Rocket cat vip courages ~ Cat crewed flight via SpaceX
Elon’s starship launched
top gun catnip will travel~
blues sky flying high
Missing you my fearless feline, safely may you return
Wishing that your Mission Impossible will soon adjourn
On this Memorial Day we salute cat ladies and lasses’
Eveready as you don your Tom Cruise aviator glasses
A journey landing in December
Road to the Moon of wonder
Trip of four to remember
East of Eden fonder
Milestone is in the offing
Instilled dream becomes a happening
Strobe lights showing and playing
Second-scheduled mission, but first crewed...
Dawn of man
Out of the night came the dawn a mild breeze
blow petal off a rhododendron, a magic carpet
on a whitewashed wall sunlight and shadow dance.
The dogs were still asleep, the cock had not crewed
Quietness, except for an old man fearing his death
his solace is in the day.
A plane across the sky leaves behind tired dreams
of next year’s vacation.
Alfredo is up starting up his little tractor harvesting
carob beans before it get too hot; he used to have
a mule took a long time back then; the mules made
the landscape looks prettier.
I have been here a long time a tranquil bay far from the sea
leave to me soak up the peace before setting sail
for the timeless ocean.
On social media and TV,
in papers that we buy,
bodies well honed and muscles toned,
the gorgeous greet our eyes.
Through pouting lips in selfies,
tousled hair and perfect tans,
parading in some foreign place
for legions of their fans.
To all innocent youngsters
for that perfect look they seek,
each Venus and Adonis
in their eyes, have reached their peak.
But pursuing the unobtainable
is a voyage crewed by fools,
in the waters of self worship
run aground in shallow pools.
For with each new morning sunrise
we turn another page,
and time flows like a river
and on it floats our age.
We treat this Earth like Gods
but immortal we are not,
friends, family, possessions transient,
your life is all you've got.
Oh,Youth be kind, be selfless
and thus you'll live life well,
for precious looks will fade with time
and old age will be Hell.
The happening
On the balcony sat a raven it had yellow eyes
It crewed with delight.
Ill in bed the flue, a stream of transpiration
turned into a raging river.
Transported me to the sea which was cooling
and calm lowered the fever.
The raven had fallen to its death into the canyon
of high rise flats.
A man picked it up his dinner of the day saved
he wore a feather on his hat.
Grandad was a sea dog,
Who'd sailed the seven seas.
He told of his adventures
As we sat around his knees.
He told of a giant octopus
With tentacles aplenty,
We cried "how many grandad,"
He said "I reckon twenty."
He said it had one giant eye
And a sharp and deadly beak,
And what it did to sailors
Was too horrible to speak.
Then there was the enormous shark
That could bite a ship in two,
Once everyone fell overboard
The shark would eat the crew.
He saw ghostly pirate ships
Crewed by pirates, long since dead
Just skeletons, armed to the teeth
Waving swords about their heads.
He said he'd swam with mermaids
And wrestled with a squid,
Then danced the conga with an eel
That's what my grandad did.
We loved to listen to grandad
And the adventures he regaled,
Not only was he a sea dog,
But the king, of telling tales.
Wouldst thou for me an air
upon thy tortoise lyre
play, and sing those words so fair
about the Isle of Tyre?
Within whose walls so grand,
there at bazaar would be
hangings made by weaver's hand,
and colored from the sea.
And ships of cedar made,
all crewed by seamen bold,
sailed to shores afar, to trade
for silk and spice and gold.
Consoled by sweet refrain,
I dwell in dreams of Tyre--
going home will e'er remain
my unfulfilled desire.
_______________
The ancient Phoenician city-state of Tyre, an island off the southern coast of Lebanon, was famous for its production of the prized Tyrian purple dye derived from the murex snails found in its waters. --WW
© 2018 Wayne Wysocki
On Reading
Voyages ‘pon seas
Of ink and tide
On journeys
O’er oceans wide
In time transported
By imagination ferried
To exotic ports and
To treasures buried
Made of paper and page
A fragile craft
No more than a hand span
From fore to aft
But a transport no less…
Through both space and time
Crewed only by a lone
…And inquisitive mind…
The Initiation
It is not easy to be young at 16 I was a galley boy
on a tankship that even then 60 years ago was ancient
crewed by old mariners who spent their free time
playing cards and talking about whores and now the ship
had docked in Le Havre.
It was dark when I went ashore sat in a bar and drank
Pernod I think. I didn`t go in there had promised my mother
to stay away from alcohol and women.
Light rain and the street light was sparse like there was still
a war on, a small girl standing in the rain looking like
a sparrow with a broken wing.
We went to a small hotel, but I didn`t have enough money
I got to keep my virginity for another day.
Walking back to the ship it was still raining and the old men
sat drinking one of them saw me and invited me in I accepted
by now I was so lonely and needed someone to talk to,
it was not like I could call my mother from a cell phone and
anyway, we didn`t have a phone back home.
The ancient mariners carried me on board.
The Initiation
It is not easy to be young at 16 I was a galley boy
on a tankship that even then 60 years ago was ancient
crewed by old mariners who spent their free time
playing cards and talking about whores and now the ship
had docked in Le Havre.
It was dark when I went ashore sat in a bar and drank
Pernod I think. I didn`t go in there had promised my mother
to stay away from alcohol and women.
Light rain and the street light was sparse like there was still
a war on, a small girl standing in the rain looking like
a sparrow with a broken wing.
We went to a mall hotel, but I didn`t have enough money
I got to keep my virginity for another day.
Walking back to the ship it was still raining and the old men
sat drinking one of them saw me and invited me in I accepted
by now I was so lonely and needed someone to talk to,
it was not like I could ring my mother from a cell phone and
anyway, we didn`t have a phone back home.
The ancient mariners carried me on board.
There was acclamation at the acclimation,
Because my acts did not feel axed or beat,
And the loch was just beside us in notion,
For my nudity to lock my up with the heat.
I dared not dye my hair red, maybe I’d die,
Both my crewed jumpers were crude enough,
For my expressive arc, not Noah’s ark, hi,
Discreet behaviour for my discrete stuff.
Away with you! You’re insane! Not noble,
Aweigh with you’re religious anchor heavy,
Deceitful, you’re not stationary presumable,
But you have stationery with an active levy.
Hilarity At Hillary Popularity
Heard they were having much hilarity
With Hillary and all of her popularity
With appearances that are populating
And her challengers are all hesitating.
They will blatantly need an antidote
No one for them does want to vote
Like plague Republicans are treated
They themselves are being self-defeated.
Self-defeating is a disease these days
Results of it surely will truly amaze
Tearing down those for their own benefit
This is one more thing they should quit.
Positive is pretending people will think
When willing and able to raise a stink
Read Corinthians Two and Beatitudes
When you want to find right attitudes.
So why should I want to be so rude?
Crewed way of seeing world they viewed
Members have more then one hen-peck
And are extremely red around the neck.
James Voracious Hellacious Horn
Retired Veteran and Profound Poet
RiverSea Plantation
Bolivia, NC 28422
THE ARCHAEOLOGIST’S WIFE
Sorry I cannot say her name, you all know her well
She was my brother’s wife at the Kimmerdale
My brother was an archaeologist
He found a pot in Egypt
In Tutankhamen’s chamber
Believe me it was made of amber.
And my brother’s wife, Karen
Her dad came from Ely Arden
Mom from Billy Budd
Brother Tim from Barracks quad
They all are family Barracuda
They pounced on the pot
Sadly, it smelled the rot
In September, 2004
I was on India tour.
What did my brother do?
He crewed on a ship
Crossed the Mediterranean
And reached Egypt
Met Mr. Hippit
A biologist by profession
After close inspection
He found a predator
Inside the amber
His wife Karen Barracuda Pamber
I heard the story on coming back from India
I gave my brother a Cashmere shawl given by Mr. Scindia
You all know in the year 2013
He married the daughter of Cruise Martin
Sorry, I cannot say her name you know her well
She was from the family of Rapunzel
Her eyes were amber
Elizabeth Rapunzel Pamber.
Copyright: RAJAT KANTI CHAKRABARTY
7th November,2014
Away From the Camera.
In the Bay of Bengal, near Tripura, a tank ship ran
aground, an old ship that had been economical for
its owner, carrying crude for a hungry west and
crewed by low paid seamen. And she was sold to
the people who would tear ships apart, like French
avant-garde butchers with hearts of frozen rocks.
Squall in the bay, the ship broke anchor and, like
a horse that seeks grassland, she sought high seas.
Alas she had oil onboard must be caught before spill
washed on sandy shore. Cowboy tugboats rode out
lassoed the old lady back to the place of destruction.
It is in the Bay of Bengal the infidel drowned Bin Laden,
in moonlight his coffin is a silvery specter in the bay.
It drifted to shores of New Jersey, on the voyage made
a devil´s pact with sandy storm; revenge for those who
dare laugh in the face of Islam. For her crew this meant
little, but pale memories of peace when dolphins played
on cobalt sea, and grown men had hearts of poetry.
Surplus of Requirement
m/s “Kari” rode the seas like a swan, only when the most evil waves of
the Atlantic ocean hit, did she flap her wings. Why was it she was crewed
by harbour dregs? Men who callously walked on her deck and were ready
to leave her at the next port of call, for booze, cigarette and whores?
Often she had to sail understaffed because her crew had succumbed to
the bleak pleasure of a harbour bar. We officers loved her, even though
for most of us she was the last chance before being barred and losing our
tickets, walk the shores and beg a shipping clerk for a opening.
She carried everything in her hull, trucks, tanks, jeeps and even hats for
some South American dictator’s wife. Then she was sold to Bangladesh
too old and cumbersome the owner said, it was all about container ship,
in and out of harbours, quickly. In Hatiya the captain cried his home was
being dismantled in front of his eyes. For us too it was the bitter end, old
and grizzled, no one needs a sailor who thinks of his ship as home.
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