Itau

The aroma of romance,
The aroma of passion,
The aroma of love;
But the big ship sailing on the high sea was caught up by the great storm! !
And, i gave way and let myself drift.

The ship's lifeboat,
Off the north coast of Africa! !
But kiss my lips if you truly love me;
For, i am Itau from the land of peace,
And, i am ready to love you as well.

Performed,
Quietness,
Kiss me if you love me;
For, i always have you in mind from the very first day that we met.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Clacking Home From High School In My Rugby Cleats

Clacking home from high school
in my rugby cleats, metallic castanets
clicking like crickets on the cement sidewalk,
battered, soiled, blessed. The anger
expurgated by violent body contact.
Knees, green, bleeding. Grass stains,
mud. My black and gold-striped jersey,
a wasp. I'd see them, on their backs,
perfectly intact, the filaments of
their black legs extended like oars,
delicate fossils of tv aerials,
looking for better reception in death
out in the open. Death, are you
still vulnerable? -scuttled lifeboats
where anyone could crush them,
the mysterious beetles, heritage jewellery
that seem to die for no reason.
An old woman drops a brooch.

Iridescent greens and pigeon pinks,

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poem by Patrick White
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A Song of Brave Men

Man, is the Sea your master? Sea, and is man your slave? –
This is the song of brave men who never know they are brave:
Ceaselessly watching to save you, stranger from foreign lands,
Soundly asleep in your state room, full sail for the Goodwin Sands!
Life is a dream, they tell us, but life seems very real,
When the lifeboat puts out from Ramsgate, and the buggers put out from Deal!

A gun from the lightship! – a rocket! – a cry of, "Turn out, me lad!"
"Ship on the Sands!" they're shouting, and a rush of the oilskin-clad.
The lifeboat leaping and swooping, in the wake of the fighting tug,
And the luggers afloat in Hell's water – Oh, "tourist", with cushion and rug! –
Think of the freezing fury, without one minute's relief,
When they stood all night in the blackness by the wreck of the Indian Chief!

Lashed to their seats, and crouching, to the spray that froze as it flew,
Twenty-six hours in midwinter! That was the lifeboat's crew.
Twice she was swamped, and she righted, in the rush of the heavy seas,
And her tug was mostly buried; but these were common things, these.
And the luggers go out whenever there's a hope to get them afloat,
And these things they do for nothing, and those fishermen say, "Oh! it's nowt!"

[...] Read more

poem by Henry Lawson
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You Read My Poetry

You read my poetry
and you need a locus,
something to hang on to,
a familiar milieu, a focus,
right ascension and declination,
a starmap and astrolabe,
and the usual pictures painted
on the lens of the usual telescope.
If I had wanted you to follow me
I would have dropped breadcrumbs,
I would have spray-bombed the trees
an adolescent cadmium red
to show you where the road goes.
I may have been pulled like a weed
from the garden of Eden
and tossed to the wilder side of things,
a meteor among boundary stones,
but that doesn't mean my darkness is tar,
or all these stars are a kind of quicksand
you're sinking through like a sculptor

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poem by Patrick White
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Paddling My Own Canoe

I need somebody to pick up the phone,
I'm in such pain and suffering alone,
It's an s.o.s. from across the pond,
Don't think about answering, just respond.

I feel cast adrift with no sign of land,
'Neath ripcurls of sadness, at their command,
So launch the lifeboat with skipper and crew,
For in such a tempest, armbands won't do.

I've tried my damnest to weather this storm,
Pursuing this dream in it's contorted form,
Hauling around some dutibound anchor,
Swallowing whole my internal rancor.

But rescue's not llikely, it's sink or swim,
Sorry to tell you, the forecast is grim.

poem by Greg Costello
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Careful Surfer

I am a careful surfer
I'm watchful where I go;
I slide around in cyber-space
Gently - nice and slow.

I'm careful who I take on board
Along my cyber way;
Some I leave in lifeboats
To find their own sweet way.

But it's great this cyber-surfing,
I never ever dreamed
Of all this interaction with
Whomever up I teamed.

But careful is the watchword
Those bugs are on our tail;
Hold your vessel steady, as
In cyber-space you sail.

[...] Read more

poem by John Carter Brown
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Rescued!

Seas...rough, the sky…lightening and thunder
Charts...unclear, choices made led to blunder
The sailing ship My Life was going under

Scow number one wouldn't stay on course
She drifted away from me, back to her source
Away, away she blew, fast as a wild horse

Next, I climbed aboard dinghy number two
Maintaining her, more than I could attend to
No favorable wind, the voyage went askew

Safe and secure in lifeboat number three
No longer foundering amongst the debris
Fleeing the devil and the deep blue sea

Her trajectory was true and it did not falter
Rescued! Safe on my Rock of Gibraltar
Scuttlebutt is; I'm taking her to the altar

poem by Charles Hancock
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Cartoon Physics, Part 1

Children under, say, ten, shouldn't know
that the universe is ever-expanding,
inexorably pushing into the vacuum, galaxies

swallowed by galaxies, whole

solar systems collapsing, all of it
acted out in silence. At ten we are still learning

the rules of cartoon animation,

that if a man draws a door on a rock
only he can pass through it.
Anyone else who tries

will crash into the rock. Ten-year-olds
should stick with burning houses, car wrecks,
ships going down -- earthbound, tangible

disasters, arenas

[...] Read more

poem by Nick Flynn
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Chrysalis

Livingness, held in place,
projects the image of a face.
The face itself no more form has
than moon on water or shade on glass.
Yet fathers forth both tears and laughter,
a story of before and after,
which sports itself upon Life’s waters
until the blood–beat rhythm, strangely, falters.

Then, tears and laughter, livingness and face
stumble here and lose their place.
And all things human are here unmanned
at the granite doorway into no-man’s land.

Say, at this parting of the way
where all things hurt you,
what have you learned to pray
that will not desert you?

Here, where you find you are quite deaf and dumb,

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poem by Brian Taylor
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Leif Erikson

She says it helps with the lights out
Her rabid glow is like braille to the night.
She swears I'm a slave to the details
But if your life is such a big joke, why should I care?
The clock is set for nine but you know you're gonna make it eight.
So that you two can take some time,
teach each other to reciprocate.
She feels that my sentimental side should be held with kid gloves
But she doesn't know that I left my urge in the icebox
She swears I'm just prey to the female,
Well then hook me up and throw me,
baby cakes, cuz I like to get hooked.
The clock is set for nine but you know you're gonna make it eight.
All the people that you've loved
they're all bound to leave some keepsakes.
I've been swinging all the time,
think it's time to learn your way.
I picture you and me together in the jungle it would be ok.
I'll bring you when my lifeboat sails through the night
That is supposing that you don't sleep tonight

[...] Read more

song performed by Interpol
Added by Lucian Velea
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Souls Together

Lonely as the wind i reach
Like a falling climber for you
Desperate pumping heart
Waiting to hit the ground
Without a sound
I scream inside and nobody hears
-But you.
Two souls as one i lay in the night
My gaze fixed on black
Where you once breathed close to me
Your eyes a beacon to my soul
A lifeboat in a deaperate sea
Where nobody sees me
-Please rescue me
Then you
You hear my thoughts still
And now as i wake from a dream
Sinking when you're not there
I feel your orgasmic touch
On my naked skin

[...] Read more

poem by Kevin East
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Cascais Portugal

Cascais, Portugal.

First day of summer both winter and spring, full of rain; we are visiting her mother’s
resting place, a hole in a wall with a glass door that has a flimsy lock; easy to break in to
but who would want too? Her mother, born in Kinshasa, Congo, but upheaval forced
her to leave; now she rests in Cascais, Portugal far from her native land. The bible on
top of the coffin is full of tiny holes soon the book will be a pile of dust

While my wife pray I go for a walk, beautiful day and Cascais has a lovely bay. There are
sailboats and a few yachts in the bay one of them belongs to Prince Albert of Monaco,
he likes Portugal, the local paper enthuses. Indeed, aren’t we lucky? She joins me, says
“I don’t like boats and I don’t like the sea, my first husband took me on a sailing trip in
lake Lugarno, I was so sick they had to set me ashore.” We turn our back to the bay,
her mother and walk back to the car.

I remember a winter night in the North Atlantic Ocean, giant waves came crashing on
deck taking the railing and lifeboats away. Three ships sank that night with irrelevant
cargo onboard. No survivors. “Yes dear, the sea is a monster if it doesn’t takes your
body it takes your soul.”

poem by Oskar Hansen
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Run Silent,run Deep

(harris/dickinson)
The convoy lights are dead ahead
The merchantmen lay in their bed
The thump of diesels hammers down
In the oily sea-the killing ground
His knuckles white his eyes alight
He slams the hatch on the deadly night
A cunning fox in the chickens lair
A hound of hell and the devil dont care
Chorus
Runing silent,runing deep,we are your final prayer
Warriors in secret sleep,a merchantmans nightmare
A silent death lies awaiting,for all of you below
Running silent,running deep,sink into your silent sleep
Chill the hearts of fighting men
In open ocean wondering when?
The lethal silver fish will fly
The boat will shiver-men will die
A cast of millions-a part to play
Killer? victim? or fool for a day

[...] Read more

song performed by Iron Maiden
Added by Lucian Velea
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North Atlantic Sea

The North Atlantic Sea raged bitter cold
as a convoy of ships sailed swiftly as could be.
A wolf pack of submarines
were waiting somewhere
beneath the cold waters there.
Everyone scanned the icy waters
for some tell tale sign
as the merchant navy steamed on.
A destroyer was their bodyguard
in case trouble flared.
The sky’s clouds were grey
and filled with snow and followed them
into the eastern horizon.
Suddenly an enormous explosion
lit up the sky.
A U-boat had hit a target
and many brave men
were heading for a watery grave.
The destroyer raced towards the stricken ship
as another explosion rocked the sea.

[...] Read more

poem by David Harris
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Not Again, Tonight, These Fin de Siecle Blues

Not again, tonight, these fin de siecle blues
that subsume all my blossoming overviews
into the mystic specificity of concrete things
I stub my heart against as if I'd just had
a head on collision with the moon. Impact.
Emotional meteor showers, the Virginids, perhaps,
I'm being stoned by my own congenital radiants
as if I were being driven out of somewhere
like an extinct species. Bad memories, lifeboats
that didn't make it back to shore, things I've tried
to mythologize like a shipwreck in coral on the moon.
Subtle childhood fears that run my tongue along
the shadows of their blades, when I was scared and young,
and the words would come out like drops of blood
sliding down the length of the stargrass I grazed upon
alone as now in my high wide starfields.
The same ones that are seeking me out tonight
like a rogue planet that's never quite known
where it's belonged, or with whom, if anyone
or where at all. Looking for an exit sign

[...] Read more

poem by Patrick White
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God Asked Noah

Before the world was drenched in shame
Ere Satan reigned in man
The Father Son and Holy Flame
Wrote down salvation’s plan

Then God told man to build a boat
In faith to walk inside
But only eight were kept afloat
All unbelievers died

“I thank You Lord for saving me
For I was drowning too
From certain death You’ve set me free
And gave me life anew

Allow me in Your boat to sail
I’ve heard my Saviour’s call
In Christ I know I’ll never fail
Nor from Your grace will fall

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poem by Michael P. Johnson
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Every Morning Of The Moment, A New Creation

Every morning of the moment, a new creation,
the distillation of the dreams of the night before
when the moon was as fertile as the dew we were born from.
I start out each day with a new face. By nightfall
it's just another phase of the same old ageless deathmask,
heavier than a bell that's been talking through my mouth
for more light years than I've got tears to measure in mirrors.
That's usually when I start thinking like a potato about stars.
Blood sugars in my mindstream ripening me like a vision
I'll only ever get to see backstage like a forlorn clown
trying to hang on to his faith in laughter.

You can pursue happiness, but it will only
run from you like the light, or you can cover your eyes
and try to avoid it for fear of losing it like the last time,
but when you turn around, it's right behind you,
flirting with your shadow. Better to let it come and go
of its own accord, like a waterbird in a moonrise
reflected on a lake. Then when you speak of things
you increasingly know less about the more

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poem by Patrick White
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Halo Of Flies

I've got the answers
To all of your questions
If you've got the money
To pay me in gold

I will be living
In old Monte Carlo
And you will be reading
The secrets I sold

Daggers and contacts
And bright shiny limos
I've got a watch
That turns into a lifeboat

Glimmering nightgowns
And poisonous cobras
Silencer under the heel of my shoe

The elegance of China

[...] Read more

song performed by Alice Cooper from Definitive
Added by Lucian Velea
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When The Geriatric Drunk Next Door

When the geriatric drunk next door who was
raising chihuahuas to make a living,
but couldn't part with one them when it came time to sell
came over one day in my childhood,
shaking like an aspen leaf in the fall,
going through withdrawal, to ask if he could borrow
a few bucks, I watched my mother give him five
of the last ten she had to raise four kids
for half of the rest of the month before
the next welfare check arrived, and say,
Here. Don't hurt yourself. Something to ease the pain.
Though she didn't drink and he'd been drinking too long
to turn the herd that had trampled him around.

She didn't judge. She didn't try to give advice.
She didn't belittle the man in the way she gave.
She didn't count how much the giving took off her plate.
She wasn't indulging her progressive, liberal, altruism.
She wasn't breaking loaves and fishes on a hillside
or trying to win a popular election.

[...] Read more

poem by Patrick White
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O My Mother, O My Father

O my mother, O my father,
I stand at this Y in the road,
the hybrid son of an angel and a demon,
two halves of the same chromosome
splitting like the left side of my brain
as a squad car took, you, my father, to jail,
and you, my mother, my right half,
were rushed in an ambulance,
a bruised and battered rose to emergency
as if you'd just barely survived
a hailstorm of meters intent
on making your species extinct.
And it was hard to tell if flesh of my flesh
blood of my blood meant the same as
flesh upon flesh with a dull thud
upon the untempered anvil of a child's heart,
or not. So is it any wonder
when you split the atom that day between you
like Charles Manson and Mother Theresa
and our nuclear family turned out to be

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poem by Patrick White
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