I’m a fucking Hurricane
and you’re the coast of Florida.
I’m the Ocean exploding over Sea-walls
and blasting winds throwing showers of Salt down with waterfalls of rain.
I hope you know how to swim,
Because if you don’t,
you’re going to be drowned and battered
into the hull of a ship
Or buried in an instant
beneath 900 tons of water.
I’m going to fill your lungs
and pull you out to me,
where in a seascape of such immensity
and glorious horrifying Augustial fear
blended with a sky of
Saintly blue-grey smears and Lividus hues,
a soul shaking battle of light and Darkness,
the last thing you will see
In every direction
as far as you can see
Pulling you into my depths,
Beneath the waves.
2 Comments | tags: florida, hurricane, ocean, original poem, original poems, original poetry, poetry, sea, water, waves | posted in Uncategorized
I spoke with God today,
Out in the Ocean off of Brigantine New Jersey specifically,
near the south jetty.
God said storm clouds
and sheets of rain,
Whipping West winds and swells high as trees.
God said seagulls hung in the slate-gray sky
like kites over the Ocean
And blasts of arctic spray on my back,
and the Taste
of salt in my mouth.
I said tears and hoots
wordless howls and hollers.
I laughed and coughed up lungfulls of that batismal water
and let those winds rip through my salt-stiff hair.
I gave my body to the water
I let it throw me and bury me
Destroy me, if that was what God desired.
Yet God said a wet Marco stumbling out onto the beach,
smiling like a lunatic.
God happened to be eating at the same pinelands barbecue pit as I,
for I saw God in the faces of old wrinkled laughing African-American men and women,
and in the children playing in the sandy parking lot
among the pine cones and dried needles.
I saw God again that night, in the light of the setting sun
reflecting off of the sign for Route 40
and in the fireworks in the summer night
Exploding over the Pine Barrens
and in a flipped over Jeep on the side of the road,
flaming and spitting out smoke.
It’s been some kind of day
3 Comments | tags: children, god, New Jersey, ocean, ocean poem, ocean poetry, original poem, original poems, original poetry, originalpoetry.org, Poem, poetry, route 40, seagulls, water, waves | posted in Uncategorized
I Open my Eyes. The Sky is gray. Rain is wet against me. Wind Howls down empty streets. Hurricane.
I Open my Eyes. I see the World. Hear the distant Roar of the Ocean. Feel the rain. Smell the Sea. Taste Fear.
I Open my Eyes. Step into Liquid, cold. Cold. Cold like ice. Feel the Rain and Feel the Life racing through me.
I Open my Eyes. I See the World.
2 Comments | tags: cold, cold cold cold, distant roar, eyes, fear, ice, nature, nature poetry, ocean, open eyes, original poetry, originalpoetry.org, Poem, poems, poetry, sea, self discovery, sky, water, weather, wind, world | posted in Uncategorized
Walking into a land of mystery,
You never know what you’ll find here.
It is a place where things go bump in the night.
A place where you stumble across contrasts.
A place that contains three phenomenons:
Water, fire, serenity.
What is this place you ask?
1 Comment | tags: a forest, ask, bump, environment, find, fire, forest, here, know, land, land of mystery, mystery, nature, night, original poetry, originalpoetry.org, outdoors, place, Poem, poems, poetry, science, serenity, stumble, three, travel, vacation, water | posted in Uncategorized
Ocean Bird soars
past gates and Doors
Past ports and towns,
Past smiles and frowns
Over the World’s troubles
Gliding effortless and subtle
In the strobe of the light
Of Sunshine morning, Glory flight
Ocean Bird soars
Past dark shadowed Moors,
Past caves by the coasts
Over lonely Ghosts
Out to the Sea
Of Joyous uncertainty,
Ocean Bird soars
To Heavenly lures
Past the dark storm cloud,
Past the Mean-eyed crowd
Past the dangerous waters
Till white snow covers
The Docks and the piers
And the daylight clears
Every cloud from the Skies
Opening up the Wanderer’s Eyes,
Ocean Bird soars
With a Soul so Pure!
Past the white-capped foam,
He’s found a Home
Leave a comment | tags: bird, bird soars, cloud, coast, crowd, dangerous waters, dark storm, docks, doors, effortless, eyes, flight, foam, gates, ghost, home, light, lures, moors, ocean, ocean bird, originalpoetry.org, poetry, pure, sky, smiles, snow, soars, storm cloud, sunshine, sunshine morning, towns, water, world | posted in Uncategorized
In a Great Wood that is mysterious and old, and unfathomably large, There is a stream that wanders through It’s heart into the very Deepest, most gloomy part Where the air is still and the trees are ancient And the sunlight sifts through the mossy boughs and the Water seems to twinkle and glow As it softly washes the stones in the stream and runs gently over the Forest floor, and in this Archaic Wood of untold lore, deep within it’s mystic core The moss grows thick and Wild beasts live in the dense Labyrinth and almost a sense of Enchantment is conjured in this secret place where time is never wasted, never hastened but the passage of Time is difficult to measure in this Otherworldly treasure, a timeless and Beautiful Wood of forgetfulness. In these Woods there is a Wanderer who is seldom seen and he drinks from the stream that wind down the Forest floor, and he is a friend to the flora and Fauna and carries with him a Supernatural aura And knows not where he is going. He appears in the gloom beside a tree and disappears in the shade without a trace but the sounds of the Forest echo with his laughter and where he goes Nobody knows, the sounds of the stream become his voice, gaily singing to the Beasts and the Trees And he is not Lost but has found his way In the maze of the Pathless Wood and there he spends his days in the eternal twilit, eerie haze, Dancing into the ageless Forest. He cannot be seen by those who look to find him, Appearing at twilight as a shadowy sight humming softly in the firefly lit night, and fading away quietly and gay out of sight, Into the still Forest air until the Sun is set and he does not Let the Darkness scare him, For He is at Peace with the fiercest Beast and the Creatures of Fear. To Him the Black is clear as day, For the Wanderer has found his way. In this Ancient Wood where the stream flows Pure and Bubbles and gleams and the Forest seems an Indescribably beautiful, Vivified dream, I walked alone, and I was Lost. The Spirits of the Woodland Trees beckoning and calling me but I could not see, for it was dark and they were hidden by Leaves and Bark, and I was all alone and No light shone to show me the way, and I was Afraid. Sitting upon the massive roots among luscious moss and fork-tongued newts of a living wooden Giant, I closed my Eyes and there I lay at the feet of a Tree and I realized that although I could not see, my ears could discern from the voices of the Swallow and the Turn, the sound of Lighthearted laughter. Beside the stream, so pure and clean, There was a Wandering figure in a Dimly lit grove nestled among a fresh grassy clove of herbs and sweet flowers and the Forests patient, deliberate powers Drew me towards him. He was not afraid and he showed me the Way past Beast and Shadow and through the Dark places and the sad, Worn faces of forgotten memories, and he was my Guide, and by his side There was no longer any need to Hide, For the Blackness was emptied of Hate and filled with a Peace that Transcends the least significant of Worries And the Night was a place where Souls take flight and Soar above the forest Floor and alight among the starlit stream High Above the sleeping World.
Leave a comment | tags: air, beats, beautiful, darkness, enchantment, fauna, forest, giant, gloom, hate, heart, labyrinth, large, lore, nobody, poetry, sleeping, stream, sunlight, supernatural, timeless, trees, wanderer, water, wood, worries | posted in Uncategorized