Best Shanghaied Poems
A Nook and a Storybook
What would I give for a nook and a book
to cuddle and snuggle and longingly look
the pages unfolding as I listened to
the comforting song of a fast flowing brook.
Oh, if it had pictures, a faraway place,
mysterious villains, a dark alley chase
I’d pick up the phone and I’d call in sick
disappear in the mist, leave not a trace.
What would I do to be captured by words
impressed into service by pirates with swords,
adrift without wind, current silently slow
half crazed crew pacing the sun-baked dried boards.
Perhaps of an evening a stroll on the beach
salt, surf, and moonlight on ebony skin
passion full sated on cooling hard sand
last dream of the shanghaied seagoing men.
What would I give for a storybook nook
I’d offer it all the time that it took
to take me away to wherever it would
leave me enraptured by a murmuring brook.
4/15/2016
submitted to – What I Would Give For A Nook And A Storybook – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Eve Roper
Henry Morgan
Pirate of the Caribbean
Henry Morgan is my name
Pirating is my fame
My story has been told
There’s only one I claim
1635 was the year of my birth
The eldest son of a gentleman farmer
In Llanrhymny, Wales. I had
no desire in filling the shoes of my father
With hopes of adventure and fun
I left to seek my fame and fortune
Shanghaied and shipped off to the West Indies
and sold in Barbados was my misfortune
I survived and regain my freedom
and was recruited by a pirate crew
Prospering in my new profession we
bought our own ship and sailed the ocean blue
Raiding the Caribbean Spanish settlements
earning us a reputation as ruthless
fearsome, villainy buccaneer pirates
under old Dutch pirate Capt. Edward Mansveltz
In 1672 I was brought up on charges.
Attacking Panama violated a treaty
between England and Spain. Found not guilty
Instead Knighted by King Charles II and set free
Knighted pirate of the Caribbean
12/29/2015
Poetry Contest: A storm on the Spanish Main
Sponsored by: Joe Maverick
My poor vocabulary babies
are gon missing
Tell me kind sir, have you seen them?
Us etymological mothers to
lingual children of lost former meaning,
we are milk carton crying
Many hotline tips
that the academia search party
have been receiving,
unfortunately, has borne no adjective fruit
of root cause discovery
And my poor alphabet unprotected babies
are still missing
Some concerned voices
anonymously said, they saw a couple of
little colloquial diaper tykes
being censored kidnaped late last night
And when dem’ dim synonym scoundrels were spotlighted ,
they fascistically warned them:
Steer clear of this word dirty business, y’hear
Then they rattled their
mouth-muzzling, zip-lip sidearms, menacingly —
They said my innocent children
were gonna grow-up
and cause much sheer mental fear
My infant’s harmless homonym eyes
were New Tact censured hijacked,
Shanghaied as a matter of consonant fact
Somebody please bring those amber pure children
of innocent nomenclature origin back
I, Octavia
do motherly beg,
asking with august favor most acacia
For the cross-cultural media
to free-speech help me
find my lost idiom babies, please!
So that I, and other etymologist mothers
can stop feeling this unabridged pain ...
such emotional scarlet ink heart stain
A bridge of crimson tears over troubled,
choppy, wordy waters —
overflowing with maternal fears
This milk carton crying
for my precious vowels, verbiage dressed babies,
who are now missing ...
Has so bereaved my quill-pricked soul
with perpetual sorrow
Deep Orwellian sadness for these snatched,
suckled lost former meanings
has adverbial sent me
empty intellectual bassinet sighing
And barren cradled
bosom ananym thoughts a-dying
Amidst the people I knew,
Those who had pains to go through
Jumping from exams to exams,
Not able to retrieve the horrid pangs
They slept with algebra clan,
And saw the morning light with geometry gang
But still between my ivory towers
Somewhere I grew up
When I first glanced at my folks,
They had a look of a ghost
As if they are gonna make my toast
With thou names of medicos and scientist
I was amongst all the survivalists
But still between my ivory towers,
Somewhere I grew up
I saw them, I saw me,I saw everyone chanting
And not the hymns but the digits subtracting
ten minus one ten multiplied by ten,
All the equations so underwhelmed
But still between my ivory towers,
Somewhere I grew up
I got out of my school with a heroic face,
But my folks wanted an another race
So tired and depleted was I,
But they wanted a techie samurai
Thus, I the poor soul,
Was shanghaied to a stupid pigeon hole
But still between my ivory towers,
Somewhere I grew up
Thus the day will come when I will get out,
After spending six years completely moused
From electrical to management all I learned
With my brain completely burnt,
But now as I slowly move up,
I tell you my dear allies
Never give up the ghosts,
Cos the dreams are yours that you are gonna live
Because it's your life and only you can solemnize,
And hence between all my ivory towers,
Somewhere I finally grew up.
The red-throat trawled me to a shanghaied shore
then left me raw in split-sedated state.
A sense of morning meant the lamp lit late
and when I dream I taste a little gore,
but it was peaceful there, upon that shore.
And how I prayed it would disintegrate.
And for the waters to evaporate.
And for the dark to dredge the ocean floor.
And all then did. No one should be allowed
such icy fun: to hear whimpering whales
aware of demise, crushing coral, proud
no longer. But then the fisherman’s sails
at first glint of sun. The hawk circling back
to this, my tundra, that the desert fails.
When passion's flickering flame died,
its early demise brought sad cries.
And having no substance or weight,
it disappeared before your eyes.
Sequestered deep within your heart,
fear fuels anguish and despair.
And you realize that love is
unpredictable and unfair.
Reality trumps illusion
when scavenging remnants of hope.
But it doesn't make sense anymore,
sliding down a slippery slope.
Meant to last an eternity,
love is no longer in your heart.
And dreading possibilities,
your dreams begin to fall apart.
Wishes cut adrift in midstream
are shanghaied by lies and deceit.
And scuttled in a sea of tears,
washup on the shores of defeat.
(Quatrain)
6/19/2015
Soaring sovereign, white-crowned bird,
Shanghaied silently without a word.
Strong feathers molted one-by-one.
Pinfeather plumed on bare skin.
Wet market ready.
3/19/2023
________________________________________
I knew when you came here
The truth would reveal
A thousand misgivings, a million appeals
Your words a disguise now
For actions concealed
And I left to wonder
Are you false?
Are you real?
Your warmth and conviction
When telling your lies
Shanghaied my logic
Bedazzled my eyes
A dozen maneuvers
Outsmarted my questions
A game long since honed
Via force and deception.
I could not be strong
When under your spell
I knew what the truth was
But I wouldn't tell.
And as you continue
Your seductive denial
I can’t help but wonder
At your own heart beguiled
Into a dream
Of no longer knowing
Which is reality and where is the scheme
But I cannot judge you
Nor seek to condemn
For I was held captive
By more than you knew.
What drew me and kept me
Was more than a con
But a hope for your truth
To finally shine through.
You are for the most part
A man in disguise
Yearning to impress
Fearing reprise
The light is within you
And its you who's not free
You can’t let me love you
You're unable to see
There’s nothing to fear here
It’s real
I’m me.
I was drinkin’ wine that night in Mike’s bar,
She was cozied close to me in side booth
Me ship, anchored quarter league not so far,
lay in deep Frisco fog mate, that’s whole truth.
I was havin’ bloomin’ time in me youth,
For Frisco’s not so bad waitin’ over.
Rose loves likes of me, but she’s an old tooth,
Even so her wine put me in clover.
Me ship’s headed for the white cliffs Dover,
Lights in me head flickered, they left me daft.
I thought I should find now me ship, Rover.
My last hearin’ moment, I thought she laughed
Woke with me head hurting great at sea now.
Waitin’, breathin’ fumes of strange rust worn scow.
My lifestyle's rediculous,
I prowl when day light's down been frowning
sense a kid but many men sensed it.
My pen-man-ship's painted perfectly
wordsworth the Burg's first nerd thirsting for words
cursed with a thirst for the beat.
Birthed in the Pete,
the first in the street to merge on a beat
perfect, regurgitating in reverse splurging the heat.
The first to leave your nerves in your cheek
worked to be free certain get a surgen
jerking words is worthless to me.
It hurts to be me, cursed with the speech
burping a degrees burning the first person
to journey a verse worded at me.
My background is dirty as cleeks,
backdown your act now I smack around
wack clowns acts packing a mac out.
Black out your wack route class acts
get Shanghaied brain tied to a high place
the Earth's race straining they eye.
Ain't no way I'm a die, no way if I try,
write daily and I know they waiting for my demise.
If you ever espy a latitudinally
and longitudinally challenged
older yet shopping savvy woman,
(wedded to yours truly
for almost twenty six years),
who stands approximately
four feet and ten inches
a strong hunch that gal
stacks up as mine missus,
she dons costumed headwear
to avoid station identification,
whenever she steps out
into the public limelight
anywhere outside these four walls
of our one bedroom apartment
here within bucolic Schwenksville,
the town that town forgot,
and the decades could not improve,
where all the women good looking,
the men strong, and the children
wise to the ways of technology.
When this logophile
quite a few pounds lighter
ever since I first became acquainted
with unnamed aforementioned woman,
she adopted predilection to don apparel
allowing, enabling, and providing
modus operandi to present herself incognito.
Ofttimes said spouse of mine
upon returning from
grocery shopping spree
(ever price conscious of various
and sundry commestibles -
with a knick knack paddy whack
give this doggone husband
a plant based NON GMO bone),
she can rattle off the prices
of targeted items on her mental rolodex
how much food cost at:
ALDI, GIANT, LIDL, WEGMANS...
While scurrying to and fro
hither and yon,
a stranger might unexpectedly
pay a compliment to iterated getup,
which bobbin noggin makes her
easy to identify, when yours truly
tags along, (but despite
being considerably taller
by almost twelve inches),
these spindleshanks of one
sentient, ship shaped,
shanghaied, salubrious,
slithering, snakish, stuttering,
sluggish, smashface scarred,
sober, solitary, sangfroid
skidamarink singing, Shamokin
speaking scrivener, scuzzy,
spunky, starved, submissively
suicidal, sunburned, senseless
salaried shuffling senescent
snoutish soundcloud shutterflying
snapchatting schnorrer
find impossible mission
to keep pace with the wife.
Sassy sobriquets schooled sissy spindleshanks...
studious skinny scruffy scribe
Scathing, scolding, screaming,
scorning, searing, sing,
sociopathic sarin soaked skewed
squirt, sputtering, squawking, sleepily
staggering, stabbing, swaggering
sweltering sadistic, sarcastic,
savage, systemically systematically
stigmatized, supersized saber sharp
schick shaving, shunned, sabotaged,
scarred, scorched, smote, sanguine,
stippled, speckled schizophrenic
sensibility, spurring, seething,
somewhat stultified, sophisticated,
spellbound spirited scabrous
schlemiel schlemazel, stenciled,
sundered sniveling sanguine storied
snakebitten sojourning smartass,
skeptical shoddy sophomoric
screwball, subtly sagacious,
stunted, sclerotic, scrappily
shuffling short, Shylock
styled sideburns Semite,
sainted Shasta sipping
shriveled sad sack,
sullenly syncopated, synthesized,
slobbering sybaritic, scruffy
sheepish sketchy scalawag,
Socratically scrutinizing, seizure
stricken, stoically sneezing,
shamed Skidrow skeezer, shifty,
sweaty, sham shaman,
supremely spidery, schmaltzy,
sylan seeking subsidized succor,
self shuttered, sequestered,
sidelined, shiftless, shabby,
semantically snazzy, soldiering,
shrieking, skulking, somber,
stooping, Segway scootering,
schmart spendthrift, Swahili
speaking, straitlaced, streamlined,
spongebobbing, sandal shod
sealegs, squarepants sporting
spectacles, sedate, sensate,
sentient, ship shaped,
shanghaied, salubrious,
slithering, snakish, stuttering,
sluggish, smashface scarred,
sober, solitary, sangfroid
skidamarink singing, Shamokin
speaking scrivener, scuzzy,
spunky, starved, submissively
suicidal, sunburned,
salaried shuffling senescent
snoutish soundcloud shutterflying
snapchatting schnorrer.
This is the last poem forming a trilogy of Spenserian Sonnets written in trochee pentameter relating to the sea. The first poem is titled Mike's Bar, second poem Shanghaied, third poem Bucket Of Bolts.
Servin' me hard time on boat that's steamin',
doin' me best keepin' engines goin',
stokin' fire and me sweat greatly streamin',
dripping, I must keep the coal a throwin'.
Gotta stay the furnace face a glowin',
breakin' me back goin' somewhere so far.
Haven't seen the light of day not knowin'
time when I could see a lonesome bright star.
Why did I drink wine with Rose in Mike' Bar?
She bedeviled me with wine and sweet kiss.
Old tooth liquored me good, showing me scar.
She slips me a Micky these good eyes miss.
Leavin' bucket o' bad rusty bolts sure.
Taking me chance jumping boat when we moor.
I toweled off my tear soaked face
and stitched my heart back into place,
I tallied up my circumstance
and then I took a ship to France
I boarded early after noon,
I think it was a night in June
I went below because of rain,
and when I came back up again,
I think I must have had a spell,
the sky was dark,I couldn't tell,
what was what ,nor,who was who,
I didn't know just what to do,
A swarthy pirate with a sword,
proffered whiskey in a gourd,
He slapped my back and sang a song,
about a sailor who went wrong,
A drunk guy with his belly shaved,
by rusty razors,met his grave,
with Davy Jones,I think he said,
anyway...the bloke is dead.
I tried to ask a question here,
like "Where is this?"
but then I fear,
a cannon cracked the sultry night,
a sound that filled my soul with fright.
Then Captain Jack came swinging down,
{a parrot beat him to the ground}
He put a pistol in my hand
and said....
"Look sharp,it's war, my man!!"
A shanghai plot I realized,
had taken my life by surprise.
Hypnagogic spell immediately cast
overpowering drug induced state fast
overcome even those who just woke
prolonged narcotic effect could last
bajillion years (hyperbole to wake
any lil lulled reader) superfast.
Before he/she succumbs without blame
impossible mission monseigneur or dame
to break loose against buttressed bed frame
magnetic pull overpowers
superman/woman and/or lame
nope, I can't rattle off any specific name
only no man, woman, nor child can tame
overpowering urge greater than whatshername?
Ja Sleeping Beauty, or similar
facsimile thereof within eye blink
shutters lids with soundless clink
quite elementary ma rinky dink
poem, but would ya expect me,
an arrogant, defiant, haughty,
career punster who doth hoodwink
matt er of fact Scott
tush trumpeting ratfink,
meanwhile, I will not let thee think,
lest ye become mettle some as hot zinc.
And what thwart my feeble
attempt to bewitch and beguile
quite aware ye probably reedsy
to spew glippy glop gloopy bile
spurring lifesaving recourse
insane asylum, cuz bedlam
forces thee to dial,
and splutter exhibiting harried style
swiftly tailored demeanor
hooping I get just desserts,
and be condemned at trial
within interim and meanwhile...
Yours truly will exalt inside
unit b44 downing
one after another
B52 eventually died
(jettisoning these lovely bones)
at least say to himself,
while gratefully dead, he tried
to curry lunacy, (albeit harmless)
across the the web, world wide
reading experience this
letterman being your lucky charm guide
into outer limits of twilight zone
ha... ha... ha... no place for ye
to run and hide,
which bolsters me prejudice and pride
without sense and/or sensibility
(think Jane Austen),
whose ghost would chide,
one twenty first century wordsmith,
who seeks a bartered bride
hmm, maybe someone allied
i.e. linkedin with AllPoetry,Cosmofunnel
FaceBook, MyPoeticSide,
PoetrySoup, Prose, All Poetry,
Hello Poetry, Tumblr...
I even roll out welcome Matt
for thyself tug get shanghaied.