words 'Fear not'
and amidst the storm their fears forgot.
'If it's You Jesus' Peter said to the Lord
'Bid me come to You, I'll obey your word.'
The command to come he heard from You
Gazing into Your face Peter's faith grew.
Putting his fears to one side courageously
he stepped outside the boat onto the sea.
Then he began to think 'What have I done'
and took his eyes off of God's Only Son.
He saw the wind and waves come crashing down
and became afraid thinking he would drown.
Taking his eyes off the Lord in horror
distracted by the waves and the winds roar.
'Lord save me' Peter cried out in his fear.
Jesus reached out for He was standing near
and then lifted him back inside the boat
back into safety he was kept afloat.
Sailing this earthly sea we experience fears.
The storms of life can bring such tears.
When He calls us to step out of the boat
eyes fixed on Jesus will keep us afloat.
For our hearts of fear the Lord can transform
and by faith in Him we can face the storm.
With are eyes firmly fixed upon the Lord
we can step out of the boat obeying His word.
written after reading Matthew 14: 22-31
Red Wine Spill
Red wine spill
Her voice I waited for, amid the foliage shades,
now with the oncoming of her Spring, she fades;
She appeared once; a tear of my soul to dither,
then she lifted in cumulus, where winds blither;
Zephyr was traveling above, my lone assession,
My penitence she kissed along, and aspersion;
A red wine spill betimes, diluted days of rain,
diluted rain's wine spill, of tear drops to attain;
Winds blither - she appeared once; in my tear,
a laughing gust of the wind, my soul to shear;
And then her wraith shadow, guided my hopes,
To laugh again among the winds, and new scopes;
To laugh with me amidst the winds, she 'll come,
Life will reach an apogee, and heart will thrum;
To laugh with me amidst the raindrops, in clouds,
with a boat to float in winds from sails' shrouds;
_________
shrouds = (nautical) a line (rope or chain) that regulates
the angle at which a sail is set in relation to the wind.
_________
Copyright © - G. V.- 03.29.2012
/ PoemH.30459086
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Bestdamnday
July 26,08
Each seconds that I breathed
Minutes that I've saved my strength
Where every hour, felt fully loaded
Nights where I used to count sheep’s
Well I don’t care, it’s ok
Cuz’ now
This is the best damn day ever.
No need to magnify the world
Just to find the so called center
No need to wait for the sunset and watch
Just to say “how beautiful my day was”
Just look at me, damn look at me
Everything’s perfect, flows so natural
Flawless
Best damn day ever
Where my screams got reward
I got what I love to have
Finally, more reasons to live.
Everything is to me now
No need to magnify simple things
Cuz’ I got the greatest
My baby
This is the best damn day ever! ! !
© Reina h. Lorenzo
poem by reina Lorenzo
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Fog Horn and Bow Bell
January of thirty first in sea it was,
when we routed to new parallel lines,
your hoarse voice told me from brines,
to be careful of the Southern stars.
Three demons danced on dead wood,
and we joined them drinking the grog,
I heard your voice warning me in fog,
a Northern wind was beating the hood.
We danced with death's hove in sight,
his ghostly vessel sailed in distance,
we laughed with our apt contrivance,
-and kept illuminated our dead lights.
Dunnages creaked, and then I heard
your eerie voice to express a verdict,
our vessel's crew may leave derelict,
and embark in boats to be deferred.
I heard the reef rock tearing the bilge,
she heeled to starboard, cut across,
destined to lie on sand and sea moss.
with our souls around her to effulge.
We flied that night like on roadsted,
dancing and drinking our way to hell,
you heard our fog horn and bow bell,
signal from mists that we were dead?
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Floating Brim
An eerie song spelled by the auster,
but no one, must listen to the gusts
we receive on our cargo's pilot cutter
as we sheer off, to a nightly cussed.
The wind sings this divergent song,
with a conceived vision to whisper,
upon the pilot cutter, sailing along
Atlantic, as we stare at the big dipper.
On long route, attention sharpens,
with our steersman's whistling song,
heard in a liquor bar in Antwerpen
but he was not so lucky or strong.
A quarrel and a flashing blade, drawn
just for a solitude's question spend,
on Ocean wondering his soul 's upon,
in the winds, a harmonica will blend.
A ghostly port to stop, at Cape Coast,
a shinning and all was a dim past,
an end aghast, a thorny crowned post
to visit my sleep, for I remained last.
Our cargo slowly cuts on a bluish drape,
our diesels hum a besetting rhythm
in mists, as we envision a dark gate
that opens to engulf our floating brim.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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The Green Boat As Spoken Of By Lorenzo
a green boat is laid down
on the white sands of the shore
pointing its tip like
his phallus
to the wide bosom of the
sea
its arms make the balance
between lust and love
the sea wonders
if she is the only one sailed by this
green boat
the green boat
stays on the ground
lorenzo sees
what these matters tell him
sometimes he says
there is this talk between two men alone
in whispers
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Raging Storm
Winds howled, while rain drummed on the roof, so loud,
The thin walls squeaked, as heard from shack within,
The flimsy roof, might as well be a shroud,
Of stick and grass, that now has spread so thin.
A gust, so strong, decreed the shack must lean,
While flying leaves and twigs, came speeding by;
Tomorrow's trash, the storm will leave to clean,
Just then a gust, has kissed the roof goodbye.
A calm ensued, but soon, winds howled anew,
No roof waits now, to delight the rain,
Debris, that back to where it came, all flew,
The shack that leaned, is now upright again.
And yet, more storms deep in the heart, still rage
With wayward winds that blow, and rain that strums,
Might sway the soul astray, the coward's wage,
But now a song of hope, within it hums.
poem by Reyvrex Questor Reyes
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Pontian Scyth
Coal - dark nomadic eyes, under an icy sky,
a steppe robust stallion wild breed canters,
a sigil of Boreas wind, a whipping drizzle,
form of a gray tundra frost, white embrace..
Never obilated his destiny on own volition,
only exception maybe, his higher challenge,
to overpass his fortified scold ambition,
to master in a Gods forsaken earth's edge.
Army paid mercenary, a Pontian Scyth,
warrior of Byzantine deathly squadrons,
his aptitude close to Charon's brilliant myth,
a great honor is to be war-slain by sword!
Two wolves run to his side, ready to clash,
howl to infinity, Orthodox Crucifix contrite,
their obstinacy will redeem his sword's slash,
astute dark Charon will be a visitor to invite.
A Catafraktos, his Acritas rank embossed,
to challenge of the expiation, Olympus offers,
to those who heard the call, in white frost,
where glory in extend relies on deathly embers.
Her spirit glow, a swarm of corax, will foresee
not an ambiguous destiny, but one he knows,
his mortal form, her guidance gild, to repartee,
a cluster of Olympian Galaxy, in deathly vows.
A steppe advent in her dreams, his life slayed
a destiny where all gallantry gathers above,
to meet the precognition told, by a Pythian maid,
where her icy messages, became his love.
Boreas = Northern wind
astute = keen
Catafractos = the nights of Byzantine Empire
Acritas = Guards of the Byzantine border line.
Fought the enemy, sometimes alone, against many.
Pontian - Pontus = The coastal line around Caspian Sea.
repartee = cleverness in reply
Corax = Crow, the sacred bird of Apollo.
Pythian maid= The priestess of Delphi, temple of Apollo
.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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On a stormy sea
When the waves of the sea
became bigger and the wind
started to blow at storm strength,
the boat didn’t sail anymore
and it rocked in the waves
bobbing up and down in the water.
The men were afraid of death
while the Christ
walked on the stormy sea between the waves,
scared to sink and afraid of drowning
and also of seeing a ghost
appearing on the water,
but His calm voice brought serenity
to the wind, waves, sea and men on the boat.
poem by Gert Strydom
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As man now is, God once was; as God is now man may be.
quote by Lorenzo Snow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Friend-Ship
My friendship is sinking,
I'm bailing out water as fast as I can,
Move too quickly the boat will tip over,
Move too slowly the faster it will sink,
Seconds away from abandoning ship,
But there's land in sight,
So close to shore,
Tying a rope to the boat,
Jumping into the water,
The water is so cold,
Pulling the boat to shore,
Moving too slowly,
Waves threatening to take the boat away,
Waves threatening to take me away,
Suddenly the shore seems so far away,
Waves fill the boat with water,
The burden of the weight of the water,
Becomes unbearable,
The rope is pulled out of my hands,
And the boat sinks,
Pulling me under,
I swim to the surface,
Swim to shore,
Once on shore I look back,
There is nothing left of the Friend-ship
poem by Mandy Author2
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Friend-Ship
My friendship is sinking,
I'm bailing out water as fast as I can,
Move too quickly the boat will tip over,
Move too slowly the faster it will sink,
Seconds away from abandoning ship,
But there's land in sight,
So close to shore,
Tying a rope to the boat,
Jumping into the water,
The water is so cold,
Pulling the boat to shore,
Moving too slowly,
Waves threatening to take the boat away,
Waves threatening to take me away,
Suddenly the shore seems so far away,
Waves fill the boat with water,
The burden of the weight of the water,
Becomes unbearable,
The rope is pulled out of my hands,
And the boat sinks,
Pulling me under,
I swim to the surface,
Swim to shore,
Once on shore I look back,
There is nothing left of the Friend-ship
poem by Mandy Author
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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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The Enchanted Wood (Part 1)
Within the moonlight raptures
where the imps and fairies play
deep within the enchanted wood
where no lovers ever enter
especially after dark,
They say there is a witches curse
that will befall all who enter.
Once you have entered
you will never be seen
or heard of again.
Thus, so it has been
throughout the centuries,
a place where no one goes.
Once a poor orphan
with rags upon his feet
had nothing to gain or lose
started walking down the path
that leads to the enchanted wood.
People yelled a him to stop,
but their voices he ignored
and stepped across the threshold
and into the enchanted wood.
He saw no dangers as he walked,
but heard whispery voices
and could have sworn
hidden eyes followed his every move.
Deeper into the wood he walked
he had no fear of being forgotten
as he had no one to begin with
and the witches curse meant nothing.
Finally he came to a clearing
where he stopped and rested for a while,
he leant against a tree
closed his eyes and fell asleep.
Upon wakening, he felt
that there was something wrong.
He looked around
but there was no one to be seen.
As he stood up, he noticed
that all his clothes he wore
were no longer rags but brand new.
“You cannot marry a princess
wearing rags my boy.”
Said a voice from above him.
He looked up and all there was an owl.
“Don’t worry laddie
I am the one who is speaking.
Now if you will follow me.”
The owl then swooped down
and flew in front of him.
He followed the owl
deeper into the enchanted wood.
He questioned not his guide,
but just followed him quietly.
He wondered what was going on
a princess, a wedding
and of course, a talking owl
and what of the witches curse?
The owl suddenly landed
and looked up at the lad.
“What is your name laddie? ”
“Charles Hamilton, Mr Owl.”
“Yonder you see that Castle,
you must go there,
they are waiting for your arrival.”
“But how did they know I was coming? ”
“Never mind that you just keep walking.”
The owl said and flew off.
The lad did as he was told
and slowly the castle grew closer.
He could hear trumpets sound
as he neared the main gate.
“Who goes there? ” A stern voice asked.
“Charles Hamilton.” The lad replied.
“Lord Charles has arrived! Lord Charles has arrived! ”
To be continued:
16 April 2011
poem by David Harris
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The Shore Down Under
Lonely
As lonely as I can be
Slowly
As slow as time can be
I stared into the sea
I stared out to the waves
Slowly as slow as waves can be
When will you come to me
When will you come to me
Where the summer burns blue and green
Here on this burning sand
I listened to this hungry sea
Its falling on the level shores
And the wind blows through the trees
And I think of you
And I think of the days
If only I could see your face
The price of a holiday
Hope the wind will carry me away
Hope the wind will carry me away
Listen, listen
Listen to the siren
Hear your voice
Your voice cried by the river
Slowly, slowly
It flows to the sea
When will you come to me
When will you come to me
song performed by by Xymox
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Ballad of the 'Britain's Pride
It was a skipper of Lowestoft
That trawled the northern sea,
In a smack of thrice ten tons and seven,
And the
Britain's Pride
was she.
And the waves were high to windward,
And the waves were high to lee,
And he said as he lost his trawl-net,
'What is to be, will be.'
His craft she reeled and staggered,
But he headed her for the hithe,
In a storm that threatened to mow her down
As grass is mown by the scythe;
When suddenly through the cloud-rift
The moon came sailing soft,
And he saw one mast of a sunken ship
Like a dead arm held aloft.
And a voice came faint from the rigging-
'Help! help!' it whispered and sighed-
And a single form to the sole mast clung,
In the roaring darkness wide.
Oh the crew were but four hands all told,
On board of the
Britain's Pride
,
And ever 'Hold on till daybreak!'
Across the night they cried.
Slowly melted the darkness,
Slowly rose the sun,
And only the lad in the rigging
Was left, out of thirty-one,
To tell the tale of his captain,
The English sailor true,
That did his duty and met his death
As English sailors do.
Peace to the gallant spirit,
The greatly proved and tried,
And to all who have fed the hungry sea
That is still unsatisfied;
And honour and glory for ever,
While rolls the unresting tide,
To the skipper of little Lowestoft,
And the crew of the
Britain's Pride
.
poem by William Watson
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