Best Commodore Poems
An hour before time, they put her through the motions.
Shoving and pulling her strings adding oil and suntan lotion.
Hot and humid still shining in candid spirit she professes
in music, a monotone but in finesse, a tune nonetheless.
Of her welcome song intrinsic in me but to her handlers, in blase
only the mere task of steering and roping in tense power play.
Embarking though marred by obvious signs of abuse and neglect.
Her rolling in elation disguised the slippery entrance and my regret.
Drivers accommodating cramped spaces as directed, gently to fill.
Opting to maitain serenity as they in vain, placate her iron will.
Do I hear her rising blood pulses or lack of joy in welcome thereof?
No, just the sound of tumultuous creaks and human smell
of perfume, tainted sweat and punjent oil leaks let off.
Disgruntled impatience of mere sailors but of her, not a peep.
Standing tall, holding firm a class of her own as she let sweep.
Riding the waves in style directing me to the destiny I must keep.
On and on she rides tantalising the waves as they foam at the peaks.
Such insight when she lapses into a lullaby putting me to sleep.
I return to a friend who knows well to serve, to ferry me ashore.
Another blissful time with her as the sea beckons for us to explore.
She is faithful, a useful companion with its own metallic commodore.
Sailing majestically forever a classy lady, our very own Lady Samoa.
(N.B Lady Samoa is our Inter-Island Ferry)
I starts me life as pirate,
A grommet before age twelve,
Not an ordinary bandit,
High sea adventures me delve.
With a Letter of Marque in me han’
And the Commodore for me pa!
I spends dogwatch near the helmsman,
Nerey missin’ me bonny ma.
Old salts tell their gory tales,
Aye, dogs hanging from the gallows.
Punishments for a man who fails
Floggings or keelhaul; blood bath follows.
Scrimshaw hangin’ ‘round me neck.
A privateer by trade,
Flaunting booty on the deck
We’s the scallywags brigade.
Pirateering is me heartthrob.
I dreams schemes in the crows nest.
‘bout takin’ swag from an unfortunate swab.
I sits watchin’ pa from the crest.
Long nines aimed and ready,
Jolly Roger on the mainmast,
Headway fast and steady,
The enemy’s fate forecast.
One for all and all for one!
Drinkin’ grog an’ eatin’ grub.
Werkin’ on the “Morning Sun”
Me father at the hub.
Davy Jone’s locker, me final plight!
Death drifting in me beloved sea –
Straightway from the dark of night
The pirate’s life for me!
© July 15, 2010
Dane Smith-Johnsen
What do computers daydream about?
Do they wish they talk back or shout?
Without a disc drive,
It would not survive,
I’m sure it does hate to be cleaned out!
Wonder what floats above in the cloud,
a long nap, is it even allowed?
“shut off my darn screen!
You’re only thirteen!
Stupid YouTube is up way too loud!!!”
I’m sure it gets sick of that Minecraft,
it would much rather float on a raft,
videos and games,
life’s just not the same,
“now kids pick me over doing crafts!”
Sincere photos and cards are printed,
a cute little game played by a kid,
“sometimes it’s worth it,
they quietly sit…
but I wanna close just one eyelid!”
Remember Commodore Sixty-Four?
“The good old days! I wish I had more!
Way before email,
was slow as a snail,
what’s all this technology good for???”
“Please press the button for pause or mute,
even though you think my mouse is cute,
I’m so tired tonight,
Laura, p l e a s e don't write...
too exhausted to even compute!”
*Written to my poor, worn out and exhausted 4 year old laptop who just told me last night he is almost too pooped to participate*
Date Written: August 20, 2016
Commodore Cornelius Vanderbilt
raised you as a monument
to his empire, and why shouldn’t he.
From humble beginnings his art was
monopoly. He understood the art in craft,
it seems, for grand indeed you are. You
never belonged to him though, not
for a minute. You are touched by the handprints
of the thousands of souls who have built you:
ditch diggers and rock breakers, immigrants with picks,
sand-hogs and men off the reservation who walk in the wind.
Carpenters and engineers, plasterers and track men,
free men from the south and young men off farms
along the Erie Line from Chicago. You are oiled
with their sweat your memory holds their faces.
You have grown with progress, made adjustments.
In application you are a multi-chambered bellows,
you are the compressing and expanding cacophony of the accordionist,
you are the venturi effect. A pair of lungs. A beating heart;
pulling and pumping in all directions the flowing
blood-life of our nation. Beneath your dome of stars
you blanket the needy. Lovers rendezvous under your all-seeing
four-eyed clock: keeper of centuries with its secret
spiral staircase optical nerve. See’er of millions,
taking an imprint of each. Living. Breathing. Alive.
I love this drug
it makes me sooooo.....mmm
superwomaly
flying to the fifth or sixth dimension of an extension of
me
Not being self absorbed or super conceited
just longing to be treated as the one
longing to the one of a ton of many ones that want to be
cool...smooth...easy like a commodore morning.
Glorifying the timing of a lingering love for me...
Jill Scott found the magic number so I wonder
why can't I be that fly to find that equation that will solve
the problem of unlimited elation to the nth degree
you see I've managed to stay
cool...no fool around here to disrupt or put an abrupt end
to the trend of being a friend to a Crew of Spirits beyond limits
and understanding...thanking Him for the pace of grace that I feel
to deal with others who want to change the solution to my equation
of being one with my Saviour.
On the edge of barren, corroded shore
Where sailors ply their trade no more
No tenured harbor gallant fleets to moor,
or docks to greet restless crew, strident commodore
No expansive peers into the mighty ocean waves bore,
or rustic wharves to accompany the dank decor
Gone are the tradesmen whose skilled hands weathered ships did restore,
and the tawny, burly arms of the itinerant, shuffling stevedore
No inquisitive merchants the cargo's value to score
Yet the drifting currents grainy sketches still store
In the eerie winds the rasping breaths of stevedores soar
Through stormy gales, commands of disembarking captain's roar
Timeless silhouettes of wafting masts hover o'er ocean floor
Apparitions of ruddy sailors from briny mists pour
Out of the steamy fog, pirate ghosts still yell encore
From foaming waves, drunken sailors one more drought implore
Ham vk4pr
In 1988 I got a puter ,
And it was cuter ,
Than a fowling ferret ,
Yes in the month of may.
Me old commodore 64,
I’d fire up for sure,
And hook up a radio,
to talk to Halliwell,
he was vk4ave.
before the net appeared ,
we had paket radio, with ears,
to-way radio, modem,
and a commodore 64,
around the world we’d talk,
morse code of any sought,
and I’d put up poetry to squalk,
with a punch-up on the way:)
Ham radio died,
cos we was supplied,
With instant contact, right away,
Internet arrived,
me valve radio finals tried, (6146 transmitter tubes)
but she lurks in me cupboard now today:)
the RF radiation in the room can light me fluros soon:)
Talkin' Technology Enter Contest [Enter Contest]
Sponsored by: Natalie Fllikkema
Good on you Coach D!
its like dem puters big bad Bob, H
if ya got a use 4 em you can ride dat hog,
bloody txting me fingers cant do the job,
have to keep on a romancin...
bloody cold here heed a lukewarm chic,
on ya mate,
Don
On balmy beach blithe commodore
Without ship, rudder, or rowing oar
Striding gusts, waves only chore
Soothing breeze girdles the shore
Sidling along, currents to explore
Mind's tranquil base to restore
Body's chafed shaft to bore
Frothy mist o'er skin doth pour
Swabbed flesh awaiting encore
To swaddle each beckoning pore
More cooling streams do implore
To massage deep into heated core
Somnolent tune blithe rhythms store
Each floating note tingling drums score
Fluttering through ethereal seams do soar
Then descends, rasping at heart's sheltered door
The first was a wee bird
How clear the glass
Its thud was loudly heard
Rendered it to the earthen grass…
The second was the pig, squealing
Yielding its life in a blood-letting, crass
Still heard inside, the porky-pealing…
Swollen turtle mommy was to shed
Ocean tears before her eggs boiled - unappealing
Mealy-mouthed slurping of yolk-sloppy dread
Even now, such distaste, recoils…
The chicken heads chopped-dead
Headless guillotine shudders, roil
In an abrupt death paroxysm
Next, after panic-eyed goats, humans
Gunning for the body-soul schism…
(1/8/2020 Inspired by the contest: how death has affected you
Regal 2001 Commodore 2960; DMS)
1 Crest Road
At 1 crest road computers lurk,
and donkeys they run free.
Theres Halliwell he's hard at work, (Canadian imported about 1970)
friend of birds cane toads and me.
Look for savage dogs theres two or more,
Luke and Spook will check you out.
Or a big brown hound with a donkeys roar,
herself a pooch no doubt.
R.F. radiation on the short wave burns, (ham radio, towers etc)
there's an eerie glow inside.
Computers talk and packet churns, (paket pre internet toway, modem, computer)
where sometimes chips get fried.
So just beware if you go there,
past mean old Itsy at the gate. (buried great dane)
If you dodge the brown with half a prayer,
you'll get some coffee mate.
by D H Johnson.vk4pr
Of Rhymer Frank Halliwell [vk4ave] & his mean brown donkey
Google Frank, he has poetry pages.
He got me into computers commodore 64 in 1990:)
*Image of Hawaii State Flag & State Motto/Seal by Pixabay.
The Great Mahele
The Hawaiian islands were overwhelmed,
In the year eighteen hundred forty-three,
Hawaiians were prisoners, promptly held,
By Captain George Paulet a Lord he'd be.
Constraining the islands for his monarch,
Accusations formed by Richard Charlton,
The islands British Consul a suave shark,
Aberrant land swindler cursed charlatan.
Prod Captain British subjects land taken,
Put was U.S. Captain Long ne'er meddle,
Commodore Kearny's U.S. warships end,
Six months seizure--awards a nonmetal.
Paulet cut our flags Union Jack now flys,
In part plus changing words immortalize.
2021 November 16
"Ua mau ke ea o ka aina i ka pono." (Hawaiian)
"The life (or sovereinty) of the land is perpetuated in righteousness." (English)
Hawaii's State Motto/Creed and Hawaii's State Seal
King Kamehameha III, of The Kingdom of Hawaii, said those words as part of his message to the people of the Hawaiian kingdom after British ships withdrew rather than risk conflict with America. The acts of the usurpers caused the king to establish "The Great Mahele", giving land to the commoners, whereto, I'm now a benefactor thereof.
King Kamehameha I friendship with England caused the inclusion of The Union Jack as part of Hawaii's State Flag. It has eight stripes of white, red, and blue that represent the eight main islands. The Union Jack flew o'er the islands during the seizure, but the Hawaiian Flag was restored after it was learned that England never sanctioned the occupation.
In Land of Oz a thousand feet below
was the morn on New Year’s Day,
and ‘neath a shining weightless wing
the steep sea cliffs of Botany Bay.
We taxied through old Sydney Town
with all wild expectation to come -
and when in Rome did as Romans do
and made way for the colosseum.
There it was, that grand noble edifice -
mortals did her sidewalks pound,
through those gates the arena roared
inside the Sydney Cricket Ground!
And later that balmy night wandered
after a cruel last ball Windies loss,
but ever closer drew those neon lights
in the noisy heart of King’s Cross.
Among the pushers, whores and vice
the city underbelly we did follow -
bordellos, dives, strip joints and bars
led Skeet ‘n Rich to take in a show.
At sunup the heights of Centrepoint
with its sky towering crow’s nest -
the sun and sands of Bondi to the east
and Blue Mountains in the west.
Behold Sydney Cove in Port Jackson
where soldiers and mariners sailed,
the tall ships that her garrison moored
carried convicts from Blighty jailed.
And upon pink granite cathedral walls
a new age do new virtues espouse -
its topaz curtain glass and white sails
shining on that grand Opera House
Next destination the Capital Territory
and a disappearing lake rivermouth,
over hinterland plains and gorges deep
and Snowy Mountains to the south.
Yon Canberra to the Queensland border
at the wheel of our V6 Commodore,
over “The Bridge” up the Pacific Highway
on seawatch north to Maroochydore.
To Byron Bay, Coolangatta, Surfers rode
the onya adventures of Skeet 'n Rich,
and after a thousand miles at our backs
it was a true blue hot son-of-a-bit*h!
And at journey's end up in Cotton Tree
on Aussie time we did celebrate -
struth, with a tinny and sambuca shots
we got fair dinkum pissed, mate!
Written: April 1996
Extinction
Frank Halliwell
The ship snapped out of hyperdrive twelve thousand miles from earth
The planet loomed immense upon the screen
With gleaming ice at both the poles and white clouds 'round its girth..
A floating ball of blue and brown and green.
The crescent of an ancient moon above the planet's rim,
Its face illumined by the brilliant sun,
And craters from ten thousand rocks gave it a visage grim,
Suggesting that it be a place to shun.
'Magnification, number one! Let's have a closer look! '
Said the captain as he eased into his chair.
'The colonists were landed here, according to the book,
So scan the place for life with every care! '
'They've had a million years or so to populate the place,
So they may not be so very hard to find.
They had some competition from a rather larger race:
Alien beings of a very different kind!
In only a few seconds then, the screen burst into life,
And the image of a commodore appeared,
'My report is that we prosper, though we've had a little strife
From the giants that our ancestors once feared! '
'We lost millions to the chemicals they broadcast everywhere,
They dealt our kind an almost mortal blow...
'Til they stripped the earth completely, and they fouled the seas and air,
...And they went the way the unresponsive go! '
'So report that we're successful and we've made it our abode,
And a new age for our kind has now begun!
Antennae will wave exitedly to mark this episode
When your ship arrives back home on Cockroach One! '
***
Did I even Mention before?
Theres some tension in my core
I can't be silent, no more
I always close my doors
And try to forget unsettled scores
And try to complete undone chores
Try to numb myself
Set on collision course
Try to hold down Hulk
With incredible force
Rather facing
Emotions ignored
To myself I swore
Never to fall unless sure
Unless I find myself adored
Unless I find myself restored
Unless I am treated like Thor
Unless I am willingly explored
Unless loves willingly poured
I refuse to be Metaphor
I'll rather be Commodore
Fight storm like old boar
Then rest in peace ashore
An undefeated SALVADOR
1)I've visited Pool Halls at least 100 times, and I ain't yet found a pool there. I got
so disgusted, I stopped carrying my bathingsuit around.
2)My girlfriend sent me an Afghan, but I don't speak his language. Her note said
he was supposed to keep me warm, but I couldn't use him for that- he smelled
kind'a funky.
3)Affidavit- When David pissed me off and I was out to get him.
4)Commercial Bank- A bank primarily concerned with safely storing TV
commercials.
5)Congo- What happens when a prison inmate escapes.
6)Commodore- An entranceway covered with a grammatical symbol.
7)Kinetic- A blood sucking insect attached to the skin of a relative.
8)Kinship- My uncle's yacht that I'm not allowed on.
9)New Delhi- A start-up delicatessen.
10)Wimp Van Wrinkle- A dry-cleaner who is abused by his wife.
11)Tally Ho- A pimp takes inventory.