Submissions by whale
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
seek and you will find when you search with all your heart
I Am Sunlight
You say the light
Can blind me
As easily as dark
Yet I am
Made by sunlight
As are you
Old adversary
I will cease my war with you
When I am at peace with me
For there is no darkness
Where I am light
Foreword in Rev.Stanley Harbottle's celebrated Histories of Ashoka, published in Andrah Pradesh in 1943 - the year Gandhi completed his 21 day fast.
Can blind me
As easily as dark
Yet I am
Made by sunlight
As are you
Old adversary
I will cease my war with you
When I am at peace with me
For there is no darkness
Where I am light
Foreword in Rev.Stanley Harbottle's celebrated Histories of Ashoka, published in Andrah Pradesh in 1943 - the year Gandhi completed his 21 day fast.
#SelfDiscovery
870 reads
5 Comments
I am No' thern Sea
Tide goes out comes back
But I am no' thern Sea
I am just a stream that flows to the sea
Water that came from ice
And brought na-rud-red down
Carries bodies from the war
And careless garlands of the young
Murmurs to the sea
So much piss and shit
Brooks no laughter
Brooks that laughed at me
No I am not the emerald Sea
Not even the bracken rocks
I'm a stream and
Streams do not go back
Yanaka, from Dust Paths of Dar
Said to have been Rimbaud's lover, writing masi...
But I am no' thern Sea
I am just a stream that flows to the sea
Water that came from ice
And brought na-rud-red down
Carries bodies from the war
And careless garlands of the young
Murmurs to the sea
So much piss and shit
Brooks no laughter
Brooks that laughed at me
No I am not the emerald Sea
Not even the bracken rocks
I'm a stream and
Streams do not go back
Yanaka, from Dust Paths of Dar
Said to have been Rimbaud's lover, writing masi...
#sea
#ArthurRimbaud
825 reads
4 Comments
The Sugar Traders
Squirrels amongst autumnal
Acorns are busy being squirrels
Amongst the wetter leaves
Oh the dogs are young dogs yapping
Down by the levee the market people
Market people
Their children play down the valley
from "The Sugar Traders"
Unknown author, Nantes, France: etched into fragments of a fading facade; trans. Sir William Emerson Bt, 1895
Acorns are busy being squirrels
Amongst the wetter leaves
Oh the dogs are young dogs yapping
Down by the levee the market people
Market people
Their children play down the valley
from "The Sugar Traders"
Unknown author, Nantes, France: etched into fragments of a fading facade; trans. Sir William Emerson Bt, 1895
#animals
855 reads
7 Comments
Peeling Oranges
It was when I saw
That I stood on the palm
Of God's hand
That I got to my knees
To pray
Only when I saw
His other palm
Come to swat me
Did I know
It was time to dance
May Lou Cotton, Boardwalk Ballads of the Bayou, 1929 - 1932
"Why do we always see something as if that's all there is, right up until the moment that we see that it isn't"
"Only thing that made me happier than the scent of an orange was the taste of it"
That I stood on the palm
Of God's hand
That I got to my knees
To pray
Only when I saw
His other palm
Come to swat me
Did I know
It was time to dance
May Lou Cotton, Boardwalk Ballads of the Bayou, 1929 - 1932
"Why do we always see something as if that's all there is, right up until the moment that we see that it isn't"
"Only thing that made me happier than the scent of an orange was the taste of it"
#strength
#courage
#determination
895 reads
6 Comments
You As a Small Child
Do you want the answer to that question
Then go in to yourself
Until you find yourself as a small child
Looking back at yourself
And then beg of that child the answer
Who am I that I am
When this who am I changes
Who remains
Great Drum, Myth and Psychology When the West was Lost - it had been my desire to discover where the journey had taken me and how far from where I'd begun
Then go in to yourself
Until you find yourself as a small child
Looking back at yourself
And then beg of that child the answer
Who am I that I am
When this who am I changes
Who remains
Great Drum, Myth and Psychology When the West was Lost - it had been my desire to discover where the journey had taken me and how far from where I'd begun
#childhood
965 reads
18 Comments
Red Sun Over City in Autumn
Time is not a linear progression. It's a necessary fiction giving succour of a before or an after; a contract of consensus. Being present, the beingness bubbles and leaps abound. Being present is the awesome phenomenon of letting go of expectation and the silver filagree of common memory. Presence becomes a filament; a breach in the dream.
When the red cloud covered my city, each asked silently, "What if the world ended now!"
The mother cozied her dying father, the drunk ran home and the baker let the bread burn.
Once it had passed, our world had changed forever.
...
When the red cloud covered my city, each asked silently, "What if the world ended now!"
The mother cozied her dying father, the drunk ran home and the baker let the bread burn.
Once it had passed, our world had changed forever.
...
#city
#cars
#humankind
#WritingPoetry
#SelfDiscovery
901 reads
6 Comments
PEARLS
Spring or fall
Fall or spring
How deep and
Irresistible is the ocean
Waiting prostrate
Rivers run to her from ice tops
In oily back streets
Shuckers find pearls
But never her
Mighty is the ocean
And our wine sweet
And tall masts in the harbour
Are trees on the sea
And we'll sip on the sweet
And sit by the shore
Wharf water gold as honey
Where the white yachts moor
The ocean is the mother
Without her the earth is dust
Her virtues are legion
The reason for all seasons ...
Fall or spring
How deep and
Irresistible is the ocean
Waiting prostrate
Rivers run to her from ice tops
In oily back streets
Shuckers find pearls
But never her
Mighty is the ocean
And our wine sweet
And tall masts in the harbour
Are trees on the sea
And we'll sip on the sweet
And sit by the shore
Wharf water gold as honey
Where the white yachts moor
The ocean is the mother
Without her the earth is dust
Her virtues are legion
The reason for all seasons ...
#trees
#sea
#water
#nature
#StreamOfConsciousness
910 reads
10 Comments
HARE
How my raw palms twitch
In sun's last tingle
No one knows
I'm here
Not gulls-a-gossiping
Not coal cloud clusters or oaken shadows
The railway and the salt road
Knew me
Entombed in lost and found
Enrobed in memory
Encased in the mirror
In the room marked Gents
Or cut on glass on the bar room floor
Hare Hare Hare
Who's gazing at the harvest moon
Who now runs with the deer
Who's chomping the still fresh green
In this summer's last tingle
A lucky lucky hare ...
In sun's last tingle
No one knows
I'm here
Not gulls-a-gossiping
Not coal cloud clusters or oaken shadows
The railway and the salt road
Knew me
Entombed in lost and found
Enrobed in memory
Encased in the mirror
In the room marked Gents
Or cut on glass on the bar room floor
Hare Hare Hare
Who's gazing at the harvest moon
Who now runs with the deer
Who's chomping the still fresh green
In this summer's last tingle
A lucky lucky hare ...
#confusion
920 reads
10 Comments
GRACE
Trauma is caused by grief
The loss of one you love
Or a love
Grace died before she was born
In her mother's belly
And I sung to her corpse
As we held her in the birthing pool
And I loved because I knew her
And all she'd done
And we put her in a shoe box
In the tiny clothes we'd bought
And slept four nights beside her
While her outsides and my insides
Became hard and cold
And I buried that box
These twenty years or so
And hated myself
That I hadn't saved her
And I should have saved her ...
The loss of one you love
Or a love
Grace died before she was born
In her mother's belly
And I sung to her corpse
As we held her in the birthing pool
And I loved because I knew her
And all she'd done
And we put her in a shoe box
In the tiny clothes we'd bought
And slept four nights beside her
While her outsides and my insides
Became hard and cold
And I buried that box
These twenty years or so
And hated myself
That I hadn't saved her
And I should have saved her ...
#PopCulture
1108 reads
19 Comments
CYMBAL
In the season of apples
In the city of chapels
I am the bristle of your brush the stroke of your arm on the canvas of your eye
Painting the sky with my clouds
My grey words and white words
What white clouds or grey
Can unsettle the sky
Words just not sounds sounds not just words sound just words sound just
Tears before a happy ever after
Or a laughter that grows as beer flows
Or a candle that glowed
Brightest before cold blown by night
So raise a flag hold hands anoint lamb in myrtle and other symbols ...
In the city of chapels
I am the bristle of your brush the stroke of your arm on the canvas of your eye
Painting the sky with my clouds
My grey words and white words
What white clouds or grey
Can unsettle the sky
Words just not sounds sounds not just words sound just words sound just
Tears before a happy ever after
Or a laughter that grows as beer flows
Or a candle that glowed
Brightest before cold blown by night
So raise a flag hold hands anoint lamb in myrtle and other symbols ...
#love
#dreams
#crush
#StreamOfConsciousness
#LookingForLove
889 reads
6 Comments
HOMECOMING
No worry friend
What matters when
This Journey is a Homecoming
Where you'll find you
Spinning with open arms and tears of joy
At the End
You spirited wanderer
Controlling neither seas nor wind
Yet ceaselessly easing
Haul avast haul avast
Steady as she goes
And so she breathes
Without fear of the beasts below
And you brave monk in rainrise robes
Did your self immolation
Your burnt offering of self
And ashes sowed
Rune the fields of glory
Or your hands ...
What matters when
This Journey is a Homecoming
Where you'll find you
Spinning with open arms and tears of joy
At the End
You spirited wanderer
Controlling neither seas nor wind
Yet ceaselessly easing
Haul avast haul avast
Steady as she goes
And so she breathes
Without fear of the beasts below
And you brave monk in rainrise robes
Did your self immolation
Your burnt offering of self
And ashes sowed
Rune the fields of glory
Or your hands ...
#spiritual
956 reads
4 Comments
MAYFLY
The Burj Khalifa not the sun
Eclipses the moon
And Burj Arab not a dhow
Night sails to Iran
Nothing really is real
Yet it's still over
Nothing to distill
Nothing to mull over
Yet I wish you were here
An other to hold
A warmth my dear
When the nothing is cold
So I'll name all your names
A riot of kisses call your name
A roof top screaming
As if it was September
And there's nothing my dear
Nothing to hold onto
With this nothing to hold onto
I may fall I may fly
Eclipses the moon
And Burj Arab not a dhow
Night sails to Iran
Nothing really is real
Yet it's still over
Nothing to distill
Nothing to mull over
Yet I wish you were here
An other to hold
A warmth my dear
When the nothing is cold
So I'll name all your names
A riot of kisses call your name
A roof top screaming
As if it was September
And there's nothing my dear
Nothing to hold onto
With this nothing to hold onto
I may fall I may fly
#love
#strength
#courage
#heartbroken
#meditation
1001 reads
8 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by whale