Best Cargoes Poems
Stay - One more golden morning –
Linger - One more silver night –
Abide tiny child born of my desire
To encourage a new life;
Watch with me the amber moon
Peek through moonbeams rising up so large
We could touch it's creamsicle face -
Sleep caressed within the shelter of soft umber leaves,
Preparing for their final journey,
To sing a last duet with you,
This last autumnal aria, no more with choruses, just two thin voices
To a harp song strummed through my oaken limbs;
Now see the changing cloud ships
Gather - carrying cargoes full of rain -
To scuttle ‘cross the sunrise
When breezes turn from summer zephyrs
To blustery torrents, tinted with icy dew;
As you sail away, soaring on their roller coaster wings,
I leave a kiss upon your face in sunlight that taught your heart to beat –
Watching with a blessing on my lips -
My empty arms still remembering your round, smooth face -
As you ride the vagabond winds
Following their air-born trails to find your place
Where you nestle deep within a warm and richly decorated nursery –
A birthing place –
For when you labor I stand a silent sentinel alongside ancient family,
A vigil as the silent snows blanket your dreams of mighty forest oak -
To wake in seasonal celebration
When, re-formed, your first leaves appear;
No farewell now only adieu, my little one, until we meet again.
...dedicated to Hart Crane (1899-1932)
As I dream the sounds of morning sliver,
cut my senses; slow, persistent slices
pierce my eyes to ragged wakefulness.
The muffled cries of merchant hustle and
the honking of the traffic, the noises of
a summer's day displace my reveries.
I wake, and through my window I see
barges in the harbour, bustling like
beetles, scuttling over busy waters,
dragging ships with overflowing cargoes
safe to rest - the dockhands primed
and ready to disgorge the merchandise,
as sunshine washes monoliths of steel
and glass in dazzling refinement - Manhattan
like a mass of golden bars, smoldering and tall.
Steam and smoke engulf a vibrant scene
encompassing, then drifting into nothingness,
the sky a blazing blue, the docks a maze
of rarified activity as yelling fills the air.
Beams irradiate my garret - drafts of bright
and humid air like punches in the stomach
take the breath out of my lungs and leave me
gasping. I sit and watch you sleeping on the bed.
You stretch atop the covers like a vision,
your legs and arms a picture in repose;
I do not dare to wake you from your dreams,
your limbs splayed like a strumpet, you expose
your naked form, my touch will flutter your desire.
your body 'wrapped in mine,
our souls a living sacramen
to love and joy divine.
I enter you and all the stars explode,
fulfillment is our quest,
our shining testament.
As evening gently falls the windows glimmer,
the city glistens now from altered light;
the glowing falters as the sun dips slowly,
dying in the West, makes way for night.
Activity's still rife, but in my garret,
I reach for you as darkness settles soft,
I hold you in my arms, forever blessed,
while stars are quietly dancing up aloft.
...dedicated to Hart Crane (1899-1932)
As I dream the sounds of morning sliver,
cut my senses; slow, persistent slices
pierce my eyes to ragged wakefulness.
The muffled cries of merchant hustle and
the honking of the traffic, the noises of
a summer's day displace my reveries.
I wake, and through my window I see
barges in the harbor, bustling like
beetles, scuttling over busy waters,
dragging ships with overflowing cargoes
safe to rest - the dock hands primed
and ready to disgorge the merchandise,
as sunshine washes monoliths of steel
and glass in dazzling refinement - Manhattan
like a mass of golden bars, smoldering and tall.
Steam and smoke engulf a vibrant scene
encompassing, then drifting into nothingness,
the sky a blazing blue, the docks a maze
of rarified activity as yelling fills the air.
Beams irradiate my garret - drafts of bright
and humid air like punches in the stomach
take the breath out of my lungs and leave me
gasping. I sit and watch you sleeping on the bed.
You stretch atop the covers like a vision,
your legs and arms a picture in repose;
I do not dare to wake you from your dreams,
your limbs splayed like a starlet, you expose
your naked form, my touch will flutter your desire.
your body 'wrapped in mine,
our souls a living sacrament
to love and joy divine.
I enter you and all the stars explode,
fulfillment is our quest,
our shining testament.
As evening gently falls the windows glimmer,
the city glistens now from altered light;
the glowing falters as the sun dips slowly,
dying in the West, makes way for night.
Activity's still rife, but in my garret,
I reach for you as darkness settles soft,
I hold you in my arms, forever blessed,
while stars are quietly dancing up aloft.
No rift in the unthawing ice
The sled took dark matter over crystals of snow
Here the water's thin bonds sufficed
And the one who led was the one who should know
There was no glory in the game
For him, a southern heart seeking a northern pole
Of stars when his heart was aflame
For the warm rhythms of drums called him for a role
Beyond the ken of history
Where his firsts are ancient as the Nile, wrapped in night
Filled with stars of antiquity
Old, so old, the magi had never seen their light.
Today we know where ships must seek
Without the theodolite of desert sands
Time replaced the proud with the meek
God guides the world with his great inerrant hands
Now the servant throned in silence
Is unmasked to his regal heritage, and brought
Maryland's son his prominence
Since first Peary's eyes in his wisdom's net was caught
Like a schooner around the globe
This freedman's soul brought home cargoes none knew before
For something in his blood's wide robe
Could not resist those paths ancient Ghana explored
“Wind Song”
When the rain came it raised a torrent
music, little by little, raised the levy
light pebbles rolled over one by one
took with them
all their
flotsam and jetsam
leaves ferrying Black Ravens carried on
Brook babbling
listened to the birds scrabbling
singing -
“I am the one!"
"I am the one!”
Fed them bread and thanksgiving
Fat and feathered their over fed pride sung
Red Robin turned with the Wind,
flew red currents away from the Aviary in full swing
Spreading wings, riding on their Wind Song
She sings She sings
(Lovejoy-Burton, August 2018)
"Home is where your story begins."- Unknown
1. Levy
impose (a tax, fee, or fine).
"a tax of two per cent was levied on all cargoes"
synonyms: impose, charge, exact, demand, raise, collect, gather; More
archaic
enlist (someone) for military service.
"he sought to levy one man from each vill for service"
noun
an act of levying a tax, fee, or fine.
"police forces receive 49 per cent of their funding via a levy on the rates"
synonyms: tax, tariff, toll, excise, duty, fee, imposition, impost, exaction, assessment, tithe, payment; More
historical
an act of enlisting troops.
"Edward I and Edward II had made substantial use of the feudal levy for raising an army"
2. Levee
an embankment built to prevent the overflow of a river.
a ridge of sediment deposited naturally alongside a river by overflowing water.
a landing place; a quay.
Over the ocean's creed
Lie in waiting with foreign breed.
Heavy metals laced the ocean's petals
En-route to the creek in cargoed cans.
Rice from the fields of Thailand,
Iced fishes from freezing Iceland.
Craps of computer hardware from Shenzen,
Packs of frozen skeletal turkeys from China.
Smuggled contrabands in hidden sacks
Matches and toothpicks from Japan's racks.
Cornfield of men at the wharf
Old and young, giant and dwarf
Exposing chest to the moment cling
Hurling sacks of rice the cargoes bring
Staggering weightless like David's sling
"No food for the lazy" the saying goes
When the ships come to berth,
Able men to the harbor dart.
A wave of pity descends my lung
Watching men so silly and strong-
Getting strangled beneath heavy loads,
Smiling wickedly at crumpled notes.
If only those energies could grace a trade,
And suffocate beneath the weights of knowledge.
When those ships come to berth,
May be they will someday leave this shore
Filled with the toil they bore
With our local brands in foreign lands.
W as it just yesterday when
I found a vestibule
R ight next to my goals
E lse something is wrong, which brings
D elineation of a moral code!
I would set the world afire with political desire to achieve and to aspire.
I am going to be a political activist on women rights.
I have step-to-the-cause to claim ownership of my rights.
I am a political powerhouse not to deny.
I have Thunderclap and no response transgress.
Now the world I am within is in a doctrinal arrest.
Transmutation has taken place to transpire social injustice.
Transformation becomes work ethics.
The solidification of a soul is a sensation inner cored
Underlying posture of strength positioned to win.
Bearing the cargoes of a ship those encumbrances of conspiracy,
Insofar, I am the scent of my soul.
Therefore, I am a cannon passing through time not afraid to live for what is right.
____________________________________|
Penned on October 12, 2014 @ 12:11 AM EST!
Twenty score years ago, and some
The evil merchants crossed the waves
Gleeful as they raped and pillaged
Their cargoes of dark-skinned slaves
En route to the land of Liberty
Where all men are created equal
In their most frightening and wildest nightmares
They could never have envisioned the sequel
After four centuries of hatred, violence and exploitation
Against the human chattel who built this nation
The values upon which America was built
Would overcome its culture of greed
On the backs of unknown, unsung masses
Who bore the burden of long labor and whips lashes
And the prayers and Faith of prophet preachers
Came a man, half black, half white…
A new breed leader
Who dared to believe against all odds
That he could unite these United States
Seen only, perhaps, by The Dreamer…in ‘68
Who could have known our country’s fate
For the first time, truly, since 1776
A Golden Opportunity For Unity exists
That all Americans could possibly be One
Our new president alone cannot get this done
This is for you, for me, for we, for us
E Pluribus Unum, from many – one...
If God we trust?
Copyright 2009 Iger Rolyat All Rights Reserved
For morning of day night of Danish wind tone beneath the grains of solomon steps
Travler journey note or notice is more then most can take of the meaning of found what is meant
Of good day.
More over any over time and age of grace of day has more meaning each every day.
(How)
For most a understanding fully gratitude is of fine wine conception is to know of dine
To of from to notice or to captivated holds on self reflection unto grace of hold night what is know
Is learned. Like Cargoes of mist to look but not carry how can one make assumption of a good day of pay
If languages is to evolve does concept of mean wage of apprehension
To look among a shadow or even a palm of water does it hold or cuff
(Drip)
Moment of day learning each day how does the way or communication surpass not only of day also of days
(Drip)
To notice the little of details does it hold one up or shackle them from beneath when words are said
Is it a fully understand or a concept take to what other seeks to believe.
Through her window,she could see nothing in the clear blue sky.
Its deep colour was reflected in the calm waters
Of the estuary which spread out in the distance.
Even the normal busy shipping traffic
Seemed to have been lulled to sleep this hot summer afternoon.
There would usually be the sound of ships' horns
Out in the Elbe as they signalled for the lock gates to open.
Water was calm, sky was calm.
It felt to Petra that she was looking at a painting where nothing
Was really alive but only replicated in oilpaint.
The ever-growing buzz in the sky was the only indication that the scene was real.
Others had heard the sound as well.
Like hundreds of bees, but these had a special sting
The temperature was high and it was very dry
There had been no rain for some time. Now there was a rain of bombs.
Petra saw the explosions through her window before she heard them
In the distance as the skyful of B17 s unloaded their cargoes.
Petra and her little sister were terrified, struck immobile in fright.
Their window bellied in like a giant glass balloon suddenly over-inflated,
And jagged, face-ripping shards of glass snarled across the hall
And embedded themselves in the cushions of the sofa.
The woolly innards of the cushions spewed out,
Dangling lifeless from the slash-wounds.
Luckily the girls were not cut.
Suddenly, the whole area became one big fire
With air being sucked in with the force of a storm.
Fires joined together, temperatures rose to melting lead,
Wind speed picked up to hurricane levels,
Trees were hurled into the flames, furniture, cars, even people hurled in.
Fire trucks unable to get through roads blocked by rubble.
Dying by carbon monoxide poisoning
When all the air was drawn out of their basement shelters,
The shelters were filled, but few people were really alive.
And then it was over. As the exploding fireballs gradually died away,
The drone and throb of the buzzing B17s faded off
To the blue sky of the east, to torment some other part of the city.
Walls crashed to the ground, gas lines exploded, people cried and screamed,
The girls shook with terror, but the B17s had gone.
History called it 28 July 1943 - Hamburg firestorm.
Petra always called it Day of the Bees.
.. .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Entered in Debbie Guzzi's Contest Hot Time Summer in the City
blessing, butterfly, nature,
Butterflies And Sweet Breezes (Copywritted by didee)
Colourful butterflies dance on the tail
Of returning scented breezes
That coursed the meadows and moor's
Doorways left open and ajar
To guide all breeze's flights in and out
With the taking of mixed ambrosia whiffs
All swept from their bedded lawns glory
The scented cargoes fill with nectar spawn
Meant to tempt many a 'bypass tour' back.
And it is now on the returning breeze's tail
The butterflies will be brought to drink on nectar
While giving a show of dance they will flit about
Flying from bloom to bloom to gather and drink
Where many butterflies will skip, jump and feed
Until drunk on great cups of mead and made merry.
And it is with their tiny hands and feet
That touch ed-down on the ripe pollen within
That nature has intended to be bandied about
For a full blooming proportional rebirth next year!
In all facets, its scent blows like the man's coil,
Stop, you are weak!
Now these words make you freak.
From afar, more you walk, here you dwell.
Ravenous? Then swallow grumble and toil.
Top; above your imagination, so many are sick,
Despite this, beginning starts; end to seek?
None to lie, the sores as well.
This panting seems a marathon, what an adventure!
Imagine finishing it not knowing,
The cargoes still goes, none will venture,
Just a slopy, seems a hill unmoving,
To heads, all have gleefully mature,
Many are disparities that left filling.
GETTING TOO OLD
Her story told by old charts, scattered, water-drenched.
Portholes all broken, shaft and screw missing : a wreck ,
Grounded on concrete platform like an old man sitting on bench,
Battered funnel, broken hawsers, holes in deck.
Tell you stories about the old days when he mattered.
Eyeglasses cracked. Some say he has a screw loose :
Old man on a bench, like a ship in dry dock, rust splattered,
Battered hat, torn trousers, holes in shoes.
Endured war sagas at the siege of Malta,
Braved storms in the Bering Sea - ice cold,
Saw exotic island sunsets in Straits of Malacca,
With cargoes varied, they traveled the world.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Written for Matt Caliri’s Contest “Write A Backwards Poem”
...dedicated to Hart Crane (1899-1932)
As I dream the sounds of morning sliver,
cut my senses; slow, persistent slices
pierce my eyes to ragged wakefulness.
The muffled cries of merchant hustle and
the honking of the traffic, the noises of
a summer's day displace my reveries.
I wake, and through my window I see
barges in the harbor, bustling like
beetles, scuttling over busy waters,
dragging ships with overflowing cargoes
safe to rest - the dock hands primed
and ready to disgorge the merchandise,
as sunshine washes monoliths of steel
and glass in dazzling refinement - Manhattan
like a mass of golden bars, smoldering and tall.
Steam and smoke engulf a vibrant scene
encompassing, then drifting into nothingness,
the sky a blazing blue, the docks a maze
of rarified activity as yelling fills the air.
Beams irradiate my garret - drafts of bright
and humid air like punches in the stomach
take the breath out of my lungs and leave me
gasping. I sit and watch you sleeping on the bed.
You stretch atop the covers like a vision,
your legs and arms a picture in repose;
I do not dare to wake you from your dreams,
your limbs splayed like a strumpet, you expose
your naked form, my touch will flutter your desire.
your body 'wrapped in mine,
our souls a living sacrament
to love and joy divine.
I enter you and all the stars explode,
fulfillment is our quest,
our shining testament.
As evening gently falls the windows glimmer,
the city glistens now from altered light;
the glowing falters as the sun dips slowly,
dying in the West, makes way for night.
Activity's still rife, but in my garret,
I reach for you as darkness settles soft,
I hold you in my arms, forever blessed,
while stars are quietly dancing up aloft.
3:35 p.m., Thursday afternoon
school’s just let out, and everyone’s joyful for the long weekend.
Here I pause, outside the vocational building at the summit of the hill
where I have been many times before, but never in the past three years.
Giant yellow leviathans still roar by, spewing dust
and carrying cargoes of lost souls, just as they did when I rode one of them to
school
on my first day of sixth grade. Now I’m a senior in high school, and
soon I will leave all of this behind physically, though spiritually I be gone already
perched high above, I feel as if I have transcended my peers,
each the consummation of some love long since past,
who even now laugh, smile, and carry on as they scurry into their cars and drive
off.
How happy they seem! How full of life! How innocent!
But they are so far
away!
Right now my soul is closer to the blue, blue sky, through which I am soaring, far
across
the distant hills that roll out to the horizon like an enormous sheet of Astroturf
casing the falling sun, far, far above any mortal strife,
carried on the backs of sunbeams, past where clouds would sit were the day not
perfect
my face is kissing that enormous yellow ball of love
…no! No!
No!
No!
No!
But I have stayed too long!
Ah, my eyes have strayed too far!
Even now they are drawn to that tan pickup truck
belonging to my lost Love!
Even now they are scanning through the ants in the parking lot
to find that pink backpack, that flowery dress!
Even now She is passing through the calamity unscathed,
accompanied by two friends and another man!
Even now they are tossing their bookbags into the back,
piling into the cab, and slipping away!
Oh, the world is so deep and so wide! and amid the heartless rubble
I have already found for myself a flawless Jewel!
but now She is falling away,
out of my heart,
out of my grasp,
out of my sight,
into the arms of the sweet hereafter.