Best Gangway Poems
A light wind gently rocks our sailboat as
breezes begin to pick up on the sun drenched dock.
Cable wires rap and tap upon the mast as
daylight filters thinly through the clouds.
Egrets begin to peck around the gangway
foraging for scraps from bugs or grubs.
Great blue heron busily prepares her nest
high upon the eucalyptus tree.
I sit and daydream on the harbor deck
just enjoying the sea breeze, sights and sounds.
Kelp beds sway rhythmically with the currents
lapping the rocks at low tide, while
massive flocks of birds perch purposefully
near a lonely lighthouse high on the jetty.
Open seas spread toward the horizon where
pelicans busily dive bomb for fish.
Quarry rocks surrounding the harbor create
rocky protrusions, allowing ground squirrels to
spy sailors earnestly jibing on ocean water
tacking swiftly through the northwest winds.
Under the pylons and gangways
various starfish and mussels cling
with schools of fish swimming in tandem.
Xylophone sounds drift with music from a
Yacht club hosting a spring concert.
Zeal for the beauty of harbor life moves me.
Written on 2/11/2015
We set sail as Reggae music played out on the Lido.
Our first night was casual; no need for tuxedo.
We could eat a pizza by the Windows On the Sea
or go beneath and dine on shrimp and meet the maitre d’
We could gamble, see a show, or just gaze at the ocean,
then in bed, relax the head and sense the soothing motion.
We woke up in Freeport where the ship would dock all day.
Folks could disembark, take tours, or on the ship just stay.
On board were people lounging or dancing to Calypso,
working out or shopping or even playing Bingo.
All day long you could find folks doing funny things
like contests for the men with hairy chests or knobby knees.
Day Two when we awoke, we were then in Nassau.
There was stuff for everyone, from your kiddies to your grandma!
Little ones could stay behind. The staff would entertain them,
or the kids could tag along with mom and dad. No problem!
Those who liked adventure could visit Blue Lagoon.
For snorkeling with sting rays, the boat left right at noon.
I got to pet a dolphin, but extra had to pay
to swim with one! That was sure an extra special day.
In town I got nabbed quickly by a plaza beautician.
Getting braids was all the rage, so people got their hair done.
We went to the gangway before the ship set sail.
Those not having fun by then were deader than a door nail.
“Day at Sea” arrived as the trip was winding down,
and the biggest night was coming; women wore a gown.
That final evening getting all dolled up to dine was when
I wished instead of ending, the trip would start again!
Gals and guys with braided hair; everyone looked nice.
Ah, the midnight feast with pretty sculptures carved in ice.
The ultimate for having fun unless you were just snoozing,
in the laid-back natives’ lingo, I say “Mon,” I sure loved that cruising.
(may not be following precise time line, but this was before year 2000 that I took my one and only cruise, so I'm a bit fuzzy on precise day by day details. it was a Carnival cruise only 3 to 4 days in Bahamas and back to Florida)
Feb. 1, 2022
for "My Favorite Vacation In Rhyme" Poetry Contest of L. Milton Hankins
Ageism
Summer is always hot in the valley the sea breeze does not reach here.
I have a fan blowing shifting the air giving the impression of cooling the air.
By all means we are prosperous people we do have an air condition,
bought before the price of electricity went through the roof.
We tell ourselves that heat is good for our arthritis when driving and
arriving across the road I’m able to turn my head and see what coming,
in winters I do that by feeling of danger or ease.
So many names of soft drinks in the summer they all tell us they are full
of vitamins added and sugar.
I read the job section in the paper, many jobs going I can get well paid
and I would not have to worry about electricity bills and other grating bills.
I do many things if only in my mind, I have written to seek
a job, there has been interests but, when I fill in the form about my age
I hear no more. Once I got a job as a supply officer on a ship, it didn’t last
when it was discovered I wore a false moustache, a wig and was telling lies
about my age. And I was helped down the steep gangway her captain said:
I would have hired you if you had been 30 years younger it is not company
policy to hire anyone over eighty.
Naked death
…the barred and sealed cattle wagons
disgorge
at the Konzentrazionslager
the faux pas relief
from urine mud faeces sweat and tears
unkempt armpits buttocks best wear
turned to damp rags
reduced to moaning cattle
nameless
even the heifer wan straggly limp
Alles! Raus!
…the last quick dab of face powder
the lipstick dried blood tan
the felt hat lying soggy stained
through bellowed haste
on the mudcaked barrack floor
the wampumpeag plucked by the helmeted claw
stabbing on sole-cold cutting cement platform
averting glances on sapped sagging busts
shoulders hunched buckled in
fingers reaching to scratch loins
nostrils quivering
whose the naughty stench
then the trooped Indian file
stray belongings dumped
in a wasteproduct pile
the once highheeled gait
slumping to a side
from the hips down to a jaggedknee limp
prodding the miasmal mist
the exposed varicose veins
the knotty pubis
the mons veneris
the intimate warts and moles
last year’s Ceasarian stitches
the rump twitched less
the lack lustre sentry gazes
the unmasked leer
the disdainful pursed lips
neither shame nor pudeur
and then the last gangway to nowhere
the Ave-Maria road to Himmelweg
a reprieve
From the privately pub. coll. (re-worked 2016): longhand notes ( a binding of poems), 1999, 115p.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 1999/2016
Sunrise at Sea
past salt sight sun rises
rubs the whitecaps from her eyes
stretches forever
# 34
air heavy with spice
salt crisp on my lips and mind
eyes blinded by stars
Exile
callous bejeweled
I’m keeping secrets hidden
salt upon my skin
Gulf of Mexico
watching the moon set
sinking into the Black Sea
orange slice slowly
Red Sky at Night
Sailors delight night
waking in strangest place
I did it sideways
#35
now too long at sea
always another gangway
now too long on land
Port of Call
if my ship comes in
sails slow into your harbor
will you be waiting
Like silent sentries in a row
dock pylons await our arrival.
It is low tide, as I step onto the gangway.
Crusty barnacles cling tenaciously
to the pylons, while salt water
laps the rocky shoreline.
A lanky blue heron carefully picks its way
between the fingers of the dock.
The cool breeze picks up
making the boats bob to and fro.
Halyard lines clang
against the masts of sailboats
while weather vanes turn toward
the prevailing northwest winds
The pungent smell of sea salt air
and the cool mist upon my face
evoke thoughts of escape
and high sea adventures.
As ocean breeze wafts gently
I close my eyes, inhale the fresh air
and give myself over to the sea.
All aboard the Fantasy M/S of Carnival
for half a week’s vacation time of fun and falderal.
Hear greetings from your captain, his director and the crew.
Ready, set, get going. The Bahamas wait for you.
Bon Voyage! There’s Reggae music playing on the Lido.
Dinner is at 6 or 8. Hold off on that tuxedo!
You could eat a pizza by the Windows On the Sea
or go beneath to dine on shrimp and meet the maitre d’.
Gamble or see comedy; reflect upon the ocean.
Late to bed; relax your head; sense the soothing motion.
Rise and shine in Freeport where the ship will dock all day.
You can disembark to take a tour, or you can stay.
On board the ship, take a dip; lounge or dance Calypso.
Get yourself massaged; work out, shop or play some bingo.
All day long, you can find folks doing funny things
like contests for the men with hairy chests or knobby knees.
Day two when you waken, you will be in Nassau.
There’s stuff for everyone, from your kiddies to your grandma!
Little ones may stay behind. Folks will entertain them,
or the kids can tag along with the adults. No problem!
If you like adventure, visit lovely Blue Lagoon.
For snorkeling with sting rays, the boat leaves right at noon.
You can pet some dolphins, but extra you should pay
if you want to swim with them. That’s one special day.
In town you might be nabbed by a plaza beautician.
Getting braids is all the rage, so people get their hair done.
Get back to the gangway before the ship sets sail.
If you‘re still not having fun, you must be a door nail!
“Day at Sea” arrives as your trip is winding down,
And the biggest night is coming; women wear a gown!
That final evening dining perhaps with a new friend,
you’ll wish instead of ending, it were starting all again.
Gals and guys with braided scalps; everyone looks nice.
Ah, that midnight feast with pretty sculptures carved in ice.
The ultimate for leisure if you’re after more than snoozing’.
In the laid-back natives lingo: “Mon, you best be cruising!”
NOTE: (this describes a vacation I took about 12 years ago, my first
and probably last cruise ever, unless I come into money. haha.
I'd seen Europe in my youth but as vacations go,this truly was
the best one.)
For Carol Brown's Contest: "It's Time for a Vacation"
stars,
above swirling dark,
in sky drained of color,
below,
sprawling Asia,
spread out in a carpet,
of billboards and humanity.
watching it all from the world's largest tower,
feeling like a king in a secondhand sky,
now walking among streets, stalls, and stooped shoulders,
inhaling foreign vapors.
smoke from cheap cigarettes drift down,
to mingle with scents from open gutters,
fecund and flowing,
past medicine shops of tiger teeth,
and ginseng root.
stopping at a rusted fence,
marking neglected graves tilted,
borders to a rotting mansion,
colonial memories of plague and accident.
further on, the well lit ship,
clean and efficient,
up the gangway to the duty,
crisp in his ice cream suit,
down to the well deck,
amber lit and heavy in humid air,
peering down at armored beetles,
emitting odors of oil and exhaust,
cordite and purpose,
and briefly catch a sad sentiment,
fluttered in night air above,
of what was and what could be,
lost in blood, power and tribal lust,
our racial fait accompli,
and draw back from thoughts such as these,
and let it fly away.
Sea Spray (getting my salt on again)
Shake the cobwebs from my mind
hidden places elusive
hard even for me to find
shedding layers, strings unwind
Grow me a red beard
shave my head, shipboard doo
thinking clearly, feeling weird
situations often worse than feared
Making up recipes for camel ball soup
eel meat, pinches of saffron
powdered rhino snoot
For now, no more baby poop
Up another gangway leaving it all behind
one more Captains office, ‘Articles’ signed
taking the watch, changing the clocks
Exactly what am I trying to find
***
Through salt stained window dawn rises
rubs the whitecaps from her eyes
and stretches. . . on forever
***
Eat your citrus get in the loop
prevents scurvy maybe even the whoop
potatoes or yams, one pound a day
And you, yet to get a sloop
Down on the pier, the midmorning bright,
Thronged wives, husbands, lovers,
And sons, friends, young daughters,
All eyes perusing the grand and gray ship
In long-simmered hope of glimpsing one face,
One much-beloved grin, among antsy sailors
Arrayed in white jumpers along the tall deck,
‘Til, filing like ants, crew at last disembarked:
A long, gangling line descended the gangway,
Dispersed and filtered, absorbed by the crowd,
One young and trim yeoman elbowing through,
Enfolding his wife—petite, trembling gal—
Into long, lanky arms, her buxom breast pressing,
Squeezing tight to his chest
And stoking, thereby, his half-a-year’s yearning
To hold and be kissed,
To kiss once again this doll from high school—
And the assemblage transformed
By thinning and ebbing away from the pier,
While that sailor still kissed, hugged his wife tight,
Past months dissolving, by love overwhelmed,
‘Til, still holding close, they silently strolled
Relieved he’d returned—
He’d come home to his wife.
Resting In His Arms
Your mind may be clouded
Because of physical or mental pain.
Christ understands our weaknesses;
Simply rest and in His arms remain.
Cast your mind on your blessings
Rather than your afflictions.
Surrender your condition
To your Father in heaven.
Praise Him for His matchless love
And the sacrifice He made,
As you dwell upon your Lord,
Your own suffering will fade.
Song is a weapon
You can use every day
To combat discouragement—
The evil one’s gangway.
“Lord you are my light and my salvation—
Nothing shall I fear.
Lord you are my strength
Please always stay near.
I need Your comfort
To get me through this trial.
Soon it will be over—
In just a little while.
I lay my affliction
At Your loving feet.
I surrender it now—
Resist the enemy’s defeat.
You are my Comforter
My Healer and Friend
Thank you, dear Lord
That on You, I can depend.”
Copyright © Maureen LeFanue 2007-2012
www.maureenlefanue.com
Cloistered within the restroom stall
eavesdropping on my peers
soft whispers echo off tiled walls
revealing secrets, hidden tears
Somehow this restroom has become
a sordid confessional booth
a place of refuge, safe for some
to air their inner truth
Co-workers cluster, confiding things
they wouldn't want the boss to know
nasty hangovers, weekend flings
soap-opera worthy woes
Some speak carefully, checking stalls
noting unfamiliar shoes
while others quickly unleash it all
like they have nothing to lose
“That ratfink took credit for all my work
but I'm gonna wait and be patient-
'cause I've got a plan to fix that jerk
next week while he's out on vacation!”
Young woman details a wicked trap
to catch her mortal foe...
while on the door, the impatient raps
of another who's “got to go”
Next there is an angry mother
scolding her wayward son
something or other (he did to his brother)
the fussing has just begun
“Listen Mister, I've had about all
I can take from you today
Oh, now you're sorry, no- don't you bawl!
I wasn't born yesterday!”
Then tripping in, catty office girls
meowling with purrs and sighs
pretend to freshen their faces and curls
while sniping and scratching out eyes
“...Lovely green sweater you're wearing, my dear-
wherever did you buy it?”
She means it looks quite awful on you
“Here, this smells good, you should try it!”
“Gangway girls- I'm comin' through!”
woman bellows, bursting through door
the others pause, and then continue
nonchalantly as before
Eventually they all trickle out
and two teenage girls traipse in
whispering about poor What's-Her-Face
and all the trouble she's in
“She's only twelve, and such a shame
tried to kill herself last week
they said she's crazy, that she's to blame
a loser, misfit, freak...”
“So they had her institutionalized
and she sits, spaced out, and stares
while they tell her the abuse was 'made-up lies'
and she knows that no one cares”
Sooner or later, there's silence
as the restroom door swings closed
then after a flush, a wash, a rinse
I get myself composed
Finally, I'm all alone here
in this magical, comforting place
voicing my own insecurities, fears
to my mirror-image face
Mary Marion Williams, is one of twenty three,
rescued and surviving the North Atlantic sea,
Fate is a fickle friend, to have upon your side,
For if destiny is written, there’s no need to have a guide.
Mary believed in fate, so had no fear at all,
when on that dreadful night,the steward gave a call,
“abandon ship, we’re sinking” he rapped outside her door,
Then suddenly ,an explosion threw her to the floor.
She did in no way panic, Just picked herself up and dressed,
Paused for a moment, to root inside her chest,
she was struggling up the gangway,as the ship began to list,
Fate again was there to help, when someone grabbed her wrist.
Do not worry ma’am, a voice above her cried,
I am not, she said I know I'm safe, for fate is on my side.
she was helped to a lifeboat, by a member of the crew,
and looking round, she found she’d joined,the other twenty two,
Fate took a hand again,for our lucky ladyship,
She was picked up the very next day, by a Royal navy ship,
Who just by chance or maybe fate,
Happened to be passing, upon that very date.
This poem is a work of imagination, any likeness to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
I'm a Piketown son who left his mum
To sail the eastern shores
Spent a year in Gloucester
'mong the barkeeps and the whores
Then a man came 'round to Gloucester town
Said boys I need a few
Strapping lads such as yourselves
To join me whalin' crew
The pay is mighty lowly and
The work'll break yer backs
But if ye crave adventure, men
You'll ne'er get a better chance
Those who'd go out wi' me, lads
Prepare ta leave at dawn
There's a whaler at the dockside
She's called the Dreadful Mourn
Ho! Called I to Captain Frye
My services you've bought
I've traveled here from Piketown
To earn a tale heart'ly wrought
Aye, me lad then ye shall have
A yarn ta spin yer sons
So join me on the Dreadful Mourn
'Ere long's the risin' sun
I nodded Aye to Captain Frye
Then turned to swig my ale
When a man appeared beside me
And pulled up to the rail
He shook his head and then he said
His offer you should spurn
There was another Frye set out
Yet ne'er did he return
This other Frye for he was kin
Of the Captain now about
That fortune on their family frowns
Of that there is no doubt
I turned to the stranger, smiled
Said thank you for the warn
Then headed down the gangway
Out to the Dreadful Mourn
For weeks on end I coiled the ropes
Boiled the oil and pulled the line
Though it was grueling labor
I was feelin' pretty fine
But the winds they soon blew colder
And the ship began to slow
The Captain said don't worry men,
This is how the whales go
One day the ice so thickened that
The ship came to a stop
The Captain cried a wild whoop
Boys I think I've found the spot!
For 'twas about this latitude
Where me brother's ship was lost
And now I've come ta bring him home
No matter what the cost!
Sorry I lied ta ye lads
I blame ye not for yer ire
Now calm ye selves, we've work ta do
Afore we can retire
Of course you know we would not go
Along with his plan
The crew decided mutiny
Right down to the last man
For Captain Frye's madness
We must pay an awful price
But he would join his brother
As a ghost beneath the ice
The ship was stuck, the stores near out
'Twas nothing left to do
'Cept sing a sailin' shanty
And toast the Dreadful crew
So I took a final dram of rum,
Cursed the day that I was born
And lay down to my icy fate
Aboard the Dreadful Mourn
June 24, 2017
I donned my best Sunday working coveralls
Plopped the hardhat on my waiting head.
Just another twelve hours of service rendered
To an employer who cares not if im live or dead
Ive seen days and months and years fly by
As I travel horizons far and wide
You become bitter to the loves lost along the way.
But you learn to bury the pain deep inside.
Ive fought with men with hardened hearts
Who poured out their hurts in the fists they threw.
But in the next Port of Call all was forgiven
And you would share an ale or two.
The land dwellers never witness the struggles of this life
Or the burdens of each cross we bear
Or how much we anticipate coming home.
And falling into loving arms that still miss and care.
Ive seen young lads come up the gangway
Thinking they have found an adventurers paradise
And watch their smiles turn to grimmaces
Once the sea steals their soul and life.
Its a job unlike no other
Where your gone for months that just drag on
And when you finally make it home again
You find your feeling like you dont belong.