A ship to commit to memory - poetry
Hammers. Timbers. Iron. Steel.
They're laying down a mighty keel.
As ant-like personnel bustle round
I hear a truly enthralling sound.
And as she rises midst the swarm
I see the beauty of her form.
(He has no soul who cannot see
How I am affected to call her "she". )
And then, 'a sudden, she's a ship!
She waltzes down that mighty slip.
Then, in the water, no splash, mind,
This lady floats. Oh! How refined!
Southampton docks: I want to feel,
And touch, and taste the British steel!
Palatial, and dignified too.
(There was no like in Xanadu. )
The passengers, the crew, all we
Are safe aboard, so out to sea.
The cheers, the midget well-wish fleet,
That siren deck beneath my feet!
A jewelled city, in the night,
From shame, the very stars took flight.
Her mighty speed seemed but a creep,
So steady that she seemed asleep.
Indeed the city slept. A few
Remained awake, they by and large crew,
To feed the rav'nous boilers' maw,
To bake the bread, sort mail, and more.
I approximately dozed and wished my bed,
"Iceberg!", "Iceberg! Dead ahead!"
With straining engines, rotating wheel,
She strove to change direction her amazing keel
And almost, almost, but, not quite --
A straining shrieking rent the night
And rent her hull. (I took no fright. )
'Twas but a glancing blow", I think,
She will not, cannot, must not sink!
But down below the decks, unseen:
In sneaks the ocean cold and keen.
And as up each steel wall it grows
It reaches top, and overflows.
Boats are lowered. Ah! Sad few.
"Women and babes first!", shout the crew.
A panicked man, in dressing-gown:
"My God! My God! She's going down!"
"Nearer my God, to thee how near".
The band plays on, to calm the fear.
"You've done your duty, lads, now go. "
But does the music stop? Oh no.
A eager prayer to He who saves
As down she slips beneath the waves.
Then those dreadful screams.
(I every now and then hear them in my dreams. )
Next morn, upon that sorrowed billow
A wreath, a chair, a toy, a pillow.
No souls, the souls are all asleep.
I stand in silent prayer, and weep.
Patrick Lockerby - March 2005
Born 1946, London, England.
Key Largo - Frater Albertus
Key Largo:The fans turn idly in front of the doorThey open wide presentation mangroves galoreAn egret in the everglades stalks its preyHaltingly it walks along its wayOn a further brainy and sunny dayA woman's floppy hat shades her beauty not so brittleThe silky scarf that holds the hat flutters just a littleShe pauses in the threshold of the doorSurveying what she's looking forShe is looking arranged at meHer beauty flaunted all to see.'Where are you from?' while noticing I had a frownOn the other couch she in a classy manner sits downIn the small hotel lobby bar'A city north and very far.
Poetry and Common Culture
Is poetry too complex for the be in the region of reader? Is it too cryptic, scholarly? If you ask a large group of arithmetic mean associates what they like or don't like about poetry, you'll get a few atypical answers, but there is an devastatingly collective kind of responses.One of the main reasons that colonize say they aren't addicted to contemporary poetry is that they feel it is too cryptic.
I AM SO Appreciative for simpler times. Stores were congested on Sundays, TV shows seemed to make more sense, Family members spent ample time with each other, And associates were valued more than things.
I Hate The Wait (Weight)
I get up in the morningAnd want to stay in bedOh, so nice and warmLike fresh from the oven bread.My day is oh so busyI wish that I could stayIn the quiet of my houseIf only I could play.
In the Mountans of Haiti [A Poem: in English and Spanish]
In the Mountains of Haiti(In the City)-July is a hot month-sweating Poverty out on every street (In Port de Prince); mixingMemory with ask causes stirring. Not much rain in Haiti (in 1986); Summer kept us busy, building A medicinal clinic, in the mountains?.
You can do and you can be whatever you want. You have the power, and the right, to make the changes.
Three Poems and Paradise Lost [One for Hell, One for Heaven one for an Inca King]
The Fast-moving water of HellHell's furnace- Likened to a chimney Vomits her torrents Of flames- Into the air Through earths crust And the earth's trembles-!Agitated, she projects A thick curtain of smoke To heat the feet of those Who provoke her every wish. Like molten iron She waits for the soul(the moment) Then molds, into her enclosure Human serpents? Out of savage flesh!No storm, no struggle No eruption, no typhoon, Just a terrible phenomenon, Hell is able of producing; And upon death, Back into the Abyss They melt!.
A Hundred and Fifty Dead [Korean War--l952]
There I sat, ninety-five gradation weatherOutside; the bookstore café, was cool.An Old Timer stood by me, explaining:"There were two-hundred of us on the Island,Near North Korea, back in '52-We guarded 16,000-prisners?"All of a sudden, all hell broke looseThree-hundred North Koreans cameOver the bob-wired fence, in pursuit"It all happened in a affair of secondsThe machineguns killed 150-of themThat's all I saw in the war of '52.
Three Poems: Dona Leonors Revenge; The Old Moon; Customary Sides [All in Spanish/all in English]
1) Doņa Leonor's Revenge [1627 AD]Rafael Ortiz's fate Was on the plate Of Doņa Leonor'sWhen she arrived In Lima, Peru; To taste revengeFor the beheading Of her husband. And so the plot?was now played out (in an alleyway) As she devastated her trout!In SpanishTranslated by Nancy PenalozaLa leyenda de: La venganza de doņa Leonor (1627 después de cristo)El destino de Rafael Ortiz Estaba sobre el plato De doņa Leonor.
The Valley Of Pain
We were exiled from the Patch of Eden. Its sinless wonders nevermore to regain.
An Old Wood Pile [a poem with notes]
Old skin, once held tight Against her skeleton- Rose no more, just draped Loosely over unpadded flesh; Un-tightened muscles, and tissue, Lost its courage, no-fortitude-, Gone are the days and years That stood aligned with the Indomitable elements; The skeleton, now a landmark Hidden under flesh and blood Guts and moral fiber, backbone? Collapsed from drudgery Time, time: cascading inside-. Bones now exit impressions Accepting fate Like imperfect silver!.
Listen as I Share: WE
You speak simple, completley understandable justifications I admiration them, abide by you, honor what you tell me and even despite the fact that I know where you're appearance from, I just sought to share with you, let you hear: my heart..
Mechanical Poetry - Part Three
Have you ever read the lyrics of a Simon and Garfunkle song? Pure poetry. Want to write poems like that? Start doubling-up them.
A World That Doesnt Care
War bombs may explode demolishing man and land. Hurricanes may devastate and leave us completely bare.
Ed Gallagher Dec. 11, 1907 - Sept.
The Poets Angle [Three Poems with a review]
The Poet's Corner [Three poem/ see appraisal of poetry under the poems]The Poets CondorThe condor fly's Amongst the hillsIn open skies Of San Jerrķnimo, Near Huancayo?Forbidding any To near his path-Lest he dare To risk a attack, Near Huancayo!..
Truth is stranger than fiction according to many ancestors who have seen what happens about me and to them, on many occasions. Every so often I have had others assume me in the same way.
Two Poems, with Metaphoric Language
Says Mr. Dennis Siluk, when asked to assess his poetry somewhat, for he hesitates all the time when I ask him to so; I can tell you.
Hindu Poet - Kamalakanta
Kamalakanta was born in Burdwan India in the late 18th Century. From an early age he articulated an appeal in holiness and later in life Kamalakanta customary commencement into Tantric Yoga from a Tantric yogi named Kenaram Bhattacharya.
A Dose of Laughter
I'm not well. Can't you tell? Kinda low, so, give me a dose of laughter.
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