Best Fore And Aft Poems
I think of sunsets I have seen
throughout my many years
from doorsteps where in quiet thought
I've laughed and wiped my tears.
The doorstep is a thinking spot
a place to share my day
with loved ones God has given me,
an altar where I pray.
For children it's a special seat
for rest when school work ends,
where snacks and many laughs are shared
with kindred-spirit friends.
For teens it is a meeting place
where games and dates are planned.
The simple structure serves us all,
according to demand.
Great praise is due life's doorsteps,
both intangible and seen,
and all the portals fore and aft
for all they truly mean.
published in the book Expressions of Faith (Christian Faith Publishing, 2017)
posted 11-7-15
May 2017, placed 5th of ten in Ironic Zinc's Your Personal Favorite Poem Contest
entered in Brian Strand's Mid-June Premier Contest on June 13, 2017
December 27, 2018, entered in Mark Toney's Poetry Marathon, Mile 5
October 13, 2020
Contest Title: Have You Published Poetry Contest Placed 2nd
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
My eager man bought me a wee thong
which I put on to best get along
but rubbing bugging attacks
soon whacked my fore and aft crack.
My pinged pong found his dingdonged thong wrong.
I
Wishes that you find peace, the Hebrew Shalom
For it includes well-being, being WHOLE-some
One need not have religion when one has Shalom
So my deepest desire this Covid year, for everyone
To heal by sharing how you love another, and pray:
For me and my ministry in Newtown, South Africa
Pray especially for women and children, gossiper
About abuses here, I have been, Not today
I just ask: Think of places of abject need - for "play"
That the Creator intended; relaxing in a healthy way
But lest I preach, I wish for more of your poetry about
Many, many poets know it their words lift HOPE out
From the morass Humans find themselves in
Then spend a little time 'fore and aft' Christmas, within
II
Ask oneself this: who puts first breath in newborns?
Or tells them to cry, or send lips after nipples?
If that's too elementary ask thyself: How do I blink
Who tells my eyelids to open, shut, dodge, avoid specks?
And as important, who BEATS MY HEART when I'm asleep?
Why does it not malfunction when I'm at rest, healthy,
Before I have contributed to the wear and tear?
Siblings, whoever and whatever set the planets in safe orbits
Needs a moment of reflection from you & me: with or without a Tree
I like to think
that poetry
has intrinsic value
above and beyond
the actual craft…
That the origins
of poetry’s meter
and rhyme precede
each preliminary
draft…
That something, perhaps
even spiritual, transcends
the fore-and-aft…
And when the writer
thinks to scuttle
a work, as often
inherently we do,
always
may there be angels
floating him
a Literary-raft….
I often sail where glitter,
stars a dear focus of mine --
a twinkle voyage, fore and aft,
Christ my sure steer rudder --
The heart is a wonderful thing
when in control and on fond
path – the heart is a fickle-thing,
sometimes confounding
its fore and aft – the heart
is a fierce competitor, when
afire, fearing not God nor Devils --
the heart is a repentant thing, a
foolish thing, Victor and Victim
of its own undoing. The heart,
its own praise and excuse…
a fruit tree~ with a dangling noose.
Scripture asks us to love our neighbor.
But some think love comes without labor.
It's something we speak,
Not something we seek.
A fine cup of wine with no flavor.
Declarations of love make me laugh.
Without knowledge such words are just chaff.
You say I love you,
But that isn't true,
'Til you've traveled that ship, fore and aft.
A neighbor is a gem in a box,
Which is freely displayed without locks.
But when you decide
To not look inside,
Your love goes no deeper than the box.
It's the heart that defines who we are.
And you cannot love that from afar.
You have to dig in,
Look under the skin,
It takes patience to open that jar.
Any love less than this is a lie,
Just a superficial lullaby.
When you won't connect,
It's sung for effect,
A performance arranged for the eye.
In God's kingdom, would this be your goal -
To have neighbors without heart or soul?
Should we love your grace,
Or only your face?
For a love without depth isn't whole.
If make believe love has sufficed,
Then your love is improperly priced.
Rewards one receives,
Show what he believes,
When such love has been offered to Christ.
For as you've loved the least of His flock,
Those empty faces there on your block,
That's how you love Him,
A name in a Hymn,
It's a church built on mud, not on rock.
So before He meets us at the gate,
Learn this lesson before it's too late.
Love's ultimate goal,
To open the soul,
Is a truth that determines our fate.
It starts with a little yawn,
then a stretch, both fore and aft.
Next the blankets start to move,
I just have to laugh.
She shuffles up from the bottom,
of the bed, where warm and snug,
she had slept the whole night through,
as snug as a bug in a rug.
But, comes the tock of six a.m.
her internal clock goes "Bong".
A morning ritual now begins,
softly, with a little yawn.
Her nose peeks out from beneath,
the rest of her soon follows.
Her head she rubs into my neck,
as I try to hide in the pillow.
It is no use, I'm now wide awake,
I climb out, into the world where I belong.
Just before she scrambles back beneath,
she gives out a little yawn.
For the contest; What makes you wake up each and every day
Sponsored by Ed Ebbs
Who am I today?
Husband, Father, Son or Brother
A noble thought that gives itself away,
Or some distant, self-obsessed Other?
What shape I don tomorrow
Who can say
If I shall move across my stage
Enacting joy or sorrow?
What tides shall bear me
To what familiar or what stranger port
Whose ears shall hear, whose eyes shall see
Old things or new, of unfamiliar sort
Come crowding 'round my senses,
Who may know
What meanings they may bring,
Or how assault
My incomplete defenses?
For I am, at base, like every man
A shambling, shapeless Legion
Who strives for sense as best he can
Within the compass of his crowded reason,
Bounded fore and aft by birth and death,
Seeking for some middle way
Amidst the crowd he is;
To speak some sense with his last breath.
This day is not like any other day;
It has never been, nor ever will be
Again.
Though pregnant with eternal yesterdays
Touching all its tomorrows
It is all we ever have to hold and make our own
- Those others fore and aft are ghosts,
To which legions this as well shall add itself -
Each new day defines us as we are, complete,
On some special one
That will not announce itself
Nor look like any other,
We shall walk with it to where there are days no more,
Into that Undiscovered Country.
- So spurn no day as inconsequent.
It brought its gifts or griefs to you,
Subtle or profound, to carry or reject.
Seize each day, they are the Prayer beads
On the rosary of your life;
Walk close with them
Into each one's sacred sunset.
© 2010 (Jim Sularz)
Heave Ho! Aweigh, the ship’s anchor,
Lads, climb-up, the tall ship’s masts!
Unfurl the sails white billowed,
all pray, the stiff trade winds blast!
Men briny from white-capped oceans,
Terra firma’s, a distant quest.
Feel the salt spray, stinging the faces,
of the ship’s crew, tossed fore and aft.
We’re compelled to sail the oceans an’ seas,
with a plumb compass an’ a ration’s tack.
Tattoos an’ a gypsy squeeze-box melody,
the gale blows on our ruddy backs.
All hands scramble, to assemble on deck,
for the Captain rings-hard a muster.
Churning waves in our rudder’s wake,
luminous, with a strange glowing luster.
Land Ho! A calm, deep harbor,
a smoke filled pub an’ a bonny lass.
But the sea’s, our only steadfast lover,
an’ she beckons, to call us back.
We stand proud to call ourselves - mariners,
Men without fear, we tame the high seas.
Bright stars as our comforting beacons,
fair weather with God’s given speed.
By moon beams an’ dawn’s faint daylight,
we’ll turn our ship’s namesake back.
Heave Ho! Aweigh, the ship’s anchor,
Lads, climb-up, the tall ship’s masts!
Dawn breaks ruby red, windy day in sight.
Sailors scorning its warning, grab a bite
Pack their gear, rush to yacht, hoist sails upright.
Sea weathered mates, love to join the fight
Against wind and waves to drive yachts to flight.
Discomfort ignored, sailing sheer delight
For salted down folk, which fair winds ignite,
To crew on helm, winch, fore and aft alike.
Lovely folk for which the tussle and fight,
Fosters heavenly help when woeful plight
Strands boaties in trouble, with fear and fright.
Nothing too much trouble - seafarer rite.
Airship
How far I’ve flown I neither know nor care.
Much as this open deck my plans are bare.
Of star or compass I have nary need,
But follow as these downy cloud tops lead.
The chilly breezes toying through my hair
Cascade across my skin and jacket flare
While on the bottoms of my booted feet
The engine taps an unrelenting beat.
I acquiesce to gentle bob and sway
Beneath balloon and rigging bloated shape.
Awaiting now the nearly risen sun
I scan the vast expanse and see no one.
And yet, I hear a rumbling of some sort
Then luminescing clouds off to my port
Combusting deep with ever brighter tones
Now booming louder, louder, nearer, NO!
Bombastic airship, cannons bursting now,
Ejected straight at me from out its shroud.
A maniac, that pilot, heaving hard
Just missing our collision by one yard
His tortured face, the horror in those eyes,
For near destroying me, so I surmised,
Until I saw his passing stern ablaze.
Then mammoth winged beast in brutal chase
Erupting, fierce and howling, scales agleam.
The hot concussion of its down-spent wing
That final moment as it thrust away
Forced ship and I and all the world to sway.
Then came the screams, the pounding and a moan
As crew and cargo floundered down below
Caught in the violent swinging disarray.
The flaming ship and dragon sped away
To disappear in yet another cloud.
Our vessel’s motion finally calmed down.
Those lightly injured put the ship aright.
And unspilled rum was quickly spent that night.
Now star and compass were of urgent need.
This damaged vessel and the injuries
Required that we find a ready port
Equipped to lend us aid of every sort.
I searched in haste upending fore and aft
For sextant, compass, and the proper map,
Then finally we found the guiding star
And made for help that wasn’t very far.
By dawn I bid the floating docks goodbye
With only half a crew and resupply
But, now where'er I travel through the sky
I keep the navigation tools nearby.
The Captain had a penny whistle
Which he wore around his neck
And he played it every morning
As the crew danced on the deck.
Sometimes it was a Hornpipe
Sometimes a Palais Glide
As the crew danced fore and aft
And from Port to Starboard side.
Prompt every morning
When the Bosun rang a bell,
And if he was feeling frisky
The Captain danced as well.
Sometimes on sunny mornings
The crew would stand at ease
While the Captain and a subby
Mimed a decorous strip tease.
Rain storm hail or shine
Until twenty minutes passed
When on a given signal
The crew would climb the mast
To set the sails and rigging
And get the ship under way
And so it continued
Every single day.
Two or three times a year
All the ships would meet
And the Captain and his crea
Would dance for the fleet.
It was on the good ship Venus
Which had been a ship of shame
Until the Dancing Captain'
Gave it a better name.
He became the only Admiral to wear
A penny whistle around his neck
And even in his dotage
Would dance around the deck.
Ship shape and Bristol fashion
When she was away at sea.
Oh on the good ship Venus
Such a happy place to be
A young rogue named Finn
Ran away with an escaped slave,Jim,
Down the river on a raft
On the Mississippi this tale was craft-
Encounters & adventures,fore and aft.