Lady in the Lighthouse
The raucous starlight could only extemporize
The chutzpa of a jocund seafaring crew—
That vigor, which ignites the forlorn sailing
Which remained unavailable inside the isolation
Of a gelid helm, where the walls and ceilings moan
Upon blotches of the effulgent full moon
Basking upon the hazy floor parquetry.
As I wrangled with the lullaby of somnolence
I self-consciously sever my scrawny aged fingers
Groping greedily by the steering wheel,
And parceling the immense myriad of tides
Of the devouring jaws of the open sea,
When I saw, from a sentry, a lady of mystique
Her rasping ropy hair wedged the luster
Of the illumination clasped by the lighthouse
Her billowing nightgown ceaselessly fluttered
With the waves that conceived and cradled
My seaward yearning, my cloistered flee.
She bought a pliant undulant hand in motion
Waving and careening, vexing confusion
And creating a phantasm in the gloom
Hues of her dawdling shadows by the sea
That inexorably feigned an optimistic anticipation
Upon the achy facet of my moon-paced wondering;
An endless sauntering in the ornate mind map,
I was enthralled by the harpoons of her expensive
Glasgow smile and her vague but arresting eyes
That had kissed the ring of the esoteric Capitan
And eerily, I had momentarily forgotten
The fractions and distractions that never elapsed
That had brought me to this nautical wandering
And jarringly, I had momentarily ambitioned
To dwell with the illustrious delusions
That I had unfurled in fortuity, by the sea,
In the lighthouse of tangential offerings.
The lighthouse shivered and cringed in the haze
Of a profound astigmatism in my gray eyes
Festooned with serrated and slivered hopes
And the mirage ebbed away with violent eddies
And I, alone and forever, the Capitan
Surrendered back into my forlorn searching.
poem by Norman Santos
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Related quotes
The Lighthouse
The Lighthouse
By: Adam M. Snow
Come to my lighthouse;
so that I may light your way.
Come to my lighthouse;
a place for you to stay.
Where darkness hides;
the demons flees.
For I'll provide;
and you'll be at ease.
Come to my lighthouse;
for all is welcome;
even your spouse;
and those who are numb.
Come to my lighthouse;
my friend, my child.
to a place where there is no louse;
for you are also mild.
Come to my lighthouse;
so that I may light your way.
Come to my lighthouse;
a place for you to stay.
poem by Adam M. Snow
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Enchantress
A mystique dance on earth's wet voir,
the shadows soft'n the light to fade,
a sightly form - dandelion flow'r,
with not a sign of flaws to mar,
her nightly hues of glancing jade,
effulgent with the moon on glade,
noctilucent the stars stand far,
her moves regale what men forbade.
Her smile will spread to lunar haze,
the sparkling eyes will scintillate,
as shadow spells her passing glaze,
to whom will dream her distant phase,
her mane to wave, of moon's oblate,
in dreams to jinx those who sedate,
delightful trance her inner blaze,
woods' cardinal and nymph ornate.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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The book
Straight lines rest, held by cover's
imaginations of flavors and desires.
Of faces which you not na'er see,
places where you have not na'er been
spells of ink, wrote by the eyes.
Your body bound,
to an adventure,
or a romance for the day,
To be a hero once again
Pages floating between the fingers
like waves in a gentle sea
as Capitan Nemo exploring the deep seas,
as Capitan Achab hunting Moby dick
The room escapes at the blind light
the hallows eyes confuses the sight
trapped like don Quixote's fighting with his mills
freighting by Dr Frankenstein dreams.
A voice inside your head, whisper in your ears
at your soul resting in the bier
dissolving like shadows at the bright light.
Wake up, wake up.
poem by Luca Menin
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Little Lighthouse
Shes a little lighthouse when she
Opens up her huge eyes
And streams of diamonds shoot out
til were wading waist deep in her brilliant love
Shes a little lighthouse when she
Opens up her red mouth
And gold word ribbons rope and rodeo
The dark clouds in bouquet above
For how long will this dark age last?
For how long must we wait to learn?
Across the black and fossil ocean vast
I spy love and she doth brightly burn
Love sure lives in the right house
Shes a little lighthouse when she
Opens up her huge mind and
Thoughts descending spears of crystal
Build a jacobs ladder up to love
Shes a little lighthouse
When she opens up her red dress
Show skin of rubber marble
Lit by knowledge and the fireflies above
And can others see this splendid beam?
Or do they navigate in dark?
If you ever want to dock your dream
Well youll need love to guide your fragile ark
Love sure keeps a bright house
Shes a little lighthouse
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Shipwrecked Tragedies
The Capitan's tailored tales dilated a valiance
Much lethal than a pirate's rapine and encumbrance
A venomous blade to the wretched's grave
A mellifluous immolation surfing the waves
Ensconced in an enthusing fluvial grove
Of prismatic lilies, daisies, and asphodels
Hastily enrapturing to ship the weary oars
When the lightning and thunder are jubilantly
Prancing with tempest winds of sanguinary
Holocaust undulating in the firmament
And toppling ravenously down like a veil
Pouring down the rut of a heirloom gown
Of the widowed bride of a phantom town
Pothering the turgid and billowing vapors
Condensing fumes cached in the great fathoms
Of a slumbering berserk in an intractable shade
Of hollow and gaudy laze of the forlorn escapade,
Where one does not need a horde of iniquitous harpies
To mar the lamentations of the stimulated elegies
And one does not require an ensemble of sirens
To delude the cloven rationality or even naïveté
Nor does anyone warrants this vast disengaging sea
And the depth of its profoundness or its profound depth
Nix, veto, a ballad sealed in a plentitude of waves
To molt a legendary hero from a seafaring gentleman
For all one needs in his possession is valiance
One more likely to be related by the Capitan
One that transforms the chambers of the heart
Into a hospitable labyrinthine portmanteaux
That shall house the marks of a written hero;
A malignant chronicle in a gagged clangor,
A shipwreck fore and aft the harbor;
Name this hero, I'll name his tragedy.
poem by Norman Santos
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Waiting For Our Time
Looking up from where I stand
I see the vapor trail
Of a jet plane in the sky
Here the wheel is in my hand
But theres no wind in my sails
And life is drifting by
Still I hold on and wait
I know its not too late
And my breeze will come
Muse you satisfy my soul
Keep me warm while the
Cold world guards the gate
Im searching
Im wondering
Im yearning
Waiting for our time to come
Im searching
Im wondering
Im yearning
Waiting for our time to come
Your love has kept my dream alive
A vision of my life
With you here by my side
Every forward step I take
Every moment Im awake
I feel your love inside
So close I feel it in my bones
I know Im not alone as I climb this wall
But I, sometimes I get so high
I just want to live, love
And taste it all
Im searching
Im wondering
Im yearning
Waiting for our time to come
Im searching
Im wondering
Im yearning
Waiting for our time to come
Here tonight
I lie awake and watch you dream
Under the light of the moon
I wonder just how far weve been
And where well be
When the sun comes up
Will this be our date with destiny
Im searching
Im wondering
Im yearning
Waiting for our time to come
Im searching
Im wondering
Im yearning
Waiting for our time to come
And Im waiting
song performed by by Styx
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Way Home
The long and lonely Ocean dark and silent,
The only thing that shines is the lighthouse,
Long and narrow and shows the way home,
The kids are happy to hear the horn of the ship,
Daddy’s almost home,
Daddy sees the lighthouse, he’s happy and joyous,
The light shines bright that shows the way home,
The long and narrow building,
The lighthouse,
Oh the lighthouse,
Thank God we’re almost home
poem by Jessica Losoya
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Bow To The Moon
I will stand forever firm
Upon two feet, upon ground
In praise of Lady Moon,
Sister of Mother Earth
Illumination.
I will forever raise my arms
Towards the sky
In praise of Lady Moon,
The silver One
Hope.
I will chant forever Her names
My voice full of joy
In praise of Lady Moon,
The radiant One
Inspiration.
I will live forever in Her light
Soaking my core with truth
In praise of Lady Moon,
The awe of my eyes
The secrets of my soul.
15th March 2005
poem by Laura Russell
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Slave Girl
In old Baghdad, a long time ago, lived a beautiful girl
She was captured by pirates and became a slave girl
While on the ship, the Capitan and the beautiful girl fell in love
There is a new twist to this story
The Capitan always performs the marriage ceremony
Therefore, the Capitan performed their marriage ceremony
After that, the handsome Capitan and the beautiful girl ruled the oceans
She was a lucky girl, after all, wasn't she?
February 2,2006, Clarence A. Graham, Jr.
poem by Jr. Clarence A. Graham
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A Sonnet to My Constant Inconsistent Nostalgia
I swoon every day and night with a subtle wile
Scraping the groveling threshold in a whittle
Until I wake upon a lifelong baleful yearning
With my head buoyed and rested upon a prissy garrison
Gravely wrought with memories, now austerely vile
From deluded niceties and eroded delusions all scathingly brittle
That pawned a constant labyrinthine of inclement struggling
Soldering my hostile bed with subdued treason
Of inconsistent nostalgia, like faltering stairs with no banister
Augmenting slivered hopes and tottering chances
And parceling the tatterdemalion knight from his feigned facet
Yet I will endure and follow the hollow water
Beneath this afflicted cellar of plummeting lances
With all that's left, my veins would serve the faucet.
poem by Norman Santos
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Nightgown Of The Sullen Moon
Fell in the door
And you fell on the floor
With your hand on the knob
Looking up and abruptly
Forget what youre thinking
Fire alarms go off in your head
You live
In the nightgown of the sullen moon
How the windows lean into the room
In the nightgown of the sullen moon
Drug trip, its not a drug trip so you feel a bit insulted
Space walk, its like a space walk with the corresponding weight loss
And youre nothing but air, with your hand in the air
And your shoelaces tied up together with care
Theres a feeling of boredom
Of the big whoredom
Following dressing up
In the nightgown of the sullen moon
How the windows lean into the room
In the nightgown of the sullen moon
In the nightgown of the sullen moon
How the windows lean into the room
In the nightgown of the sullen moon
Your head is on the moon
Its not necessary to breathe
Forever is a long time
Your head is on the moon
Its not necessary to breathe
Forever is a long time
Your head is on the moon
Your head is on the moon
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wave
Right out to the lighthouse and further
Fields of sheaves meshing and swashing.
All along the floorboards of fathoms
Sound ceaselessly threshes silence.
Water rising, floundering, water dancing,
Water flailed to water clinging
Between waves to a breezebeat pirouetting.
Crest and trough to the shore bringing
Alated landscape from a butterflied hill
Inside unmoving salient slopes
Aboard their observer's surrendered will
poem by Seamus Hogan
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That Fellow Moon (Ghazal)
When I first saw you, I felt a hello-moon,
Like I was phasing into a tallow moon,
Sitting in a chair/hands moving/crocheting,
And I longed only for your allow-me moon.
A sweater, scarf – I really didn’t notice.
My eyes were still hazy with a sallow moon.
Watching your fingers back and forth back and forth.
My swaying and shimmering with a jello-moon,
Wanting to learn the warp of your creating,
Caught up in the glowing of a halo-moon.
Teach me teach me how your Christmas fingers fly.
I’m ripe for learning/spring in this fallow moon.
Drawn into your eyes I feel their allure.
Ben, said I, it’s time/forget that fellow moon.
- Oct.26,2007
This was published online by The Ghazal Page in April,2008.
Go to: www.ghazalpage.net/2008/2008_april.html
poem by Ben Gieske
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The Pilot
From the Past and Unavailing
Out of cloudland we are steering:
After groping, after fearing,
Into starlight we come trailing,
And we find the stars are true.
Still, O comrade, what of you?
You are gone, but we are sailing,
And the old ways are all new.
For the Lost and Unreturning
We have drifted, we have waited;
Uncommanded and unrated,
We have tossed and wandered, yearning
For a charm that comes no more
From the old lights by the shore:
We have shamed ourselves in learning
What you knew so long before.
For the Breed of the Far-going
Who are strangers, and all brothers,
May forget no more than others
Who looked seaward with eyes flowing.
But are brothers to bewail
One who fought so foul a gale?
You have won beyond our knowing,
You are gone, but yet we sail.
poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
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Forgetting The Moon
i invite you
to sit upon a hill
under the acacia tree
to view the moon
it is full tonight
rising from the shadows of
the mountains
i hold your hand
and your long hair
touches my shoulder
we sit tonight
silently admiring the moon rising
from the shadows of the mountains
i gaze upon your eyes
and we kiss under the cool shade
of the acacia trees
after that night
i lay upon my bed inside my room
still thinking about you
and that kiss
i have forgotten about the full moon
rising from the shadows of the mountains
i am the poet
who first scribbles the most beautiful poem about you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sylvan Guest in the Forlorn Forest
As I lay in the resentment of serrated ryes
And beneath the tempest of impaling lances
That I stashed inside the scathing frame
Of my blatant harlequin repose;
Such a sapid filth, such a torment,
A stranger intruded my forlorn forest
Marauding with a flock of gypsies and pixies
Cloven beneath the echoes of her gyratory
Ebullience, submerged in her spruce plumes,
She laid another set of superfluous cards
In a house of marble and sycophantic pillars—
In the form of her vessel; gilded jewelries
Sealed in sprightly paintings and poetries
All for a shambling gambler's ineptitude
And unsheathe a sword of nimble odds
Succoring, caressing, a despondent hand
In an earnest finagling, you've sublimated
An ornate forest into a lustrous Silver Lake
Adorned by a buoyant polished Swan
Pardon my florid tongue, please do not dispense
This guise I feigned inside a poetry into
A brazen, unabashed, and deprived blarney
And I plea, do not err, do not be beguiled
For truth be unfurled, I like you
In the most unromantic fashion
So as to keep it unstained from treachery
And so, one night I opted to fold a letter
And slip it inside the notches of your door
And as I waft in writing you an epistle
About the gaiety, your gaiety, that tinkers
Beneath your wings, do you know that you have wings?
I saw you used it to inscribe and paint
And probe and divulge the unwritten splendor
Basking in every insignificant possessions
I dallied and mused upon your enigmatic grace
Are you the Zephyr: an ubiquitous crooning?
Or a damsel lost between your own lines?
Or a dreamer at the veers of every stroke?
A sanguine nomad in supernovas, or her fancy, thereof?
Perhaps, you are the psychedelic sunrise
Grazing the films of my weary eaves
And I would not permit Atropos or The Sisters
To rust our modest yet pliant chains
And the combing of your seething rays
Beaux of the unnamed king,
That thrones in a museum,
This is what I meant
When I called you a rubber duck,
You are, pleasantly, a guest
Purging an ornate forlorn forest.
poem by Norman Santos
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Fragment
Moon of leaves,
Moon of the falling leaves,
To you I bring the slippers
of the sun.
That you may dance upon the
floor of sun,
My lady carries sun within her eyes.
Moon of the Unrevealed,
Moon of the gold-encrusted shield,
To you I bring the fragment
of my prayer.
Moon of the crinkled hair,
Tell me, will my lady yield
Eyes and mouth and breasts unsealed?
Will my lady yield?
Moon of the yellow streaked with red,
Moon that the sun would lead to bed,
Moon with the death's head
More than dead,
Why do you frighten the Goddess of Love,
Whose frail white fingers are moving above
The lover's white body lost in his love?
Moon, you are more than dead.
Moon of the ermine loist in the snow,
Moon of the frozen furbelow,
Moon of the nothingness here below,
Moon, you must go.
It is the Sun that tells you so-
Moon, you must go.
And I was dark beneath the moon,
And you were dark beneath the moon,
And we were dark beneath the moon.
Now I am gold beneath the sun,
Now you are gold beneath the sun,
Now we are gold beneath the Sun.
poem by Harry Crosby
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Winter in Portpatrick (song)
The snowflakes sit like little mountains
On the branches of the trees
By the harbour there the fountain
It must be icebound in this freeze
I'm not so far from home as you
New York city's cold at Xmas time
Though romance warms Fifth Avenue
The cold Atlantic sways between us
(chorus)
But Portpatrick lies so far from here
In the glen between the cliffs
Where breakers lash the lighthouse pier
And you and I once so gently kissed
And as I write I realise
How much is gone, and how much I still
miss
And from the harbour Irish voices
Over here in search of peace
And all through that fleeting summer
We walked yon far off village streets
Though time and distance win at last
here and now you seem to be so close
I smell your hair, I'm in your arms
We're almost back home in the Port love
I saw her playing her guitar and
softly sing of Auld Lang Syne
Looking so like you I wondered
She brought your sweet face back to mind
Sometimes the old songs carry me
Back across the years to be with you
Where summer winds blew off the sea
Where snow falls now on streets we once knew
But Portpatrick lies so far from here
In the glen between the cliffs
Where breakers lash the lighthouse pier
And you and I once so gently kissed
And as I write I realise
How much is gone, and how much I still
miss you.
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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Marie Christine
Have you seen the lighthouse shining from the rock
For the ship marie christine and all her gallant lot
Now have you seen the lighthouse
Oh we are close to land
Cried the brave young captain to his wretched band
Now have you seen the harbor cried marie christine
Have you seen the jagged rocks in the waters in between
Now have you seen the lighthouse
Oh save me if you can
For if you do I promise Ill never sail again
Now have you seen the lighthouse shining from the rock
Cried the brave young captain to his wretched lot
Now gather all your photographs
And don your coats of blue
If anyone can save us now, marie christine tis you
When I first saw marie christine the woman that she was
I ssigned aboard toman her sails and honor well her cause
I christened her with old champagne
And I drove her to the west
Of all the men who sailed on her, in truth I sailed her best
Have you seen the lighthouse shining from the rock
For the ship marie christine and all her gallant lot
Now have you seen the lighthouse
Oh we are close to land
Cried the brave young captain to his wretched band
Come all ye would be sailors
All ye would be sailors
All ye would be sailors
If anyone can save us now, marie christine tis you
If anyone can save us now, marie christine tis you
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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