En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Paper, Pen and Ink

With paper, pen and ink I began to think
of a story that I could write.
Or maybe a verse or two about something new,
something original, fresh and bright.

I sat and thought but thought of nought
a stretched circle full of nothing.
A mist came down and I could hear a sound
that sounded like water lapping.

It was a castle's moat and a waiting boat,
and a figure with a hooded habit.
He took no breath and looked like death
this man so old and decrepit.

A woman in white stepped into sight
carrying her head under her arm.
On the boat she sat beside a brown rat
which disturbed the water's calm.

The boat drifted from sight into the night
like a thought from a weary mind.
The thinning grey mist was instantly mist,
leaving my paper, pen, and ink behind.

poem by Orlando Belo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Paper Boat On A Murky River

on your hand is a paper boat
you made last night

on a rainy day like this
you put on a gray rain coat

the river rises
perfect for your scheme

you put the boat gently
on the brown water

white paper boat
carried by this murkiness

your hands push
the paper boat leaves

tonight you sleep on
the wooden floor

it is mahogany brown and you
become the paper boat

sailing inside your dream
the floor becomes the big river

your thoughts become the wind
your eyes become two moons

the room is as dark as the night
the dream is so alive like a mother's song.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Paper-boat just on the Sea!

A paper-boat, I tend to be!
The sea of life is too stormy;
Afraid I am, it could sink me,
Before I can reach land’s safety!

But if He wants, the Almighty,
Could work miracles still for me;
And guide the boat to shore safely,
And keep me dry eternally!

A paper-boat just on the sea!
How can it float for long freely?
And when the sea becomes angry,
Can it escape its cruelty?

But all the same, I move slowly;
Nothing on earth can deter me;
Unless something so cowardly,
Drenches the boat mercilessly.

A paper-boat just on the sea!
I know I must make it surely;
And when I reach the shore, may be,
I will feel immensely happy!

A paper-boat just on life’s sea!
Who else would want to be like me?
God is my guide and my safety;
In Him, I have strong faith truly!

A paper-boat just on the sea!
A paper-boat, I tend to be;
A paper-boat, I want to be-
A paper-boat just on life’s sea!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 4-26-2000

poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mid-life

she wakes up at 3 a.m.
with a nightmare: she is on a bridge
below her the flood, waters raging
carrying driftwood, some houses, people calling for her,
deaf she moves on to the other side
on white gown less the bouquet
a man in black suit waits for her
the water rises and then all the screams are gone

the man becomes a mist
her hands tremble
her diamond ring falls to the water below

the water rises up to her waist
she shouts for help
there is no boat and the other side dissolves with the man
a mist covers her

she closes her eyes and then she is taken away by some hands.
she wakes up grasping for breath.

her pillow is wet with tears.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Misty River

This morning
Me in this Misty River
All the happiness
I am feeling inside myself
Misty River
The mist is coming
From this Misty River
There are clouds
In the sky
And the mist
Is caused by the condensation
Of the heat mixed in the cold water
Misty River
I am in a fishing boat
That boat is moving slowly in this
Misty river
It is early in the morning
I am eating my breakfast in the fishing boat in the middle of this
Misty River
I hear the birds singing early in the morning
In this Misty River
There must be trees because the sound of the birds is coming from the Branches
Misty River
So peaceful
It looks so different with the mist
No one is around but me
With my fishing boat
And the beautiful sound of the birds
It is so nice
To have a place to come to
Where I can
Hear the sound of the birds
And be left alone
With no one disturbing me
Misty River
This is my special place
And by afternoon
No clouds I will see
The birds are beautiful
Their song is just beautiful like mother nature intended it to be
If nobody else appreciates this Misty River
I do
Misty River
I will die for you
Misty River
I will shed my tears for you
I have been coming here for so long now
Misty River

poem by Aldo Kraas
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Last Answers

I wrote a poem on the mist
And a woman asked me what I meant by it.
I had thought till then only of the beauty of the mist,
how pearl and gray of it mix and reel,
And change the drab shanties with lighted lamps at evening
into points of mystery quivering with color.

I answered:
The whole world was mist once long ago and some day
it will all go back to mist,
Our skulls and lungs are more water than bone and tissue
And all poets love dust and mist because all the last answers
Go running back to dust and mist.

poem by Carl Sandburg
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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A Boat Is a Lever

After my student went to the doctor to
Check out the rash speckling his
Right hand and found out he had
Leukemia, that the cancer had spread
Into his lungs, then where did he go?
I've called his number several times.
Flat-bottom boats light in water.
Brown brack and mud smell,
Stumps like chewed-off candles,
Cypress knees, knock and small
Talk floating over water, a motor
Chuffing off, a small blue cloud of excess
Gasoline spreads an ugly
Rainbow on tan water.Every
Thing rests on its proposition
Including smooth isobars along the bay.
Since collective thought cannot exist
As thought it passes into things.
Chemo takes a few gray hairs.Mustard
Cruises the bloodstream under a blizzard
Of white cells.Subdued by the arbitrary,
Suspended, the one in the boat still needs
To row it -- to direct the muscles, to
Maintain equilibrium with air
And water.If water is waveless
Then the boat reads by leading marks.
There is nothing more beautiful
Than a boat.

poem by Ralph Burns
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The Mist

The mist on the water that forms over night
gives an eerie sight to my eyes.
It lingers sometimes for an hour or two
and as it lifts to the skies
I see the lake that's been hidden from view
and all seems right to my sight.
Its rippling movement on breezy days
mirror like imagery at night.

It's home to frogs and ducks at play
and the fish that jump catching flies.
And sometimes when I am lucky enough
much to my surprise
herons and egrets of snowy white
come and land on the banks.
They stalk their prey in stately manner
hoping to pull off their pranks.

So when the mist returns to my lake
I do not get forlorn.
For underneath the mist that's there
is my lake in later morn.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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She Turned The Shower On

She turned the shower on
The sudden assault,
Molten iron spear-tips
Thrown from above,
Took her by surprise
And pierced through her,
Sloshing her young blood
Around over the battle scene.

She woke up out of her death
Just as the fusillades
Went simmering into cool blades
And then water pattered once again.
She stepped out and grabbed
A rough red towel,
Dragged it through her hair and face
And looked about
At the water mist.

The mist brawled infront of her,
Living death before it dispersed
Ultimately disappearing.
She, the ghost, stood
Until reaching to the door and

Leaving. But, she had
Cut through them,
Even being slender.

Thus she did join them
In a war missing
Victory and defeat.

poem by Mark Challenger
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The Biggest Flood

The Biggest Flood

Pakistan, the biggest flood ever recorded the newscaster tells me,
has he forgotten about the biblical flood and Noah?
I could be that after years of flooding in Noahland that he got
the idea of building a boat, big enough for his family and cattle.
Of course his neighbours thought he had lost it, his sons too were
skeptical but helped their father building a wide hulled boat;
in the inn at night they often got into fist fights, when funny
remarks were made about their father’s crazy venture.
After weeks of rain he boarded and boat and it didn’t sink.
When the rain stopped and the sky was clear all Noah could see
was water everywhere. Not a navigator Noah just drifted about
hoping to find land; and as water level fell he hit a reef which
turned out to be a grassy mountain slope. The biblical story is
certainly true, if it isn’t it is still worth thinking about its wisdom.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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The Boat and The Sea

I will tell you, my Dear
Story of the Boat and the Sea

'Since the unknown time
The Boat heard the call from the Sea
Wings of Gull, blue waves
Took Boat traveled everywhere, all ways

The Boat's soul's filled with hopes
And the Sea's boundless love
Boat went far, further no tiresome
The Sea was still far...so far

Those nights the moon was gentle
The sea was like a girl, who's little
She whispered, she sent her thoughts
Round the boatside, waves elapsed

Sometimes, causeless
The Sea, its waves, pourred impetuously in the Boat
(Because of Love, for all times, ever was just imovable?)

Only the Boat understood
How boundless the Sea was
Only the Boat knew
Where the Boat went to, back to

The days without meeting
The sea was with white head, with missing
The days without gathering
The Boat was broken - crack
If already seperated from the Boat
The Sea only remained the wind and waves
...up and down, a craze'

If having to be separated from you
I just only remain storms

(composer: Xuân Quỳ nh, traslator: Hanh My Nguyen)

poem by Hanh My Nguyen
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Ballad of Earl Haldan's Daughter

It was Earl Haldan's daughter,
She looked across the sea;
She looked across the water;
And long and loud laughed she:
'The locks of six princesses
Must be my marriage fee,
So hey bonny boat, and ho bonny boat!
Who comes a wooing me?'

It was Earl Haldan's daughter,
She walked along the sand;
When she was aware of a knight so fair,
Came sailing to the land.
His sails were all of velvet,
His mast of beaten gold,
And 'Hey bonny boat, and ho bonny boat!
Who saileth here so bold?'

'The locks of five princesses
I won beyond the sea;
I clipt their golden tresses,
To fringe a cloak for thee.
One handful yet is wanting,
But one of all the tale;
So hey bonny boat, and ho bonny boat!
Furl up thy velvet sail!'

He leapt into the water,
That rover young and bold;
He gript Earl Haldan's daughter,
He clipt her locks of gold:
'Go weep, go weep, proud maiden,
The tale is full to-day.
Now hey bonny boat, and ho bonny boat!
Sail Westward ho! away!'

poem by Charles Kingsley
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Sonnet. Written Upon The Top Of Ben Nevis

Read me a lesson, Muse, and speak it loud
Upon the top of Nevis, blind in mist!
I look into the chasms, and a shroud
Vapourous doth hide them, -- just so much I wist
Mankind do know of hell; I look o'erhead,
And there is sullen mist, -- even so much
Mankind can tell of heaven; mist is spread
Before the earth, beneath me, -- even such,
Even so vague is man's sight of himself!
Here are the craggy stones beneath my feet,--
Thus much I know that, a poor witless elf,
I tread on them, -- that all my eye doth meet
Is mist and crag, not only on this height,
But in the world of thought and mental might!

poem by John Keats
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Just Row

Don't put a limit to any of your wishes and dreams.
Don't, Don't.
Or eliminate anything that your mind perceives.
Don't, don't.
Don't be a moaner.
Don't, don't.
Or a negative owner.
Don't, don't.
Or throw away opportunities you don't believe.

Row,
That boat that floats.
Row,
Not around a moat.
Row,
To a place you know...
You want to be,
And have to go!

Row,
That boat that floats.
Row,
Not around a moat.
Row,
To a place you know...
You want to be,
And have to go!

Don't put a limit to any of your wishes and dreams.
Don't, Don't.
Or eliminate anything that your mind perceives.
Don't, don't.
Don't be a moaner.
Don't, don't.
Or a negative owner.
Don't, don't.
Or throw away opportunities you don't believe.
Don't, don't.

Just row,
That boat that floats.
Row,
Not around a moat.
Just row,
To a place you know...
You want to be,
And have to go!

Just row,
That boat that floats.
Row,
Not around a moat.
Just row,
To a place you know...
You want to be,
And have to go!

It's your own boat don't let it float.

Just row,
To a place you know...
You want to be,
And have to go!
Just row.

It's your own boat don't let it float.
Or let anybody come and get your 'goat'.

Just row,
Get your eyes off your feet.
Just row,
Stop that self defeat.
Just row,
Believe you can and receive it.
Don't leave that boat you row to float along!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A different point of view

I realize that what you see
These things
About life
So differently

From what I once saw
And still see
From my own point of view

This paper boat of yours
Floats on its shadow
The clouds underneath it
Like the waves of the sea

You tell me
This paper boat is going to
Heaven

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Storm At Sea

Below us there was a rising and falling,
Waves of breadth claimed a devastation;
The comical waters were customs and beliefs,
Persuading us as sailors to listen and learn
To the lapping of the ocean on the boat’s hull.
It sounded a pity to see a little water on your soul
And body and boat, the reality was immensely disgusting.
It disgusted them when gusts of the greatest winds
Formed density and texture of a gale,
This compelled them to squint at the hidden sun
For more waves and more water to be hidden.
Treating them kindly after a sunset,
The night waters sprayed juice and venom as well.

poem by Naveed Akram
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Mist Hidden Fantasy

The mad piper played the hornpipe
in the evening mist near the fairy glade
and water sprites dances across the lochs waters.
The monster roared from the depth below
in keeping with the tune
and a wolf howled at a hidden moon
on a hill draped with heather.
Owlets awoke with watchful eyes
as their mother swooped from the skies.
The mist rolled down the glen,
then up the hill at the other end.
The castle stood faintly still
as shadows watched from the brow of the hill.
You could not call this the dead of night
with all the watchful eyes hidden from sight.
Still, the mad piper played
his tunes of joyful reverie
while the moon remained
in the mist hidden from sight.

poem by David Harris
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Grey

Grey road stretched through grey rain.
Grey rain fell though grey mist.
Grey mist enveloped all,
all the eye could see,
all the land,
all the sky
and me.
Grey covered all,
all the way down to the sea.

Glimpsed through grey the swell of the ocean,
riding the waves a wind surfer surfing,
chopping, fighting the crests with swift motion
skirting the spray, sail unfurling.
Stopping, I stared at that sight in the mist,
oh how he came dancing over the sea,
right through the rain a state of sheer bliss,
the wondrous frolic rippling throughout me
making me tingle right down deep inside.
That misty image ripped all grey apart
a glorious vision of freedom untied,
returning tremendous joy to my heart
filling me up, bringing tears to my eyes,
emerging from grey a great love of life.

poem by Diana Rosser
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Witchy Woman

Lost in the bayou!
It was funny at first
To an adventure lovin’ youngen
This wouldn’t be the worst

Just a night in the swamp
In a little flat-bottomed boat
Enough water for one night
a piece of jerky in a paper poke

Awakenin’ from a sleep
He hadn’t known he’d even fallen into
the full moonglow diffused softly
By the Spanish moss that it shone through

Waterbugs skitterin‘, gators aglidin’
Cajun fiddle playin’ some where out in the night
Katydids singin’, water moccasins slidin’
In the distance, through the swamp mist,
shone a faint ghostly light

Pushin’ one oar, agin’ the marshy bottom
Slowly nearing’ the song and the light
Cautiously polin’ through dark cypress knees
Both cattails and neck hair, erect and upright

Ahead on a hummock
High on poles stood a shack
With a old rotting dock In front
and only misty swamp in the back

By a bonfire in front
Stood a fiery eyed young lady/beauty/woman
Tall, slim, with wild eyes flashin’
Tattered dress torn in provocative places
Enticing the lad in, in uninhibited fashion

The boat seemed to glide toward her of It’s own volition
While the lad stood, oar in hand, as if in a trance
The fiddle music wailed, loud as perdition
And witchy woman started a slow writhing dance
Beckoning and undulating without inhibition

The owl in the cypress
Craned it’s head from side to side
Solemnly Observing the lad all the while
The fiddle music soared to a devilish high
Witchy woman took his hand with a smile

The owl shied away and flew off with a whisper
A raven took flight with a start
The chorus of bullfrogs suddenly came to a halt
The thick silence broken by wild cackling laughter
Witchy woman had taken
another young man’s heart
A little flat bottomed boat found high on a bank
Amid wild orchids and bedecked with Spanish moss
Wasn’t found until many months later
Within it was a poke of jerky and a bottle of water.
Said the sheriff to the family with a great sense of loss
“pears your boy got eat up by a gator

One can hear faint cajun fiddle music
On full moonlit nights
O’er the black waters of the misty bayou
And if you listen through the mist and with all of your might
you just might hear a seductive voice
calling to you

poem by David Whalen
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