To Pfrimmer
(Lines on reading 'Driftwood.')
Driftwood gathered here and there
Along the beach of time;
Now and then a chip of truth
'Mid boards and boughs of rhyme;
Driftwood gathered day by day,--
The cypress and the oak,--
Twigs that in some former time
From sturdy home trees broke.
Did this wood come floating thick
All along down 'Injin Crik?'
Or did kind tides bring it thee
From the past's receding sea
Down the stream of memory?
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Related quotes
LIKE a DRIFTWOOD
Like a driftwood, I am
Floating, drifting to where the rivers flow
Letting where destiny brings me
and where fate lead me through.
Waiting for the time to reach the ocean
Passing through many rivers though
Bumping on the rocks, I'm in vain
Splashing, circling like tornado too.
Going back, I cannot do
But to continue going, floating, like a mess
Leaving the way I'm passing through
To the ocean, I will find my rest.
Like a driftwood, in the beach i lay
Waiting for my fate, what my fate would be
For like driftwood i didn't know
Will my fate still continue this way?
As long as I live, like a driftwood my life is
I can do nothing, nothing unless
raise my head towards the heaven
and offer to God myself and everything
For without Him, I am nothing.
_mai_
29Oct08
poem by Maia Padua
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Driftwood
Just like the driftwood of a dream
Left of the seashore of sleep
Just like the words that wouldnt rhyme
Lost in the desert of time
Time waits for no one at all
No, not even you
You thought youd seen it all before
You really thought you knew
I dont remember what was said
In the confusion that night
I only know whats on my mind
Whats in the future we will decide
Time waits for no one at all
No, not even you
You thought youd seen it all before
You really thought you knew
Ive shattered the illusion
Of fortune and of fame
But darling now I know you
Life could never be the same
Oh no... dont leave me driftwood
On the shore
Time waits for no one my love
No, not even you
You thought youd seen it all before
You really thought you knew
Ive shattered the illusion
Of forture and of fame
Im waking up
Im reaching up
Im getting up from this game
Oh no... dont leave me driftwood
On the shore
Oh no... dont, dont leave me driftwood
On the shore...
song performed by by Moody Blues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Driftwood
Pieces of wood intertwined like the bodies of lovers
Smooth edges ridges and curves for me to discover
Entangled branches held together building a new form
Intimate confrontations left behind by a great storm
The wood shows cracks like the wrinkles of skin
Bleached out by salt and sun a piece of art therein
To me my love - you seem like the driftwood I found
You are beautiful and smooth all the way around
Your expressions are throughtful and sad at the same time
My heart you have captured committing a victimless crime
You carry the marks of life and adventure on your face
I would love to drown in your arms within your embrace
Like pieces of driftwood connected by fate together
With you I can withstand life in any kind of weather
I want to become a better me with you forever around
Like the beautiful wood we are for eternity bound
© 2011
poem by Kristina Louisa Carr
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Two Silent People, Dying
you are silent
more silent than the stars above us
this mountain of
sorrow does not know the songs of sighs
it is as silent
as you
more silent than all the stars above us
i join you in this silence and i take a journey far from you
my thoughts are wings and they will not use words as vehicles
from my mouth there will be no sound too
what are we contemplating for? i ask myself.
you think of death, i know, but you have not guessed what i am thinking
i am tired of death, let it come when it comes,
i am thinking of those tiny things in my life
how they happen, how time flies too fast
and i am here with you left behind it like a hundred years
i go back to thinking about us bathing in the river
since we do not know how to swim we take hold of a driftwood
from nowhere
it teaches us how to swim
that driftwood from nowhere
and it is when that driftwood left us
that we struggle for our life
and then we have learned
how to drift, ultimately how to swim
we are here in the middle of this silent struggle
it is when it hurts best that we begin to learn how to think
how to think well more than the rest of those
who are not conscious of the shortness of the time left
it is here in the middle of our sorrow
that we become more intelligent, wisdom sprouts and grows
into a tree
in our heads, and we are soon carried to a height
where we see them all
away from us.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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To Become A Part In The Harmony Of The Whole
sometimes you feel
that you are a driftwood
arriving at a river
with no one
living there
you stay for a while
curious
like a bird resting upon
a twig
upon a long migratory
journey
towards a warmer place
of this earth
then you have to go again
drifting
because you have no choice
but to drift
hoping that someday
when this flooding is over
you shall find
someone who will make
something out of you
a furniture, or a decorative
piece of art
in the interior of a
beautiful house
where children shall ask their mama
what kind of art
are you?
you like to answer
i am an abandoned driftwood
once i was a part of the great designs
of trees in the forest
but i was cut off
and left out
to rot
now someone gave me
significance
a motif, a purpose
a piece of an
artwork
and then you like it there
you are the center of this
theme
art and love, a part of a whole,
a mess fabricated into
a harmony of a family in
a house
someone plays a violin
and then you begin to listen
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Apprehension
before the rain
there was this gray cloud
it was that sad
it was before you cried
that sticks in my memory
the tweezers
those lines on the face
the twisting lips
the horror in the eyes
and then it rained
and the bridge collapsed
the waters rushed
bringing all the driftwood
and the boas.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Floating
No interest in confessing,
A depressed state of mind...
Others will have no time,
Trying to understand.
And that is understood!
These thoughts I have now...
Are like driftwood.
Seen floating.
As if it is on its own!
Something that had grown attached.
But overtime has become detached...
Released!
And roams disconnected.
Freed from a conformity bred!
Is it dead?
Has it in fact been rejected,
Instead?
Because it shows no life known,
Anyone could say they knew!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Driftwood
Everything is open
Nothing is set in stone
Rivers turn to oceans
Oceans tide you home
Home is where the heart is
But your heart had to roam
Drifting over bridges
Never to return
Watching bridges burn
You're driftwood floating underwater
Breaking into pieces
song performed by by Travis from The Man Who
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A View
driftwood
with seven twigs
on the shore
as clear as glass
is the water
and all stones and pebbles
are visible
above
blue skies
so blue that the white cotton clouds
appear like sperm cells moving
impregnating
an earth-sky womb
and then
it rains
the water rises
the drift wood again taken
floating
gently to another shore
another island
of white sands
a coconut tree towers
to reach a waft of cloud
winds as cool as ice
sands slipping on the fingers
a leaf from a guyabano tree falls
on the mouth
of a sleeping woman
beside her
the man whose arms are enclosing
her throughout
the rainy night
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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One Of Johnny Howard's Forgotten
Like a piece of driftwood by the tide left on the beach to rot
She walks the streets of the slum end the one who is forgot
By the bureaucrats of Government they see those in poverty
As the people of the dead end who create their own reality.
The Government has been re-elected yesterday was voting day
And Johnny Howard remains as Prime Minister the voters had their say
To the middle class and to the wealthy class a hero Nationwide
And one who has greatly benefited out of the great social divide.
One of Johnny Howard's forgotten her tousled hair is gray
A woman in her sixties she has known a better day
Her Landlord raised the rent on her and now she must sleep rough
And life already on her it would seem quite hard enough.
The Government supporters are dancing in the street
As they wave their flags and buntings and victory is sweet
Yet in the World thousands are in poverty to every millionaire
And what have they to celebrate when life is so unfair.
Like a piece of driftwood on the beach that was washed in by the tide
She walks the street of the slum end her collie at her side
One of Johnny Howard's forgotten she knows of poverty
And there are many others just as pauperized as she.
poem by Francis Duggan
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This Is No Fish Story
We had been up and down Redwood Creek
For what seemed to me to be all day
Watching my grandfather fish for salmon
We started at the mouth of the river
Hiked over sand rocks and slippery green moss
The only reason I was there was
The fried chicken and potato salad
My grandmother made the night before
Lunch seemed so far away
My grandfather was out of sight
He had worked his way upstream
When we heard him yell 'FISH ON! '
My grandmother who had been hanging back with me
Left me in the sand
I had to move fast to catch up
Moving around large pieces of driftwood
He had certainly hooked something
His rod bending if half then straightening
As he let line out
With the reel's drag on
I knew how to fish
I just didn't like to
I had no patience
I wasn't like bird hunting
If I got bored bird hunting
When I was by myself
With just my dog
I could take a shot anyway
Just for practice
To get the dog used to the noise
Because I had no patience
At the age of twelve
I had never seen so much line out before
He kept backing further up the wide beach
It looked to me as if the fish knew the way
And was headed back to the ocean
Hook in his mouth
My guess was he was no longer
In the mood for spawning
He had my grandfather on
Nothing personal on either side
My grandfather wanted to land the salmon
The salmon it appeared wanted
My grandfather in the water
This primal tug of war
Went on for some time
The salmon tried everything
It tried going behind submerged trees
It woud take a run
Straight at the beach
My grandfather reeling in the slack
As fast as he could
The salmon would then jump high
Doubling back away yanking on the line
Trying to dislodge the hook
Or snap the line (he'd been on before)
They were both getting tired
My grandfather timed the next
Pull on his fishing rod
With the jump of the salmon
Too close to shore this time
The beast was on the beach in front of me
My grandfather was still reeling in line
He knew it wasn't landed yet
He was hollering for my grandmother
To grab a piece of driftwood
To club the monster
Who was glaring at me with one eye
His other eye was in the sand
My grandfather's shinning metal lure
Stuck out of a bloody mouth
Gills were grasping for oxygen in dry air
I swear I saw in that eye the reflection
Of my grandmother running
A hunk of driftwood in hand
The eye saw it too
With one last flop like a large wrestler
Just before the count of three
He went up into the air
Snapped the line hit the water and was gone
I'm not sure what pound test the line was
Whatever it was it wasn't enough
My gandfather's favorite lure
With his hand-tied leader
Were following their catch
As fast as they could
Not knowing it was they
That had been caught
poem by Tom J. Mariani
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Paint My Life
let me at least choose
the colors
red for love
blue for my sorrow
gray for my confusions
do not draw me in
bold strokes
for i was never brave
do give me crooked
lines
minimize the straight ones
my eyes are two moons
my feet are trees without roots
my face the sun
its rays my hair
my whole body
a driftwood
my moles be islands
my hands are branches
without leaves
praying to the sky
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Reality Bites.......
sometimes
it will take time to know
that not
everyone loves you and
when you finally find
this
the world becomes so
real as in truth
if it is made of love
as others want to impress
you with
in the earlier days of your life
it too
is made up of
hate, and as i discovered
it myself
lately, in fact,
it is composed more of
those elements
of indifference
as you see there are more
rocks, sands,
trees, stones,
driftwood
cliffs, and deep
oceans
less are the bridges
rainbows, rivers,
lesser are the
lovers, those good
men with
pure hearts,
least is love and
affection
kisses nil
hugs rare.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Driftwood
The embers in their glowing
All secrets are they knowing
As the river ever flowing
Leads me driftwood out of time.
Lend me your mind so I may bend it.
Be my friend, come mend me
I'm broken, come whisper bliss unspoken.
Sail with me. Fail with me.
Become me. Numb me.
Forget me. Regret me.
Know me. Blow me.
Love me out of time.
poem by David Lacey
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Mindless Of Who And What I Am
there is a flow of the river
like a stream of
my consciousness
that does not mind
driftwood
it minds its own sound
of flowing
on and on
there is no complaint
what burden is carried
what winding ways
to ease
that which is held with
least resistance
there is no rock so high
and hard
there is no obstruction
this river
that goes on with its song
on and on and on,
mindless of everything
the stones and birds staring.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Most people would succeed in small things if they were not troubled with great ambitions.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow in Driftwood; Table Talk (1857)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Drift Wood Wants To Tell A Story
a pale white driftwood
on beige sands
wants to tell a story
the river has a mouth
the sea has a tongue
the island has a face
but all of them
have no ears.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My Love...
two eyes
are boats
your face is the ocean
there are
black moons
there is a whirlpool
in your lips
i am this driftwood
sucked
by desire
of your throat
your teeth
are axes
i am
the food to your
soul
and so
you shall
live...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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It Happens To Be Me
-artist: nat king cole
-from his the greatest of nat king cole lp-capitol slb 6803
-peak billboard position # 16 in 1954
-words and music by sammy gallop and arthur kent
Someone longs for you and your caress
Hes learning now how empty arms can be
Someone who used to know your kiss not long ago
That someone happens to be me
How he misses you and must confess
Without you hes like driftwood on the sea
Hes just a dreamer who is still in love with you
That dreamer happens to be me
Ill never know just why we parted
Its more than I can comprehend
I only know when you departed
You started a night that has no end
Perhaps therell come a time when youre alone
Your heart still haunted by a memory
If then you chance to find theres someone on your mind
I hope it happens to be me
Perhaps therell come a time when youre alone
Your heart still haunted by a memory
If then you chance to find theres someone on your mind
I hope it happens to be me
I hope it happens to be me
song performed by by Nat King Cole
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In Memoriam (Easter, 1915)
The flowers left thick at nightfall in the wood
This Eastertide call into mind the men,
Now far from home, who, with their sweethearts, should
Have gathered them and will do never again.
poem by Edward Thomas
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