Post a poem about flotsam
The idea for this thread is to post a poem on a given theme while receiving zero feedback, no [i love it's] no [wows] no nothing, only a poem. all and any feedback in this thread will be deleted by the hand of god. all poem can be of any length and any style.

the starting theme:

write a poem that connects to a vehicle [any type]
I don't like vehicles, goddammit. I want them to go away. This is a prose poem. I don't like th e In Ter Net. I think Social Media shouldn't be banned, but considered. Considered outside of it self. It's the worst thing/ breaking character/ that ever happened to the world. /I dont care who you r friends are. / Its a prose poem sos dont have to rhyme.

There's a poem. Right, there.

Names, too, are vehicles
and vehicles are named
expressing more about their riders
than intended--
as with classically but shallowly educated
British aristocrats who named
sporty carriages “phaetons”
but rode in them,
or a small but deadly warship H.M.S Medea
yet assumed their kids would be just fine
on their return from voyaging.
feedback award Non-practicing atheist
I still miss her

Hide and seek was such a blast
we played your games throughout our past;
of course the rough and tumble
didn't last.

Hid behind a rhubarb leaf
I'd panic like a common thief
then you came, ready or not
i didn't last.

You inside a wheelie-bin;
I heard you giggle there within.
The garbage truck stopped by the house
you didn't last.
who is coming on Christmas night?

Christmas tree lights
children sleep tucked tight in bed
red fire engine

If your undies fer you've been smoking through em, don't peg em out
of my mother's heart
and my father's eyes
I am a vessel
in other words,
a mitsubishi
certified cynical pewb .

Before I built a time machine
out of a DeLorean,

I drove a taxi
for a yappy little wop.
my wickshaw wuns slow
down wutted woads i rend
legs cweaking, back bweaking
rerking too hard for a yen.
right man too damn fat
Back to the pound

I got a new dog from the pound
to keep my old one company. A hound
for my dainty little dog. No sound
I heard for a full thirty minutes, then bound-
ing steps, the hurl and gliding, nonstop humping,
till the newcomer crowned
himself and peed on my little collie thing.
Back to the pound you’ll go, tyrant king,
back to the pound.
well done everyone

next lot of poems must be about or connected to flotsam!
sam-O, sam-O

What distinguishes
flotsam from its partner
jetsam is intent:
what washes overboard by accident's the former
while the latter was pitched purposely.

                        So, by analogy,
words spoken in one's sleep--
dream ejaculations overheard-- are flot-
while offhand cocktail-party mots
are jet-
feedback award Non-practicing atheist
a floating can
a carpet of rainbow leaves
November winds
billy wrote:welcome to the site. make it your own, wear it like a well loved slipper and wear it out. ella pleads:please click forum titles for posting guidelines, important threads. New poet? Try Poetic DevicesandWard's Tips

Year of the Fire Monkey dawns

Shadows shuffle in my dream
as a breeze blows, rocks grow;
I’m receiving signals from Argo.

1951. Missing. Search and Rescue
mission, my father flew squares.

“Squares only work if everyone
knows exactly where they are.”

One faint radio transmission,
enigmatic flotsam on beaches
in the right drift pattern.

On an island bypassed by time,
visible only to the lost, last year
the Argo crew welcomed
Malaysian Airlines flight 370.

Sometimes the moon sends
messages that resemble memories,
white shades like rabbits
through the radiant night.

(published in 4th Floor Journal)
Poetry can be dangerous, especially beautiful poetry, because it gives the illusion of having had the experience without actually going through it.

~ Rumi
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White shades, like rabbits,
turn on a spit. Dante wasn’t wrong,
not speaking poetically,
under the Muses’ spell.
Spirits are flotsam here, little bits
of debris on the sea.
All hope abandon ye, who are born
into your middle class hell.
Empty sails

No one launched the life boats,
there wasn't a freak wave that
splintered our deck,
nor a log to cling to as it
plunged us over the waterfall.

Plastic bottles just rolled away,
empty packets drifted unnoticed,
never missed, degraded and forgotten.
The high tides of an urban ocean
slowly dropped by familiar moons.

A midnight taxi softly closes its doors,
bedside lamps are lit as curtains twitch.
A life of lost flotsam, collected on the backseat.

If your undies fer you've been smoking through em, don't peg em out

We were young,

and boarded with our bundles
of ideals, our bibles 
and our scented photographs.

The ocean takes everything,

whatever the sky might promise.
A Captains Log.

I saw a chocolate log float by
the one expelled when squatting.
It softly hit me in the eye,
my stomach started knotting.

Upon my curdled scream of fear
the mars bar seemed to disappear.
Strangers swimming said poor dear
and carried on, until the veer.

It swerved when lifted by a wave,
stood so proudly brown on white.
That's when panic grew to grave;
sunburned bathers shouting shite.
Flotsam Haiku

Rising tide.
Dog poops on a beach.

PS: Coincidence
Didn’t see Billy’s very similar  post

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