The Beginning To Every End
I'll never understand why
I have been saved from the squall
Against the mellifluous beating of the tides
I reckoned of the unthinkable
The ocean sang its master plan
And the gale called your names
While I stood, left unmoored
Hands tightly curled on the oars
Without any defense, the sea
That we conquered, conquered you
I knew, like a beautiful climate
It would pass uncommitted
But I never have surmised
The inclement weather brought
By the saline resurging
And the obfuscation in the sea
Dazed my maps and memory
I rivaled the weather
Until I was threadbare
As hapless as a paper boat
Winding in the funneling stream
Decaying with every advance
We struggled and contended
But it seems that the beginning
Was the only place I was needed
And when all was recuperated
The sea defenestrated my part
And sculled new contours and waves
To begin its cold and stark end
But I will not be unheeded
As I effaced my own memories
And in this fray we splinter
Our own monoliths
And they tarnish them in me
As I tarnish me in them
The sea beckoned finally
And all is drowned
In a vertiginous demise.
poem by Norman Santos
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Related quotes
Objectified
All beautiful things meet their demise
Flowers in bloom surely will die
Frozen are the wings of the dead butterfly
Because all beautiful things meet their demise
All beautiful things meet their demise
Clouds of gray spoil the light of the skies
The ocean must fall in order to rise
Because all beautiful things meet their demise
All beautiful things meet their demise
I knew I was doomed when you first said, “Hi.”
Two ships in the night, we were bound to collide
Because all beautiful things meet their demise
All beautiful things meet their demise
Four months can pass in the blink of an eye
We lose ourselves without having to try
Because all beautiful things meet their demise
All beautiful things meet their demise
The simplest words become hard to define
You can’t see the truth when you cover your eyes
Because all beautiful things meet their demise
All beautiful things meet their demise
Your pay the price to take this ride
Slowly, you find that you’re living a lie
Because all beautiful things meet their demise
All beautiful things meet their demise
Pictures of us will fade over time
We become strangers in a world so wide
Because all beautiful things meet their demise
All beautiful things meet their demise
You’ll keep on searching for what you won’t find
You’ll lose your faith while I lose my mind
Because all beautiful things meet their demise
All beautiful things meet their demise
Sometimes your morals get left behind
It will be too late when you realize
Because all beautiful things meet their demise
poem by Vaida Marea
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Drowning Away From Your Tears
I stare at you while you were sitting on top of the rock
looking back and forth between the ocean breeze and you
one glance at you a pang of tearing in my heart makes me
want to crawl towards you and comfort you
tears flow with the crashing waves of the ocean
I take shelter, protecting you, afraid you might get lost in the waves
holding you tight and close the tears kept pouring
just sitting on top of the rock with you I cry
I screamed at you; to make you understand that the ocean waves
isn't going to calm down unless you stop crying; shivering so much
the wind just kept blowing making us cold, our dripping wet clothes
gave us nothing but less comfort in the breeze
you cry again, I stare you and wondered what is making the rain pour from your eyes
the only thing I could do is sit there and hear you cry
the only comfort I could give is a hug and asking you whats wrong
as guilty as I feel I do nothing but lead you into the ocean
walking gently on the soft, wet sand I hold your hands
and walked in the ocean as if we were entering another world
discovering a new place to live; we thought if we could just walk in the ocean a new world presents
I let go of your hands and I walked away into the ocean and left you there
crying on the rock, I tried walking back but it was to late
I felt guilty just leaving you there on the rock crying by yourself
for others to easily attack you; I failed to protect you
my plan to let you enter with to another world
but nothing is accomplished, the tears you cry only brought me deeper
into the ocean not only once did I drowned, I drowned because I had
fears I was no use.....♥
poem by Alecia Nak
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The Great Wide Open
Reconnoitering the abysmal depth in the tranquil resurging
My dithering thoughts are dewdrops of glacial waters
That I cannot fathom to feed the famished ocean
But as they plummet down the mirror of the firmament,
A collective of placid hands that failed in the brunt
Of reaching and collecting the constellations, coiled
Sapped out of life, palming the high and angry surf
That revealed itself like twenty thousand buckling pearls
Steered brazenly like galloping mad stallions
And the inclement wind fecundates the welling call
The immense pacific hauled a sliver with every wave
And every ebb, and every saline rippling I am beckoned
With anarchical power glinting in its azure tiara
But the least I drown in this turbulent musing
The greater uproar welled through my throat
Where the heart was wedged from disengaging
And taut from screaming inadequate directions
Etched in its forlorn maps and spoken by its compasses
Through and through, the immense pacific calls
A bold berceuse dropped like a forcedly ripened apple
From the ocean's infinite soughing of autumn leaves
From the dinghy its chutzpa battled the ubiquitous
And perfidious serenading of the elusive sirens
Whilst my heart gyrated through the howling winds,
Beating the windbreakers and taunting bestiary cages
As it sought for homage in the great wide open -
Neither closed, scarcely open; because home is where
The heart resides and gather its sporadic rhythm
And the reefs and hidden coves echoed the slow dance
Of the trepidation ribbing the feigned valiance
The earth never seemed to end in the treacherous horizon
Where the sun would buoy its sleepy rays instantaneously
And would souse its inebriated flames the next instant
Unmoored from the branch where the living used to perch
In search of the place where the dearth rejuvenates a birth
But not an island comes to sight with unmoving hopes
Raise the roof beams of this inverted dome and elope
With the hurricanes and waterspouts brining the metallic water
Frothing effervescent little stars emancipated from constellations
And making its own piece of heaven in a flimsy plane
Without a lasso of direction and outnumbered caliginosity
I circumnavigated the toothless fringe of the great wide open
And opened my eyes to close my heart, hands on deck,
Hands on the helm, I beckoned to the sweetest waves
To bring me back but then he stared with his sterile eyes
And I stared back to oblivion to find my own reflection.
In this great wide open, I am neither here nor there
Nowhere and everywhere, hoping to find the sagacious gulf
Where the chambers of the heart had funneled down
So I can bring myself back to where you stood waiting
A thousand sun set before this aqueous verses.
poem by Norman Santos
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A Boat-ride, Surreal
there, there...down there
through a thicket of fog
beckoned a vacant boat
i fought through the fog
and reached a zone, misty
the boat pulled me as if
i were a piece of iron
i hastened through
the layers and layers...
there i was, at last
assured that it would
take me to the other bank
it wasn't to be
the gently rocking boat
began on an erratic sail
down down the stream
in its womb of deception
hid many a whirlpool
the waters jerky...
hey, what was i doing
sitting in a boat with no oars
nor knowing how to swim...!
'you're the boatman
you're the oars...
row row...
the other bank
a distant dream
row row...'
a song filled the stream...
18dec2009
0540hra
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Cold And Hot
The history of our lives waves its wand,
The storm so telling of religion is unleashed.
We are exactly measuring the wealth so spent
By those who wet entrances into the climate.
It is a climbing nature, the weather is cold
Sometimes, but then again hot;
But the climate stays with us.
Any rain will write us into debt,
Told by the one who owns money.
The history of our lives has caused
The weather, and this I tell.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Blame The Weather
When your loves flown out the window,
And the pain comes through the door.
Once again youve missed the boat,
And youre stranded on the shore.
And you find out that what you had,
Was never yours at all,
Friends and lovers that you knew so well,
Will never take your calls.
So,
You blame the weather,
Oh-oh,
Blame the weather,
Oh-oh,
Blame the weather,
Oh-oh
Cant you see youre in your prime?
Youre turning creases into lines.
If you play the game
Youve got to be prepared to take a knock,
You get put down so many times,
But you keep on getting up.
So put your tears away,
And dont forget to worry is a crime,
Nothing bears thinking about too much,
Youll be old before your time.
So,
You blame the weather,
Oh-oh,
Blame the weather,
Oh-oh,
Blame the weather,
Oh-oh
Cant you see youre in your prime?
Youre turning creases into lines.
The pool of tears you left to drown in,
The helping hands that never came,
The years you lost out to another,
All up in flames
So,
You blame the weather,
Oh-oh,
Blame the weather,
Oh-oh,
Blame the weather,
Oh-oh
Cant you see youre in your prime?
Youre turning creases into lines.
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blame The Weather
When your loves flown out the window,
And the pain comes through the door.
Once again youve missed the boat,
And youre stranded on the shore.
And you find out that what you had,
Was never yours at all,
Friends and lovers that you knew so well,
Will never take your calls.
So,
You blame the weather,
Oh-oh,
Blame the weather,
Oh-oh,
Blame the weather,
Oh-oh
Cant you see youre in your prime?
Youre turning creases into lines.
If you play the game
Youve got to be prepared to take a knock,
You get put down so many times,
But you keep on getting up.
So put your tears away,
And dont forget to worry is a crime,
Nothing bears thinking about too much,
Youll be old before your time.
So,
You blame the weather,
Oh-oh,
Blame the weather,
Oh-oh,
Blame the weather,
Oh-oh
Cant you see youre in your prime?
Youre turning creases into lines.
The pool of tears you left to drown in,
The helping hands that never came,
The years you lost out to another,
All up in flames
So,
You blame the weather,
Oh-oh,
Blame the weather,
Oh-oh,
Blame the weather,
Oh-oh
Cant you see youre in your prime?
Youre turning creases into lines.
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Surmised Afflictions
Crossing your path involves
immersing my cicatrizing wounds
into the saline ether of your
florid motions, generous inflections
and disentangling my limbs
to swim and dock unto your feet
to be jeopardized and be rejected
Because the exodus of this tragedy
is an expostulating pathos
where nothing dares to sink
like ghosts basked in the evisceration
of our long surmised afflictions
That is why before I hear
another mellifluous promise
I am colluding my woes and rues
to immolate myself
into the pyre of desolation
and my ashes will glide like
petals adrift the tempest
or dead fishes in the currents
This unleashed wretchedness
throws me into my cage -
my iniquitous den of eternal
scavenging for felled stars,
ravaging in the dark like how
you sculled a billion sea
to assail double edged climates
to devour me in your fathoms
until drowning was surmised
my favorite onslaught
poem by Norman Santos
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This Day, O Soul
THIS day, O Soul, I give you a wondrous mirror;
Long in the dark, in tarnish and cloud it lay--But the cloud has
pass'd, and the tarnish gone;
... Behold, O Soul! it is now a clean and bright mirror,
Faithfully showing you all the things of the world.
poem by Walt Whitman
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Confused Atmosphere
Mother Nature may be confused, just like those, who have used,
This demeaning title to describe, the very God they have denied,
The Lord God, Who orders all, weather patterns, great and small,
He may never enter their minds, while stirring weather of all kinds.
Confused He isn't or will not be, for He is The Lord of all Eternity,
He is God of Order, up above; controlling weather men speak of,
And they truly don't understand, He controls the weather at hand,
Confusing only meteorologists, who dream Mother Nature exists.
They forecast the weather to come, not aware of where it is from,
Knowing not who is really behind, the weather they bring to mind,
Being shaken and very surprised, when it's not as they surmised,
But taking credit from their peers, for saying good weather nears.
Often times, you may even note, as weather is good some gloat,
About the returning of the sun, as if, it's something they've done,
Even though they may shy away, as bad weather comes our way,
Almost with a real reverence to, The Lord, to whom it is truly due.
For He is The Creator of this earth, Ruler over the whole universe,
He has, and always will control, all weather patterns, big or small,
With change meteorologists see, that fools the latest technology,
And it's those who have refused, God's Truth, who are confused.
I've Lived To See Desire Vanish
I’ve lived to see desire vanish,
With hope I’ve slowly come to part,
And I am left with only anguish,
The fruit of emptiness at heart.
Under the storms of merciless fate,
My worn and withered garland lies--
In sadness, lonesome, I await:
How far away is my demise?
Thus, conquered by a tardy frost,
Through gale’s whistling and shimmer,
Late, on a naked limb exposed
A lonesome leaf is left to quiver!...
poem by Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin
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Withered
My heart beats the same
but nothings left standing
these fragile bones has giving in
as the weather begin to deter
my end. Life as its been
has crossed and my time in the spot light
has died out. As no one remembers,
as a memory is just that,
a thought to be forgotten
the mightiest have fell victim
and be left as ashes in the wind
a name to recollect as it passes by
a whisper from my ear to yours
and as i slowly rot in this time
forgotten by everyone.
Everything i ever held near
is gone in a blink of an eye
i see the mystery in my error
to believe all puzzles could be built
see all wound heal in time
but time doesn't heal all wound
for a mental scar shall
tarnish even the purest of us
as the spot light's only for a minute
how long that minute last
is how strong at heart you are
so as the insect eat what's left on
these withered bones
one last breath is all i ask
to shine one last time
poem by Robert Roberts
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The Second Voyage
1903
We've sent our little Cupids all ashore --
They were frightened, they were tired, they were cold:
Our sails of silk and purple go to store,
And we've cut away our mast of beaten gold
(Foul weather!)
Oh 'tis hemp and singing pine for to stand against the brine,
But Love he is our master as of old!
The sea has shorn our galleries away,
The salt has soiled our gilding past remede;
Our paint is flaked and blistered by the spray,
Our sides are half a fathom furred in weed
(Foul weather!)
And the Doves of Venus fled and the petrels came instead,
But Love he was our master at our need!
'Was Youth would keep no vigil at the bow,
'Was Pleasure at the helm too drunk to steer --
We've shipped three able quartermasters now.
Men call them Custom, Reverence, and Fear
(Foul weather!)
They are old and scarred and plain, but we'll run no risk again
From any Port o' Paphos mutineer!
We seek no more the tempest for delight,
We skirt no more the indraught and the shoal --
We ask no more of any day or night
Than to come with least adventure to our goal
(Foul weather!)
What we find we needs must brook, but we do not go to look,
Nor tempt the Lord our God that saved us whole.
Yet, caring so, not overmuch we care
To brace and trim for every foolish blast,
If the squall be pleased to seep us unaware,
He may bellow off to leeward like the last
(Foul weather!)
We will blame it on the deep (for the watch must have their sleep),
And Love can come and wake us when 'tis past.
Oh launch them down with music from the beach,
Oh warp them out with garlands from the quays --
Most resolute -- a damsel unto each --
New prows that seek the old Hesperides!
(Foul weather!)
Though we know their voyage is vain, yet we see our path again
In the saffroned bridesails scenting all the seas!
(Foul weather!)
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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U N Me
You and me, remember
In the month of December
Sitting under that tree
Where'LOVE'was absolutely free
We were together
And romantic was the weather
You were so close
I needed no extra dose
Love was in the air
And i would see you evrywhere
Can't forget your lips,
Rosy red
Which would make even the
Braviest lie dead
I stil remember that amazing kiss
Something none would want
to miss
Through beautiful lands
With my hands in your hands
We went on and on
Till the sun was gone.
Suddenly,
Suddenly, there was
Change in the weather
We were no longer together
Circumstances have betrayed us
Distances have strayed us
I know you are crying
But believe me, 'I am trying'
I know you are weeping
But believe me even I'm not sleeping.
Your dream comes, but
Never goes.
Memories are fresh like a
Fresh rose.
Come back, and we'll be
Together
Come back, and romantic
will be the weather
Keep looking at the Moon
I promise we'll meet soon......
poem by Ankur Garg
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The fish of the season
The fish of the season
Coming into existence
The boat in the pool
The two sides of a flower
I grasp the splendid bow
And ride the stern of the boat
The moon goddess comes with a whisper
The moon-disk like tarnish sliver
The coming forth, the walking
From her abode
that the fish of season
Has fled the nets that
Take its misfortune
I was born free
So I know what
The fish is swimming for
Up stream pass Wisconsin boys
With baseball bats
Knee deep they knocks
The fishes out of the water.
poem by David E. Patton
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God is GOOD.
somehow it is not all
about love, it will be sometimes a shame
if you
know all about these
i must tell you since i am about to burst
and i can be a disaster
i do not want a world annihilated
by my silence
i will say a word and i will not stop right there
i will describe a place there is a bridge there
between us
the boat is in my hand i will carry it to you
you will sleep like the water
i love it and i see it i am mesmerized
it sees me but it does not feel it keeps on doing what it does
it stops finally like a movie
and i the fanatic haVE to arrive at my senses and sing my song
the wall hears it and wants to shed tears
it is a very lonely song that even the wood can easily understand
i must stop telling you
my lips are shameless and my head is about to crack
there is an understanding and it is inside the heart of
our solitude
now you understand but i am not walking away
i am staying in the name of life and its colors
let the man in black wait
as i begin to count my fingers for the last days of my life
the boat is ready and the weather is fine
the afternoon is cold like wood with misty dress
i am writing a letter to my best friend who died
a month ago
and i am telling him i am staying for a while
i put the famous postscript that i keep on reminding him
when he was alive stormed in so much depression
life is beautiful
God is good.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Memories
Those bad memories remain and don’t vanish
Whatever they might have done to tarnish
Still they pinch and remain close to chest
To forget them easily even trying very best
It is not that they were in control and mighty
Enough sources to bring us down and feel pity
It was their constant drive to keep us at the bay
We too were waiting for golden chance to repay
It is natural that repeats at regular interval
Ups go down and down with show dismal
Never to regain old glory and strong position
God has arranged such beautiful composition
Had it not been easy to forget or last?
Life would have ended miserable and very fast
Doubts might have ruled the mind and cast
Engulfed with revengeful ideas to blast
Person shouldn’t think of what actually went wrong
Why did he not get love and wasn’t lucky among
Was he destined to rise later with new scales?
No danger to self even if he was swimming with whales
Try to reason out factor that guided you
Nothing went wrong as you had blessings from thou
He can be invisible but never a different to all
Guides you to destiny if you give him sincere call
Memories are meant to be with us and will remain
They should be confined but not allowed to gain
They should be brought on surface when we look back
It is part of golden domain with a beautiful pack
Some are carried away little emergence
Start weeping among friend’s presence
It gives them relief as they always dominated
They may never know why it never got eliminated
It may go off with one’s exit from this beautiful world
He may feel its warmth even in shivering cold
You may slip into memory and unable to hold
It is treasure and stored in memory as pure gold
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Open, Time
Open, Time, and let him pass
Shortly where his feet would be!
Like a leaf at Michaelmas
Swooning from the tree,
Ere its hour the manly mind
Trembles in a sure decrease,
Nor the body now can find
Any hold on peace.
Take him, weak and overworn;
Fold about his dying dream
Boyhood, and the April morn,
And the rolling stream:
Weather on a sunny ridge,
Showery weather, far from here;
Under some deep-ivied bridge,
Water rushing clear:
Water quick to cross and part,
(Golden light on silver sound),
Weather that was next his heart
All the world around!
Soon upon his vision break
These, in their remembered blue;
He shall toil no more, but wake
Young, in air he knew.
He has done with roofs and men.
Open, Time, and let him pass,
Vague and innocent again,
Into country grass.
poem by Louise Imogen Guiney
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Old Ironsides
Ay, tear her tattered ensign down!
Long has it waved on high,
And many an eye has danced to see
That banner in the sky;
Beneath it rung the battle shout,
And burst the cannon's roar; --
The meteor of the ocean air
Shall sweep the clouds no more.
Her deck, once red with heroes' blood,
Where knelt the vanquished foe,
When winds were hurrying o'er the flood,
And waves were white below,
No more shall feel the victor's tread,
Or know the conquered knee; --
The harpies of the shore shall pluck
The eagle of the sea!
Oh, better that her shattered hulk
Should sink beneath the wave;
Her thunders shook the mighty deep,
And there should be her grave;
Nail to the mast her holy flag,
Set every threadbare sail,
And give her to the god of storms,
The lightning and the gale!
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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So I plan to prepare thoroughly and have several outfits waiting in the wings in case of inclement weather.
quote by Lisa Guerrero
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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