At sea where the shadows breathe,
Old ships lie, lost beneath the sea,
Corvette Donna Freja on the patrol,
Sailing waters, old stories unfold.
An island looms, radar watch keen,
But danger whispers cuts the serene.
A Seabase ship breaks the silent night,
There in the cove, no chance to fight.
Ghosts of the Triangle call out in despair,
Waves of the past rise up in the air.
Fight or flee, under moon light,
Will the Freja engage the fight?
A cruiser’s shadow, sharp and swift,
Guns pointing fierce, the air is a rift.
Captain’s blood hot as a flame,
Decide in seconds, the cruelest game.
The Commodore, monitors the chase,
Information’s life, a dangerous space.
Fins in the dark, chasing their prey,
Past and present, a to price to pay.
Caught in fate and courage worn thin,
Echoes of battles, places they’ve been.
Water graves whisper, every tide’s song,
History's grips, the Freja must be strong.
Through the Triangle's they’ll sail once more,
A Corvette fleeing, but her spirit will roar.
In the depth of night, courage runs deep,
She’ll return to fight, where the enemy creeps.
In the dead of night.
The Chesapeake Flotilla consisted of 18 small vessels,
fGunboat No. 137 and Gunboat No. 138
Several of the small ships recovered from
St. Leonard's Creek were part of
Commodore Joshua Barney's Chesapeake Flotilla
during the War of 1812.
While many were gunboats and barges
these had no formal names
identified only by there hull numbers
n addition to the gunboats, the flagship of
he flotilla, the USS Scorpion, was located
buried in the sediment of the nearby Patuxent River.
Written by;
Mort Rainey
Researcher for
Ernst Bettler University in Swisserland
Gill-Men's Navy
Book and Movie
The ghost Peppers were grown in winter
by the Siberain Aqua Farmer
A filmmaker wanted to film a movie
his dimented mind
came up with an idea
Use the Creature of ledend to eat
the scum from the street and save on cost
and produce the film fast and cheap
and make alot of money.
It was a hsush, hush affair
and involved very few.
Until Capt. Ymaly an alien
who transported here to find a creature
of space orgin
Life goes quickly growing up from the use of a commodore 65.
Perforated print paper
Really takes your energy.
Fold and Tear!
Fold and Tear!
Every so often the edges
With the holes placed every millimeter amuse me for atleast five minutes.
Jump to ten years later as I sign up for my first email through AOL.
Still my main for sure contact or solid way for anyone to reach me, I stand firm in its support.
Life trickles down into o the earth’s core where warmth and safety from the information super highway can be found.
Wait, so what happens if polarity introverts?
Oh the earth shoots a bunny
Sargent Major General Kuiper Lassell Eladus
3rd. Ensign Sequistia Drawf
Air Rigger Herpal Greenwitch
Commodore Fysteer Planker
and his brother
Commodore Aisbedio Plnaker
and Excutive Chef Guissie Bassistein
star in the Adventures of Curtison Devon
Contrux XurtnoC
It was in Historic Forcados,
Where I’d first touched Pride of Barbados:
I’d run into A Talking Salvador
Long arguing with Unshaken Ricardo,
Whose interest were in Stark Bravado,
His body partly building with Mamador …
Bravado-Loving and Preaching Ricardo
Would sooner he became A Matador
Than A-Many-Times-Decorated Commodore,
This proclaiming in a corridor,
Where on display, besides Mamador,
Were nourishing-seeming tomato
And as nourishing-seeming pimento.
“If you were a Commodore
For all your sung bravado,
You wouldn’t last with A True Bull!
Even energized and you were full!
You wouldn’t assert you had The Beast won
Between A healthy and Sickly one …”
A Commodore’s strength is his ship
Plus the holstered pistol on his hip,
No frightening neck muscle sticking out
When chooses he to ‘MARINERS!’ shout.
I’ve contemplated my navel
for hours at a time
Searching for precisely
a Buddha-like rhyme
I’ve looked to the Heavens
yearning for signs
Yet disappointment replies
in the form of rooflines
I’ve watched the ocean
breakers reach shore
My eyes suddenly water
I’m no commodore…
Though I’ll never give up
my pursuit of the Grail
It sure seems to me
I’ve been chasing my tail
Wanted sleep – “death will guarantee it, one un-promised morrow”
Hunger panged – “a meal or two skipped, will not ruin your health”
Icky grossness – “psyche your gut strong and start gutting the Ahi”
No appetite – “waste not, and think of all those dying of starvation”
Elevated brags – “you’re no better than other mortals, we’ll all die!”
Never minded a child’s request: do as I say, not as I do, always won
Of the unceasing smoking, lungs blackened to cough a bloody achoo
The whine isn’t always groundless; listen fore you bullishly silence it!
(9/9/20: '01 Regal Commodore 3260; DMS)
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)
Word Toccata in A Major
Jaundiced ’53 Cadillac in my sweetheart’s carport.
She leaves the hole keys inside the empty fish bowl.
Hidden in her trunk are a set of golf clubs with knife wounds;
Her secret boyfriend with the purple tattoo of a face scar,
Recites from shotgunned memory the Love Song by Mister Eliot,
As my sweetheart bathes upstairs with a fleeting candle and Camay,
Pure white, and scented as eucalyptus breaths in the cooing moonlight.
Fevered ’49 Commodore parked luridly in her back alley.
He retrieves the hole keys from within the empty fish bowl.
Hidden in her trunk are a brace of golf balls with black bruises;
Soon he will trudge through fairway greens in pursuit of exotic birds,
Reciting Prufrock with two young robins pecking seed before him.
Upstairs now, he relaxes in my sweetheart’s bath with Camay and a gun,
Pure crimson, and scented as medusae bulbs in the screaming moonlight.
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
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
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
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
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:)
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.
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