Best Cannonballs Poems
If you come to find me
Look no further than you must
For I will be burning effigies
A conspiracy is afoot
Some might say I spend too much time alone
Too much time in the attic of my brain
I have fake conversations with myself
Some might say I spend too much time alone
I think they don’t understand me well enough to know
So call me a mad man.
The axe is buried deep and falls again and again
Wood chips fly as I hew the tree of death
I am working on commission
That’s right the agents are paying me
A coup d’état
To overthrow loneliness
I burn effigies of myself
Some might say I spend too much time alone
Ask me if I care.
Ask me if I can find my way home.
Ask me if the sewage is raw in my veins.
Ask me if I can crack the code of loneliness.
I dare you to ask me.
Some might say I spend too much time alone.
I can never have enough time alone.
It spares me the spirit of life with society.
I burn effigies.
Let the flags and cannonballs fly.
A war upon my soul will not stop me.
I'll ride a pack of dogs into the teeth of the storm
And rain down pain upon your shores
A coup d’état
A coup d’état
Will you finally come and spare me?
I doubt it.
I am not an anomaly
I am free to ramble in loneliness
It burns my flesh, flesh that is hard as gasoline
Underneath the muscle is sinuous and built for pain
Come save me if you must
I am not an anomaly
I just spend too much time alone…
Way back then when I was two,
I couldn't even tie my shoe.
But I could stand up on a chair
to retrieve my teddy bear.
Way back then when I was four,
I'd sneak out the doggie door,
cause the door latch was too high
for such a little guy.
Way back then when I was six,
I could really do some tricks.
I would climb way up in trees
and hang there from my knees.
Way back then when I was eight,
I sure loved to roller skate.
It was always quite a thrill
to go flying down a hill.
Way back then when I was ten,
I for swimming had a yen.
From a cliff beside the falls
I did lots of cannonballs.
When I think of stuff I did
when I was just a kid,
I'm stumped how one so bold
could end up getting old.
January 23, 2016
Seaweed, fragmented shell as cannonballs
in maelstrom hurled upon the shore.
The bellowing wind cast all asunder
as Summer’s shoots from shifting sand were torn.
Such was Autumn’s storm.
The sleet was blown in horizontal sheets
as figures double-bent fought step by step
to make but little progress, homeward bound.
The sky was lost in billowing grey, forlorn.
Such was Winter’s storm.
Relentlessly the wind swept off the ocean
with yet more rain to swell the sodden peat.
A daily deluge on embattled land,
with hope yet stirring seeds of life newborn.
Such was Springtime’s storm.
The grey skies shift to blue, and now a breeze
is heralding a longed-for transformation.
With rainbow colours Mother Earth is blessed
and all the islands of the west caressed, reborn.
Sweet Summer knows no storm.
smoking barbecues
cannonballs and dips in pools
baseball games to view
5-14-18
massive oak timbers
hearty men piped to action
mighty war machine
planks resisted cannonballs
like our nation, still afloat
Henry Morgan is my name
Being a pirate is my fame
A landlubber wasn't for me
Fortunes were made at sea
From port and starboard cannons roar
Through Spanish ships cannonballs tore
Strike your colors or face our scorn
Cutlass and pikes will make you regret being born
Merchant ships we looted, plundered and sank
Prisoners were ransomed or walked the plank
Raiding West Indies settlements was fun
Loved the pieces of eight, wenches, and rum
The Governor shivered at night in bed
His King put a price on my head
Buccaneers way were over or face harm
Keep on and you will swing from the yardarm
Poetry Contest: A storm on the Spanish Main
Sponsored by: Joe Maverick
Sir Henry Morgan,
Nickname "Barbadosed"
born 1635,
died 25 August 1688 (age 53)
The Pirate Who Invaaded Panama in 1671
Buccaneer and pirate, admiral and general, country gentleman and planter, custos and judge of the court of Vice-Admiralty, governor and knight ¬ all are titles he held
In days of old when knights were bold and dungeons were dug deep
Widely renowned back then was found, a race of hero sheep
These sheep were strong, these sheep were tough,
these sheep were eight feet tallAnd lots of very useful stuff was knitted from their wool
The wool was strong, and woven long to any length was able
To out perform the tensile strength of any modern cable
While nimble hands, pulled finer strands from out that noble flock
Which taut, sufficed to cleanly slice deep through the toughest rock
Those sheep were prized, and many wise men kept their woolly kind
Twas said the bleating of those sheep would stimulate the mind
The wonders that those sheepies wrought, would fill a hundred lists
And fueled a boom for work by loom and wool technologists
They found that wool, if tightly bound would not only float
But closely weaved and interleaved, could make a woolly boat
While natural grease, gleaned from that fleece, if applied just right
Succeeded to fulfil the need to make it watertight.
So woolly fleets sailed ancient seas, to ply the trade in wool
Till pirates knitted cannons, to fire woollen cannonballs
And so, therefore, a woolly war broke out throughout the world
The war was short, but keenly fought where woollen sails unfurled
The brief wool war had one deep flaw, though everyone was willing
For woolly blades, however made, are little use for killing.
This one defect completely wrecked the wool age upward trend
And so the golden age of wool came to a sudden end.
The tides of June carry me over yesterday's sparkling
waters to the distant shores preserved in my mind.
Playful summer memories are just a light twinkling
in my eye, pressed into worn photo albums, I find.
Hotter days conjure thoughts of friends, no school
to muddy the rippling lake and hours of summer fun.
'Last one in 's a rotten ..., splashing 'round, we kept cool,
cannonballs and belly flops, a relief from the ruthless sun.
An old boat dock became our fort, buckets of tadpoles were
our mascots. Our neighborhood breathed new life and laughter...
bikes flung upon the grass, lake waters beckoned of adventure
'til the ice cream man's music brought sweet dreams to chase after.
Michael Jackson, The GoGos and Duran Duran played the soundtrack
for our restless days. From our fort, the radio blared across the yard.
Warm breezes held music and secrets of boy versus girl attacks.
And though we often complained, the boys were never barred.
Many years ago, summer time brought treasured carefree days
of hide and seek, dodge ball, board games and cold lemonade.
Slip and slides, cool lake swims and running through sprinkler sprays,
all happy memories of our never ending June days on parade.
By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders
for Memories of June Contest (Joann Grisetti)
History’s unpopular these days,
No one cares where Blues shot Greys,
Or where the tons of cannonballs were kept.
Union marker stands aloof, alone,
Monument of bronze and chisled stone,
And students giggle where the Northern troops once swept.
The marching band played John Philip Sousa
My daddy held my hand
Lining the streets elbows to my head
My daddy put me on his shoulders, where I could stand
~
The marching marines stopped in front of us
And in synchrony stomped boots our way
The men sang in perfect harmony
Daddy crossed his heart that day
~
And over head, as the men sang
Bursting here and there
Colors of red, white and blue
In patterns, I’d not seen anywhere
~
Some sounded like rockets
Szshoozing overhead
Some were loud like cannonballs
I covered my ears in dread
~
In amazement, I beheld the lights
Were there angels over me?
Exploding in perfect orderly colors
“Daddy, how do they do that? How can this be?”
~
The choir of men sang a special song
And Daddy started to cry
I didn’t understand why
A father with tears in his eyes
~
“From the Halls of Montezuma
To the shores of Tripoli
We fight our country’s battles
In the air, on land, and sea;
First to fight for right and freedom
And to keep our honor clean;
We are proud to claim the title
Of United States Marine.”
~
Then, above the grandest sights
A little girl had seen
Splitting colors like stars and stripes
The happiest, I’d ever been
~
Lights splashing with the music
Bursting colors with the beat
The patters in my little heart
Thrilling for me, a child of three, to have the very best seat
In the parade
She’s got happy feet,
kicking moist sand in the air
Running in a zig zag line
like a high-flying kite
Nyla is calypso dancing around,
with her heart floating off the ground
Hearing the trailing away voices of “you’re it ...”
“No I’m not, you’re it” doesn’t bother her one bit
This just might be the best day of her young life
That’s her opinion, she would proudly tell you
It’s birthday year seven
And she’s having so much fun,
at her beach birthday party
Colorful bathing suit cannonballs,
hurtling into the swimming pool
So many kids clamoring, wanting to ride ...
waiting to get all wet on the giant water slide
Cool fun on a hot day
So many popsicle-colored tongues
dripping
with childish carefree chattering ...
melting
all their popsicle inhibitions away
Such warm, innocuous happiness on tropical display
Time seems to fly by so fast
when you’re having this much fun
On birthday year seven,
Nyla feels like she just turned eleven
Kids having so much frosty fun
are working up a grownup size appetite this hot day
There’s a lot of ice cream that needs to get ate,
and she sees Momma putting a slice of chocolate cake
on everybody’s plate
And her Daddy’s taking pictures of those who pass by
Telling everybody
he’s got something in his eye
Momma gives him a teardrop kiss
as he wipes them dry
Then Nyla looks up at the sky,
and thank God for the perfect sunny weather
And suddenly her best friend is standing beside her,
giggling with so much joy
Seeing her favorite friend smiling on this special day,
it feels like nothing could be better
Until her closest sister-friend whispers in her ear:
This is the best birthday party ever!
Literally cut off an arm for them
shrivelling white bone protruding, screaming from the pale flesh
The ultimate expression of honey, darling, sweetheart
and wonder.
Floating like cannonballs, just dying
batteries. No more struggling, flailing legs.
Excitedly scribbling next to me
a feeling like jeans upon your touch or fresh toast
crisp yet damp.
I’d just like to shake you. Rattle the bones beneath your
skull, maybe even kill a few brain cells if I feel like it
and where have they taken you, claiming you
but not my legs and arms. Perhaps I do not wonder enough
Dangling on the edge of the world,
You do not forsake those offering solace
Rather you slice and cut until the edge of the world ends
And becomes your very own playground.
Then you need not worry,
but had better bloody worry.
After all it’s what makes you, and us, human.
You spit your salty spite at me
Like I'm all who's ever err'd
A few times before, I've swam at sea
I don't jump in unprepared
So watch your kegs and cannonballs
'Fore another goes around
For I have broken masts and walls
Still yet have never drowned
Hung up when Davey Jones' called
And laughed at the tolling bell's sound
Aye, scurvy dog! Take one of those!
as cannonballs deal deadly blows.
A satisfying, savage row:
the bond between the rowers grows.
But rapid fire, be on your toes;
you’re in the open, all exposed!
How quick it ends? Nobody knows,
but in the end, it’s down she goes...
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Row To Riches is a multi-player "game" on the Aviron rowing platform where you team up to hold off the pirates from stealing your treasure. How fast and how hard you row determine how quickly you can fire and how much damage you can do with your cannonballs...
I loved you,
though you were a drowning man,
with cannonballs noosed around your ankles
and a whiskey bottle barely in your grasp,
rushing to depths too black to follow.
I loathed you,
though some days still held sunshine,
with a smile beheld on the blue moon
and a flurry of fists and “**** yous” on the rest
bulldozed my jaw and heart black and blue.
I loathed that I loved you,
though time has turned my memories,
with intense games of Horse on cracked concrete
and hours watching football in defiance of womanly threats,
more favored recollections replacing all others.
I love you, Dad
though I loathed you, a drowning man.
With scars still remaining like tallies on prison walls,
I’m sorry I didn’t throw you a line
before the undertow took you away.