Best Astern Poems
I am to him a Stradivarius, a treasured violin
His bow expertly caresses my supple strings
My body moans when tucked beneath his chin
Revving to his rhythmic pulse, my heart sings
I am the delicate ivory he strokes on his keyboard
his adventurous fingers roam over me in staccato
Those romantic interludes he's adeptly scored
accompanies intimacy to the point of crescendo
I am the mouthpiece on his golden saxophone
Our blues brings about passion and lustful desire
From a distance I hear the pitch of a lone trombone
Emotions build with the heat of a roaring wildfire
Across the well worn bridge of his idle acoustic guitar
I yearn for the virtuoso's touch to strum my chords
But there's no harmony, although we've come so far
No gliding glissandos found at the tips of drawn swords
Now he plays mournful melodies on a native Hopi flute
Reflecting our lives in every wistful and somber note
We're both lost, wandering like phantoms in pursuit
of lost love. We're adrift without oars or sail for our boat
With each wave a tear falls as I lay sheltered in the bow
He sits astern listening to music whistled by the wind
staring at the far horizon with worry etched on his brow
Is this, I wonder, punishment for those who have sinned
Sam Ebenezer
a sad ol' geezer
was lamenting his shrinkage of late:
my worthless ding-a-ling
is a bell without ring
my manhood in diminishing state
From whence I salute
is thin as a flute
and soft to the touch as cashmere
I search with persistence
it offers resistance
on nature's call to appear
On heeding that call
no waterfall
a few errant droplets at best
where once from the middle
I gushed, now I piddle
and half of my load veers west
Both feet on the urn
pushing forth from astern
I chant 'emerge hocus-pocus'
with my punctured esteem
watch the pitiful stream
dwindle to drops as Limp loses focus
Our wee-membered friend
wished his size to amend
the stiffness rerouted from his joints
have it rise to occasion
and stand to attention
consulted ol' Doc for his viewpoint:
My snake is dead
no flesh; just head
lies comatose and useless
my garden hose
once warmed my toes
now wrinkled, dry and juiceless
The senile old doctor
by name Alfred Proctor
had most of his wit in absentia
his breath smelt cheesy
Ebenezer felt queasy
Doc clearly suffered from senile dementia
Doc's hand took a dip
to just 'neath his ribs
as Ebenezer voiced his concern
Doc smiled all the while
said: your hopes are futile
there's no cure for your vanishing organ
I lost my virility
before my senility
long mourned my lost pride-and-joy
put my plight to rest
on realizing I'm blessed
to have in hand my own built-in toy
**************************************
~ This poem is written in the 8686 syllable count style of one of my favorite Emily Dickenson poems, 'I Felt a Funeral in My Brain.'
'pon roiling sea a fierce storm brewed
waves crashed within my veins
fueled by heady winds, they pursued
to drown my life with rains
With tympani beat, thunder roared
bold lightning flicked and flashed
we pulled, we pulled, oh how we oared
with nature's ire we clashed
Then came a clamor from astern
our ship had split in two
in my veins, swells still pound and churn
until the moon breaks through
Calmed now, the vile tempest from Hell
sky riveted with stars
Man holds no power to dispel
nature's wrath when she spars
~ For Chris
When the time arrives for me to depart
from the sunlit harbors of the living.
Take me aboard a navy fighting ship
and carry me back again to the sea.
Order the boatswain to construct a skid
made of wood and painted with fresh white paint.
Build it to hold a gray weighted coffin
draped by Old Glory with her stars and stripes.
Cruise the coast of my beloved home Whidbey
until full abreast with Ebey’s Landing.
Muster the funeral party astern
Play taps and slide me into the blue drink.
Let the storm-flecked waves of the rolling sea
take this old sailor to his final peace.
As I looked out from the clifftops
The ocean sang to me.
A long sad lament I heard
A yearning for the sea.
It sang of the good ship Mayflower,
Setting sail from Plymouth sound.
Carrying forth the pilgrims,
All were New World bound.
It sang of tall ships sailing,
And adventurers of old.
Of buccaneers, of galleons
And chests of Spanish gold.
It sang of mighty battleships,
All sailing line astern.
It sang of Trafalgar,
Where the French and Spanish burned.
Oh to have witnessed such,
To visit times now past.
To discover unknown, distant lands.
To see the world, beneath the mast.
This journey fraught of desperate dreams
Within the grip of swelling grays
The Southern Cross astern now shines
Ever close of darkened bays
Adrift of lost and endless times
Sails now hoist, direction’s wind
I hear the angry waves a’ crash
Spume does touch my worried skin
Tempest waters come to lash
This journey fraught of desperate dreams
To reach the one that I adore
Of echoed voices calling me
And compass points of distant shore
Fear shall not my face to run
To fight this wrathful storm I will
Hoping for the morning sun
With calmer seas so ever still
When dawn, I pray on bleeding knees
Does find your arms about my chest
With kisses sweet of anchored pleas
To whisper I have met my quest
And found my love for once and all
By harbor light and North Star way
Your heart, my destined my port-o-call
Never more to sail away
The tempest kiss of seaweed miss.
Her temper heard ~ his heart stirred.
His ship astern and fast.
The siren’s scorn lambaste;
Blind youth’s reality is blurred.
The satin hair of Whitney bright
A pearlescent veil, the tide ~
Calm! Calm! It’s all a lie!
Her body movement spry.
O serpentine witch, her smile, her glide…
Her bright white fangs aglow, move slow.
The magic of her song moored
In his terrified glance;
The seaman’s in a trance.
In former life, he would have scored.
She slowly sucks his soul, and then,
One by one she tenders them.
The fishhooks through their eyes,
Amuse her with goodbyes.
Rehearsal of fatale la femme.*
2/5/2020
*femme fatale order of words was switched to aid rhyme.
A poet’s prerogative:)
Fair winds and following seas.
May full sails surge with scudding breeze.
May peaceful moorings host your craft
wherever indulgent winds waft.
A toast now to your safe return.
May choppy seas be left astern.
May evening offer pleasing berth
to ensconce in halcyon firth.
Spaceward: genesis, obedience, fathomless: universe.
In Cerulean: lambent, sullen, discernible: Close ignite.
With harmony: hypaethral, skyward, aether: womb hiccups
Whelm time: serenade, stardust, drizzles: diamond dust,
Overall trends: extinguish, slumber, wonder: celestial hymn,
By extolling: Argyle, twinkle, soothing: miraculous rule
Alabaster Gypsum: portholes, peering, ogling: rain glints
Rubicund Jocund: ventral, sheqalim, vivid: lured stars
Exalt air: Blistering, bleeding, molting: Corolla collide
Orotund Moire: Kaleidoscopic, sentient, dusk: carnal life
Grab fistful: Dripping, purple, precipitation: Sunburnt sky
Dodging Venus: Flytrap, ill-wishers, pyramids: Shift astern.
This variation on sonnet XL1 to illustrate what Kuhlmann intended .
kuhlmann is a verse poem of two phrases interspered with three related monosyllabic stem- words(nouns,adjectives )with an integral title.The label and form is derived from the baroque poet Quirinus Kuhlmann's 50 sonnet
form Love-kiss XLI
Poem inspired by the sonnet penned by Brian Stand
After winter’s cold, Apple Blossoms unfold.
Bright, fresh spring brings Bluebells to behold.
Cheery Blossoms burst then dance to ground.
Delightful Dahlias bloom spring all around.
Eastern Redbuds warm cold winter emotion and
Fresh Freesia compliments each spring notion.
Gardenias touch each faith-filled belief.
Hardy Heath hones its spring dream leaf.
Impatiens show the power of flowers.
Jasmine’s scent is softly layered while
Kangaroo Paws hang from the upper air.
Lilacs quench thirsty human eyes as
Magnolias generate sincere, awed sighs.
Nippon Spirea buds use spring to tantalize.
Orchid blooms are a spring-spectacular and
Prime Primrose buds are ever popular.
Quality Quince pome fruit is a beauty.
Ready Ranunculus do their spring duty.
Springtime Sweet Peas and Spirea do their part.
Tender Tartarian Dogwoods warm our hearts.
Uplifting Ursinia blooms heed spring’s call.
Viburnum clusters daintily enthrall
While Wax flowers please us, one and all.
Xeranthemum Sunflowers’ charms never lack.
Yellow Anemone’s sweet power packs and
Zennias’ zest tell us that spring is back.
The Flag of the British Merchant Navy
The Battle of the Atlantic
We’ve heard of the famous Mighty Hood that was sunk by a Bismarck shell
We know how many men were lost and the Skippers name as well
We’ve seen the Battleship Barham rolling on her side
before the huge explosion in which so many died
The Repulse and Prince of Wales on rout to the Singapore post
Both lost to the Jap torpedo planes off the Malaya coast
There’s a film about the Kelly sunk in the battle of Crete
And of the famous River Plate where we inflicted defeat
Yet who knows the names of the merchant ships sunk almost every day
Who knew that as these ships went down seamen were put off pay
Shipping Companies all did this to cut down on the cost
They lost one of their freighters, but how many lives were lost
What of the men on the Arctic run ferrying Russian supplies
The ocean full of U-boats and Bombers filling the skies
Sailing a gas filled Tanker some only in their teens
Wondering if they’ll freeze to death or be blown to smithereens
Wallowing along in a rusting tramp to save the Russian Nation
Struggling to make eight knots whilst trying to keep station
Should a seaman stay topside or should he seek his bunk
Knowing if you fall astern your certain to be sunk
Many a merchant ship now lies under the Barents Sea
Lost in a desperate struggle to set the Russians free
The ocean bed is littered with merchant seaman’s bones
Now to lay forever at peace with Davie Jones
As a Nation we are rightly proud of our Navy in World War Two
Likewise of the R.A.F and what we owe to the few
To the men who fought at Arhnem and Monty’s Desert Rats
To those who fought the Japanese to all we raise our hats
From the Home Guard to the S.O.E in it from the start
All of our Armed Services were keen to play their part
Each had lost so many when they counted the final muster
But the greatest loss was those who sailed under the Old Red Duster
she lit the candle,
watched the wick kindle
but as the flame burst forth
the wind by windows fought-
But alas! the flame, stabbed
wavered for life, but sabbed
soon faltered and died.
The drapes rise and fall
the wind hurries at four wall
and another match lit
by its glow she saw it-
The pale face, withered smile
there lies her heart, off a-mile
away to the towered end-
Yet still the flame died astern.
The scream through the night-
the call of the wild a-flight
as a heart is stabbed anew
by the despair of Maria Drew.
The dark and moonless night at sea
reflected well his mood,
from where he stood out by the rail
the ship seemed not to move.
He was gazing far away
into years gone by,
where there resided youthful joy
to recapture if he’d try.
He wore a paper around his neck
dangling on a string,
three letters there made an acronym
and such horror they did bring.
Put there by an officer
blue uniformed and stern,
because he had no documents
to his homeland…. he must return.
Turned away the very day
he landed on the island,
destitute and paperless
being denied asylum.
He watched the statue fade astern
after seeing her rise at dawn,
a goddess from the sea of hope
and all of his was gone.
The tag he wore about his neck
was his last and final doom,
WOP spelled “none for me.”
as he stood there in the gloom.
“With Out Papers” the letters meant
said the officer who put them on,
America’s milk and honey
was not for everyone.
Hustled back aboard the ship
without the means to pay,
no bunk no cabin or meals to eat
on deck all night and day.
His homeland would not welcome him
he was on the wrong side of their fight,
dispossessed and on the run
returning filled him with fright.
With only one place left to go
he was filled with true regret,
but the decision was an easy one
so over the side he leapt.
His body washed up on the shore
not uncommon for Ellis island,
there he was buried for eternity
finally finding his asylum.
fog bank just astern
bathroom fan is on the fritz…
ship in a bottle
Cap'n & the Wench *part the fifth*
Says the Wench to the Cap'n " We'll dabble in Real Estate!"
So says the Cap'n to the Wench " 'Twould seem 'tis our Fate!
As Tales are often Told from Time to Time & Again~
So doth it go twixt Wenches & those very Bold Men~
This Great Saga of the Cap'n & that Wench so Very Dear~
Had been begun then to continue Year after ever Year~
But all Sailors well know if'n they've oft Smartly Tacked~
Yer in Irons fer certain if'n yer Royals are Backed~
Makin' speed astern would allow such One chance to Box~
Mindin' Gales gone a'lee creatin' Naught but Fear~
Only a keen SeaWolf might again Sail as would the Fox~
All surely believin' his Great Ship could naught but Wear~
'Twould be a course destined by Fate were the Helm hard a'Lee~
Maidens of the Depths gatherin' as Winds did'st now Howl~
Yet t'was a plot laid by SeaWolf as his heart Set him Free~
For Great Winds & Waves now did'st appear & Truly Growl~
From Deep Down under this Tormented Surface~
Came now to the ears of all Those now Enraged~
Softly with Empathy & Fanciful Purpose~
Silent Sounds heard well ~ all distinct Reason had Swayed~
Lee Rail's buried beneath Wind Torn Sea~
Gale a Howlin' thru the Riggin' & Spars~
From SeaWolf nary a word nor any Certain Plea~
His Eyes & that 'sprit a'fixed on Far Stars~
This Tale oft whispered in Taverns & Pits.......
Ye'll hear it fer certain Bit by little Bit.....
Pay Heed to Lessons Learned thus Herein.....
'Twere it to be Pleazure in life yer Truly to Win~
For Never Again Will Be Seen that Great Ship at Sea~
Only possibly for some who truly Set themselves Free~
In Dream Foggy Nights fiesty with Calm Swells~
Listen Well off in the distance for that Great Ships Bell!
SeaWolf
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