Showing posts with label coast. Show all posts
Showing posts with label coast. Show all posts
My Boat Wants To Sail
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My Boat
Wants To Sail
By Peter S. Quinn
My boat is all alone
On the weaving mystic sea
Like a bottom pebble stone
That cannot become free
Blue white billow's high
In their faraway circling around
Surround it there and tie
On deep abyss own playground
My boat wants to sail
Through oceans of unknown
In search of a fresh trail
Where easy wind has blown
But brine seas are deep
And get so much there lost
Commitments cannot keep
On rocky shores get tossed
Sea dreams won’t elapse
If we can find their way
Sail through hidden traps
Reefs that with ridge play
My boat wants to find
The freedom of the deep
And leave old scenes behind
That my turret can’t keep
Wants To Sail
By Peter S. Quinn
My boat is all alone
On the weaving mystic sea
Like a bottom pebble stone
That cannot become free
Blue white billow's high
In their faraway circling around
Surround it there and tie
On deep abyss own playground
My boat wants to sail
Through oceans of unknown
In search of a fresh trail
Where easy wind has blown
But brine seas are deep
And get so much there lost
Commitments cannot keep
On rocky shores get tossed
Sea dreams won’t elapse
If we can find their way
Sail through hidden traps
Reefs that with ridge play
My boat wants to find
The freedom of the deep
And leave old scenes behind
That my turret can’t keep
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Take Us Away
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One of my pics from Portugal.
One of my pics from Portugal.
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Dark Blue
A poem by Peter S. Quinn
Dark blue and red bleed,
The sky of the twilight hour;
So much indifference and agreed,
Sweet ways and sour.
There were times we regretted,
Such a long journey and year;
Yesterdays - even absentminded,
And silly jokes to bear.
Then came dawn and new day,
Charging high through night fires;
Turning and running away,
With our forgotten desires.
All this time is now up burning,
Stop it shall not, hence it will steer;
Like threads to the reason learning,
Nothing forever to adhere.
The end we preferred to travel,
Perhaps alone and even forgotten;
And look at our own to marvel,
Inside hidden or store-boughten.
Times will keep coming - going,
Like the ships to the shore reach;
Everything to distance's growing,
Summers to our memories - each!
.
A poem by Peter S. Quinn
Dark blue and red bleed,
The sky of the twilight hour;
So much indifference and agreed,
Sweet ways and sour.
There were times we regretted,
Such a long journey and year;
Yesterdays - even absentminded,
And silly jokes to bear.
Then came dawn and new day,
Charging high through night fires;
Turning and running away,
With our forgotten desires.
All this time is now up burning,
Stop it shall not, hence it will steer;
Like threads to the reason learning,
Nothing forever to adhere.
The end we preferred to travel,
Perhaps alone and even forgotten;
And look at our own to marvel,
Inside hidden or store-boughten.
Times will keep coming - going,
Like the ships to the shore reach;
Everything to distance's growing,
Summers to our memories - each!
.
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