Ocean Heal Me
Ocean Heal Me
Ocean heal my wounds
Ocean renew me with your power
Ocean keep me warm
Ocean disperse my tears
Ocean let me grow in your depths
Ocean your spray anoints me
Ocean be my friend
Ocean, heal me.
© 1983 Susan Bacon
Susan Bacon is a researcher, author and teacher. You can contact her through http://www.ecoentrepreneur.org
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Two Poems with Triggers [and a commentary]
So Many Einstein'sThe morning mist, insists there is a God. The earth remains faithful to its orbit.
Breathing-in, Minnesota [a poem: now in Spanish and English]
In early fall, in Minnesota, the rain falls, falls, In buckets, buckets and more buckets-: drops Likened to music from its many streams-land Of ten-thousand lakes; moistened gravel, gravel Everywhere?Grandpa sits on the porch-daydreaming of, of Something, perhaps winter around the corner-; As the flies disappear, with the mosquitoes? Leaves will soon vanish, shadows will come earlyMaybe he's thinking about summer: miles and miles And miles and miles of cornfields; his childhood now Long gone, he hums a hymn, a song; looking at the Metal-piped fence, he made, with three poles, on the Embankment, leading up the steps to the porch; It's worn-out like him.The winds in Minnesota smell fresh, fresh from all The foliage, there's a lot of it.
The King and Delka & Moiromma: the Cold Planet [Parts 25 and 26]
#25The King and Delka [Split Mawkishness-on Moiromma /Part V]Sickly SentimentalityI have sought out friends Only to find rawness Of their passion; And the uniformity Of their vision.Who out there can know My cerebral verve?(Only the long dead)By King Moir I[Of Moiromma]Ah! the aimless cosmos come back to his mind as he stands on his balcony looking up into he eerie dark.
Biography of Charlotte Bronte
Charlotte Bronte (1816 -1855) Novelist and Poet.Charlotte was the daughter of the Rev.
Three Love Poems [all wicked]
Advance: Mr. Dennis Siluk's poetry can have its fire-hearted twists: as with 'Lovers'.
JOINEDHeart beat of man pounding - yet unheard joined becomes the beat of a nation.Words of man written - yet unread joined becomes a proclamation.
Rhymes of an Ordnance Man [Vietnam War: 1971]
Rhymes of an Ordnance Man [Vietnam War: 1971]An eleven part poem By Dennis L. SilukI had went to Vietnam at the age of 23 , and it was most interesting, there were 205,000 troops there when I arrived.
Never Ever More
Once upon a midnight dreary, coffee cold and vision bleary, all night sat there writing COBOL, coding spread across the bed sheets, changing syntax for the mainframe, having checked my final line, I took the floppy from the drive.Typing with a steady hand, I then invoked the SAVE command, but there below my effectuation, appeared the cryptic communication, "Abort, Retry, Ignore" and nothing more.
San Francisco [Almost a Sonnet]
(The city by the bay of Northern California, near which the Pacific Ocean resides; the year is 1967)Mid October seemed like some spring day,When through the poised waters, dry as lead, The ferry, like vague shadows that stand the dead,Slipped down the curved coast of Frisco bay, Rounded the Golden Gate,-and San Francisco lay, Before me, that gay city, pink and red, Hippies covered Haigh Asbury's homeless head,-My home, to be, I found stirring and grey.The waves busted on the wooden-sides; fishermenNearby with long necks, looked and cast again.
A Dose of Laughter
I'm not well. Can't you tell? Kinda low, so, give me a dose of laughter.
The Treasure of Catalina Huanca (In English and Spanish)
Note: written after seeing the little adobe 16th century church San Sebastian, in San Jeronimo, by the mountains of Huancayo, Peru, after being taken there by the Wandering Quechua guide, Enrique (4-13-2005).The Treasure of Catalina HuancaWritten by Dennis L.
I WANTED TO SAY IT WITH A BUNCH OF FLOWERS A CARD WOULD HAVE SUFFICED.I WANTED TO SAY IT WITH A PACK OF SWEETS A' HI' WOULD HAVE SUFFICED.
My hero, my best friend, my Grannio (a.k.a my Grandmother)
She raised me like I was her own daughter from the day I was born 32 years ago.She loved me like nobody else has ever loved me in my life.
Death & the Supernatural: Poetry/Five Poems
Supernatural PoetryHere are five poems,-what I call-death and supernatural poems. Perhaps a bit bizarre, a few stanzas may be, but with unfailing subtlety of course, and a ting of acuteness, but we have to hag on if we want a good ride:1.
Little Girl from Huancayo [a poem/in English and Spanish]
Little girl from HuancayoDo you really, really know? Just how fast those feet will grow,On the streets of Huancayo.Little girl with jumping jacksOn the street, looking back; Back to see whose watching her,A little boy with a bird.
Three Poems: The Monkey Man of Lima, Plus Two More
What Hides behind the Minute?What hides behind the minute? It seems, no one really knows; How many times will we wakeup, To count the minutes gone?The rose was dead when I arrived; The sword, was rusty and dull; The window curtain was open, And there was music in the hall.Oh lovely minute, where art thou? One, is not like the other-: Whirling in an earthly orbit, As the boundless world discovers.
I Saw the Universe
I can see the cerulean blue of the skiesOr the indigo of the nightI can see the stars wink, the grin of the moonDuring the changes of it's monthly face**I am in awe**I see the sun on it's annual trekAlternately awakening the life in the earthAnd then fading away to allow it to sleepUntil the next spring**I am told the Universe is "out there"Beyond those stars, moon and sun,Yet the power of what I can seeIs a fathoming beyond my comprehension**I am in awe**"Out there" no time, no seasons passNo sense of age, hatred or loss existOnly the infinity0f the Universe**What IS "out there"?What IS the Universe that has no end?What IS the power that creates all this?I want to see it too**And then I remember..
The Crusader: A Search for the Virtue Inside (an excerpt of an Epic Poem)
On through the darkness she searches the bones Seeking the hand of her love; Deep in the stillness, the maid searches on, Petitioning help from above. Onward she gropes through the flesh and the blood Of the warriors disfigured and maimed; She carries no hope for the life of her love - For naught but his body she came.
Article on Poetry and Two Poems
Writing Poetry for TomorrowWhat does a man need to be a poet, or tomorrow's literary giant? Questions many a student has asked, from Harvard all the way to the community college in one's hometown. What is the answer? Well, I can give you mine, and I'm sure if you asked a hundred writers, or a hundred scholars, you'd get two hundred different answers.
The Butcher of Lima and Footprints to Mantaro Valley (Two Poems)
Footprints to Mantaro Valley (Peru; in English and Spanish)In what retreat art hid?-Where falling mountains groan In shadow and amongThe rapids of the Rio? Is not your name Mantaro Valley?Beyond the footprints of the Andes--?I can hear your voice in echoesI can hear thy voice, divinely low. I do but know thy by a glanceAs the clouds above me know? .
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