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Winter harbor
ice busy with light
freights the yachts
my wild joy at this
other life
Poems on the topic: harbor
Poems on the topic “harbor” on Poets.by.
Arran
Harbor at sunset.
A boy fires his air gun
into the water.
A bus and car
squeeze past each other
at the standing stone.
Crowded campground.
A fat herring gull walks
between the tents.
Part of the Flower of Gloucester
from the sunsets
to the rubbish on the Harbor bottom
fermenting so bubbles
of the gas formed from the putrefaction
keep coming up and you watch them break
on the surface and imagine the odor
which is true
at low-tide that you can't stand the smell
if you live with the Harbor Cove or the Inner
Harbor to your side
The Cherubs, The Harbors
Your constancy inspires me to refurbish
pavilions of hope. Your sweetness
unfurls yards of woven sky
that luxurious tailors applaud. Ah,
my dear, what a long way we’ve traveled
together. Harbors have
looked out for our best interests,
San Francisco, Stockholm, Mobile,
Tacoma, Barcelona. Love
is a province we inherited
from an oligarchy of cherubs.
I wish I were as wise
as you deserve, as patient as
the moon, as extraordinary
as you. I desire all blessings
to come your way like voices
George Gray
I have studied many times
The marble which was chiseled for me—
A boat with a furled sail at rest in a harbor.
In truth it pictures not my destination
But my life.
For love was offered me and I shrank from its disillusionment;
Sorrow knocked at my door, but I was afraid;
Ambition called to me, but I dreaded the chances.
Yet all the while I hungered for meaning in my life.
And now I know that we must lift the sail
And catch the winds of destiny
Wherever they drive the boat.
To put meaning in one’s life may end in madness,
But life without meaning is the torture
Of restlessness and vague desire—
It is a boat longing for the sea and yet afraid.
Fog
The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
Waiting
Today I will let the old boat stand
Where the sweep of the harbor tide comes in
To the pulse of a far, deep-steady sway.
And I will rest and dream and sit on the deck
Watching the world go by
And take my pay for many hard days gone I remember.
I will choose what clouds I like
In the great white fleets that wander the blue
As I lie on my back or loaf at the rail.
And I will listen as the veering winds kiss me and fold me
And put on my brow the touch of the world's great will.
Daybreak will hear the heart of the boat beat,
Engine throb and piston play
In the quiver and leap at call of life.
To-morrow we move in the gaps and heights
On changing floors of unlevel seas
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