Sad Moonlit Night
Drat that snatch-thief dog,
He howls at the moon from the rotting pier.
When the soul pricks up its ears,
It hears the shrill girls choiring,
Choiring
With their gloomy voices,
By the somber stone wall out at the pier.
Why is it always this way
with me?
Listen, you dog, you.
Tell me, you pale-blue, unhappy dog, you.
poem by Sakutaro Hagiwara
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Graceful Pillar
Grace has a pillar of obvious concentration,
Of stone it is built, of a soul and mind it stored.
Grace may live among houses
Where the pier of gratitude is,
Everywhere goes the sea of thankful grace.
Grace has a stationary title of sun and star,
Of goggles the eyes of grace do speak,
Hated is a craving for height, of weight, of general size.
Grace may be open like a shop,
Or the pier of handsome repose is taken by waves
To be eroded and expelled from the land and sea.
poem by Naveed Akram
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A Diamond
A Translation for Robert Jones
A diamond
Is there
At the heart of the moon or the branches or my nakedness
And there is nothing in the universe like diamond
Nothing in the whole mind.
The poem is a seagull resting on a pier at the end of the ocean.
A dog howls at the moon
A dog howls at the branches
A dog howls at the nakedness
A dog howling with pure mind.
I ask for the poem to be as pure as a seagull’s belly.
The universe falls apart and discloses a diamond
Two words called seagull are peacefully floating out where the
waves are.
The dog is dead there with the moon, with the branches, with
my nakedness
And there is nothing in the universe like diamond
Nothing in the whole mind.
poem by Jack Spicer
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Losing Track
Long after you have swung back
away from me
I think you are still with me:
you come in close to the shore
on the tide
and nudge me awake the way
a boat adrift nudges the pier:
am I a pier
half-in half-out of the water?
and in the pleasure of that communion
I lose track,
the moon I watch goes down, the
tide swings you away before
I know I'm
alone again long since,
mud sucking at gray and black
timbers of me,
a light growth of green dreams drying.
poem by Denise Levertov
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Circles Round The Moon
Tonight I drew a circle round the moon
This night I drew a circle round the moon
Through a glazed up frosty window
I drew a circle round the moon
Tonight I stood on the end of a pier
And the moon flooded the bay
And as it caught the rolling tide
I swear the waves stopped dead
Tonight I ran through dark streets
And cut the heads off all the flowers
And replaced them with something beautiful
That could never ever die
Tonight I lay by my open window
And listened to the rain
Gently lapping the ground outside
And smiling, I lay still
Tonight on the end of that pier
I longed for someone to hold
To share this beautiful sight with
And see the circles round the moon
Tonight the moon told me something
The moon it told me to live
It told me to live, not merely exist
So I could decapitate the flowers
But I didn’t take any notice
And killed myself instead
And if you look up at the sky tonight
There’ll be a circle round the moon
poem by Perfect Fool
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Linda
Seven ships without a sail
Seven cats without a tail
Boy, its weird here
On this spooky old pier tonight
But Im not frightened 'cause I know what it is
Evrything is just the same as it was
Im in trouble because of linda
She hurt me so badly
She said shed be here
On our special pier
I lover her
Linda, the carousels playing
But that merry-go-round
Is bringing me down
'cause I remember what it meant to you
Linda, linda
I love you
song performed by by Randy Newman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Storm at Sausalito
Sailboats lashed to the pier,
ebon masts, dark trees bare
with tightly shrouded canvas sail,
rigging singing in the gale,
pier groaning, grey waves grind
clinging sloops to taut lines,
steel bulwarks rise and fall
against gleaming, cool jetty walls.
poem by Steven Federle
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Late March
Saturday morning in late March.
I was alone and took a long walk,
though I also carried a book
of the Alone, which companioned me.
The day was clear, unnaturally clear,
like a freshly wiped pane of glass,
a window over the water,
and blue, preternaturally blue,
like the sky in a Magritte painting,
and cold, vividly cold, so that
you could clap your hands and remember
winter, which had left a few moments ago—
if you strained you could almost see it
disappearing over the hills in a black parka.
Spring was coming but hadn't arrived yet.
I walked on the edge of the park.
The wind whispered a secret to the trees,
which held their breath
and scarcely moved.
On the other side of the street,
the skyscrapers stood on tiptoe.
I walked down to the pier to watch
the launching of a passenger ship.
Ice had broken up on the river
and the water rippled smoothly in blue light.
The moon was a faint smudge
in the clouds, a brushstroke, an afterthought
in the vacant mind of the sky.
Seagulls materialized out of vapor
amidst the masts and flags.
Don't let our voices die on land,
they cawed, swooping down for fish
and then soaring back upwards.
The kiosks were opening
and couples moved slowly past them,
arm in arm, festive.
Children darted in and out of walkways,
which sprouted with vendors.
Voices greeted the air.
Kites and balloons. Handmade signs.
Voyages to unknown places.
The whole day had the drama of an expectation.
Down at the water, the queenly ship
started moving away from the pier.
Banners fluttered.
The passengers clustered at the rails on deck.
I stood with the people on shore and waved
goodbye to the travelers.
Some were jubilant;
others were broken-hearted.
I have always been both.
Suddenly, a great cry went up.
The ship set sail for the horizon
and rumbled into the future
but the cry persisted
and cut the air
like an iron bell ringing
in an empty church.
I looked around the pier
but everyone else was gone
and I was left alone
to peer into the ghostly distance.
I had no idea where that ship was going
but I felt lucky to see it off
and bereft when it disappeared.
poem by Edward Hirsch
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My Dear
Written by dewey bunnell, 1983
Found on your move, premium gold collection, centenary collection, and highway.
Here in the dawn
As I walk through this dream
As I have done since ages now gone
Shall I read you the letter
They sent postmarked from somewhere out here
Its in latin, I think, I dont know
Can you help me, my dear
Please, can you help me, my dear
Near to their bed (they never sleep)
They sit sipping their tea, watch the sea
Move the sand through their heads (sit in their chairs by the bay)
Did I show you the marks on the wall
Left by captains now dead (house out on the cove)
They fell fighting for peace in their lives
Or so it is said (still nobody seems to be here)
Please, can you help me, my dear
Please, can you help me, my dear
You cant miss it
A blue forest on a green sky
You must risk it
Dont ignore us if you want us to
If we want us to survive
Where will I be (cant you help me to find my way)
After watching them walking the pier
At the mouth of the sea (Ive been lost for so long)
Theyre in love with the news
And dont show if theyre living in fear (still nobody seems to be here)
They eat ice cream alone
Watch the waves at the end of the pier (ah, nobody seems to hear)
Please, can you help me, my dear
Please, can you help me, my dear
song performed by by America
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Interview
I met him down upon the pier,
His eyes were wild and sad,
And something in them made me fear
That he was going mad.
So, being of a prudent sort,
I stood some distance off,
And before speaking gave a short
Conciliatory cough.
I then observed, 'What makes you look
So singularly glum?'
No notice of my words he took. --
I said, 'Pray, are you dumb?'
'Oh no!' he said, 'I do not think
My power of speech is lost,
But when one's hopes are black as ink,
Why, talking is a frost,
'You see, I'm in for Math. again,
And certain to be ploughed.
Please tell me where I could obtain
An inexpensive shroud.'
I told him where such things are had,
Well made, and not too dear;
And, feeling really very sad,
I left him on the pier.
poem by Robert Fuller Murray
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The Rainy Days Inside My Mind
it is a summer day
but the rainy days still exist inside my mind
it was a Sunday
when the rain was falling softy at the pier
the M/V Alfredo was about to leave
bound for Manila
and there was you
my love
waving your hands
for till then
we never saw each other again
this afternoon i am standing on
a pavement on the same pier
the M/V Alfredo had long
sunk
and i do not know anymore where
you destiny placed you
i am hiding my eyes inside this thick
sunglasses
no one knows how i feel
for outside
i am still smiling and then another boat
sounds its call
i guess, i have to leave them all.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Thief! ! !
You are a thief
THIEF, THIEF, THIEF
Thief from bones and soul
Thief till dust and ash
THIEF, THIEF, THIEF
Thief who steals and shouts
Thief who cheats and hides
You have a pride
A pride of THIEF
You have an ethic
An ethic of THIEF
You have rules
Rules of THIEF
You take what you want
And run from everyone
Irresponsible about what you’ve done
Leave this mess to be blown
THIEF, THIEF, THIEF
There’s nothing real
From your belonging
You’re just a thief
And why I should follow a thief
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Eveningsong at Bellosguardo
Chi vuol esser lieto, sia:
di doman non c'e certezza.
-Lorenzo di Medici
In the poplars' lengthening shadows on this hill,
amid the rows of marigolds and earth,
and through the boxhedge labyrinth we walk,
together, to the choiring twilight bells.
Their fugue of echoes echoes through the hills
and sings against this time-streaked, flowering wall
where breezes coax the potted lemon trees,
the pendant, yellow fruit and shiny leaves.
Beneath the flaming watercolor sky,
the cultivated, terraced dropp of hill,
a gleaming city with its towers and domes,
the Arno shimmering as its drowns the sun.
Chameleon-like, I am tranformed by light,
and wine has blurred the edges of the night.
What gifts I give on this or any night
may be refracted in another light.
You understnad this in a foreign tongue,
but vaguely, for these things will not translate.
I feel it in the cadence of your walk:
you are not whom moonlight can create.
And you will think the loosening of these thighs,
the sudden, urging whiteness of the throat
are muted but distinctly pagan cries
and in your triumph you will fairly gloat.
Tonight the unplucked lemons almost gleam.
And with their legs, the crickets harmonize.
The trees are rustling an uncertain hymn,
and unseen birds contribute trembling cries.
When did the summer censor choiring things?
We know the blood is brutal though it sings.
poem by Erica Jong
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Mourning Tide
Too many years spent upon this pier of life...
My naked feet dangling
Barely touching the sea's water;
Way too much salted air in my lungs to breathe
And Neptune just keeps on calling;
Fathomless feeling's are growing dim
As the absence of your sunlight obscures;
Far too many storms fought upon harsher waters...
Loosing hope in all that matters;
Davy Jones locker is somber this day
As time cries on
And destiny follows;
poem by Theodora Onken
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Servant Girl and Grocer's Boy
Her lips' remark was: "Oh, you kid!"
Her soul spoke thus (I know it did):
"O king of realms of endless joy,
My own, my golden grocer's boy,
I am a princess forced to dwell
Within a lonely kitchen cell,
While you go dashing through the land
With loveliness on every hand.
Your whistle strikes my eager ears
Like music of the choiring spheres.
The mighty earth grows faint and reels
Beneath your thundering wagon wheels.
How keenly, perilously sweet
To cling upon that swaying seat!
How happy she who by your side
May share the splendors of that ride!
Ah, if you will not take my hand
And bear me off across the land,
Then, traveller from Arcady,
Remain awhile and comfort me.
What other maiden can you find
So young and delicate and kind?"
Her lips' remark was: "Oh, you kid!"
Her soul spoke thus (I know it did).
poem by Joyce Kilmer
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Dawn
Sun lit glow aglow set the sky'
Space mere shape around me
Earthly body warm awake
Independent of man and choiring crikets
Yet only for them, i would not be here
With the fire of the first sun,
But without anywhere to rest
Cannot stand still or put on hold,
Only wane to end, forever to begin
To light polish sun mirror
With some other fragment of life,
Conceiving day.
poem by Yoonoos Peerbocus
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Anzac Cove
There’s a lonely stretch of hillocks:
There’s a beach asleep and drear:
There’s a battered broken fort beside the sea.
There are sunken trampled graves:
And a little rotting pier:
And winding paths that wind unceasingly.
There’s a torn and silent valley:
There’s a tiny rivulet
With some blood upon the stones beside its mouth.
There are lines of buried bones:
There’s an unpaid waiting debt :
There’s a sound of gentle sobbing in the South.
poem by Leon Gellert
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A Fishing Poem
A Fishing Poem
He was a gentle old man
Who reluctantly spoke
And he’d sit on the pier
And he’d fish and he’d smoke
His eyes and the lines on his face told a tale
While his leathery hands drew the bait from a pale
This man once a lad on this very wharf stood
And he leapt and he shouted as loud as he could
For each tiddler that wriggled on the end of his hook
With excitement and pride he would offer a look
To everyone passing “hey see what I caught”
And he’d show them his fish and he’d ask what they thought
But a lifetime had passed for that excited, fair boy
Many years filled with heartache, discovery and joy
Countless friends that have gone, fortunes both made and lost
And yes lessons were learned but each came at a cost
Now he sits and he lands every fish with such ease
And in silence he packs up each days end and leaves
Many times I’ve fished by him not so close to offend
And I’ve learned from his actions and regard him a friend
Though we speak very little and trade only a nod
And we focus our stare at the end of a rod
One day I’ll replace him in his spot on this pier
At my side another young face will appear
To ask all of the questions, then it will, be my turn
To quietly say “son, just watch and you’ll learn”
poem by Michael Farmer
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leaving Pier 2 (my own version of departure)
it is not easy to leave
Pier 2. First one buys
a ticket, gets a pass.
Then you open your bag before
that security guard
who does not look
like a man at all,
then you take your bag
and sit inside the shuttle
that takes you to another
building. You step down
take your bag again.
Another inspection is
done. You pass by
another door, a detector
of metals and fragments.
You take another bus
again that transports you
to the port of entry where
the boat is about to leave.
You're almost dead when
you arrive at your bed
inside the boat.
Then you discover that
your bag was left at the
bus. It is missing and
your money is there.
Leaving Pier 2 is
really that inconvenient.
You are not wet by
the rain. It has nothing
to do with your bareback
or your taste of salt
as your lips kiss the
sea and be dramatic
to assume that your
lover is finally getting
rid of your body odor.
You are
practically bathing
with your own sweat.
Who cares anyway?
You swear you take
the plane next time.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Pale Blue Eyes
Sometimes I feel so happy
Sometimes I feel so sad
Sometimes I feel so happy
But mostly you just make me mad
Baby, you just make me mad
Linger on your pale blue eyes
Linger on your pale blue eyes
Thought of you as my mountain top
Thought of you as my peak
A thought of you as everything
Ive had, but couldnt keep
Ive had, but couldnt keep
Linger on your pale blue eyes
Linger on your pale blue eyes
Skip a life completely
Stuff it in a cup
They said, money is like us in time
It lies, but cant stand up
Down for you is up
Linger on your pale blue eyes
Linger on your pale blue eyes
It was good what we did yesterday
And Id do it once again
The fact that you are married
Only proves youre my best friend
But its truly, truly a sin
Linger on your pale blue eyes
Linger on your pale blue eyes
If I could make the world as pure
And strange as what I see
Id put you in a mirror
Id put in front of me
Id put in front of me
Linger on your pale blue eyes
Linger on your pale blue eyes
Linger on your pale blue eyes
Linger on your pale blue eyes
Linger on your pale blue eyes
Linger on your pale blue eyes
Linger on your pale blue eyes
Linger on your pale blue eyes
Linger on your pale blue eyes
Linger on your pale blue eyes
Linger on your pale blue eyes
Linger on your pale blue eyes
Linger on your pale blue eyes
Linger on your pale blue eyes
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stoned Immaculate
Ill tell you this...
No eternal reward will forgive us now
For wasting the dawn.
Back in those days everything was simpler and more confused
One summer night, going to the pier
I ran into two young girls
The blonde one was called freedom
The dark one, enterprise
We talked and they told me this story
Now listen to this...
Ill tell you about texas radio and the big beat
Soft driven, slow and mad
Like some new language
Reaching your head with the cold, sudden fury of a divine messenger
Let me tell you about heartache and the loss of god
Wandering, wandering in hopeless night
Out here in the perimeter there are no stars
Out here we is stoned
Immaculate.
song performed by by Doors
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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