Long Battleship Poems
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In order for me to find out the weight of my life
I took all my clothes, shoes, accessories and even
my pride off; and pain and grief are offset by
the happiness and the joy, and stepped on the pan.
The number delivered from simple math
shows the negative portion of my life was way greater
than the positive, I thought weight of the other side of the pan
would not hold my weight. But it was my mistake, the beam
tilted to the other side, though it seems lighter than a feather.
No matter how closely examined,
inconceivable is the weight of the weight.
Is this the same reason though,
an airplane seems heavier than the air
but flies in the air; a battleship is heavier than the water
it floats on the water.
Although, life’s weight
may be proportional to the number of wounds and scars
like a rugged roadside stone, it is lighter than the weight
on the other side of the scale.
In the shadow of the Second World War,
Fuehrer wanted to augment maritime power
and control the waters of the northern oceans.
In the North Sea he proudly set sail Bismarck,
the largest German battleship ever built.
On maiden voyage off the coast of Scandinavia
she got fiercely engaged with the Royal Navy,
heavily damaged, survived the first battle
in the fateful strait of Denmark,
but was totally crippled by later air attack.
She was scuttled by the German navy,
bringing her brief life to an unceremonious end,
as she committed suicide so to say, and sank
to save herself from further ignominy.
November 6, 2021
Contest : A Noteworthy Ship
Sponsor : Robert James Liguori
Definitely something about long flowing hair
That turns my old crank, no surprise
With a face that could even sink a battleship
Still her hair makes my temperature rise
Can imagine nuzzling my dirty big honker
In those long strands of silken flow
Takes me far away on some exotic desert island
Where hula dancers are putting on a show
Wake up each night with my arms outstretched
My fingers combing the air softly
Wishing upon wish it was not just a dream
It's an image that literally rocks me
Some people think it has sexual overtones
Yet still others call it a fetish
But just by writing these words down I find
For stirring my libido it's quite effective
Definitely something about long flowing hair...
© Jack Ellison 2013
Through my living room window
I see the most beautiful glen
With granites of grey
Towering up to a Ben
Greened spreads of heather
Purples and white
Amidst an ocean of green
A most wonderful sight
Forested slopes
Carpet the glens sides
Whilst a sparkling river
Centers the great divide
I look to the skies
As they turn battleship grey
An impending storm
Is heading my way
It looks like the glen
Is in for one hell of a night
The last storm we had
Was an explosive delight
Fork lightening, thunder
Obscured by clouds
One follows the other
Arcing out loud
I await the winds
And the vertical rains
Lashing with force
Against my cottage panes
Suddenly, theres a massive roar
More powerful than i have heard before
A sheet of lightening lit up the sky
Capturing the Ben of granite high
This man of old, caught in silhouette
Standing guard over his beautiful glen
This icon, this keeper of the Saltire Blue
Stands tall and proud like Highland men
Hours pass as i look on in awe
From my cottage window through the rain laiden panes
The power of nature in many scenes
Drums and a light show washed down with champagne
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/scotland-3.php
The chest of earth is cracked,
its dying blue heart exposed.
Now we've our dirty little mind on mars.
To plant our soiled little flag deep in its red skin.
Stitch another star to our banner of war and sin.
Pock it- drill it- scar it -pollute it- rape it- shackle it.
To our fathomless battleship.
Build new age slave cities-
make the slave make slave bombs.
Concoct wars in masks of peace.
Tear everything down
with dirty little mushroom clouds.
Then move on down to the next star town.
The star people look upon us, concluding:
There's no lasting peace in the heart of these beings.
never was never will be.
No chance to reach out to these war warped beasts.
Who suffocate their own children
veil their minds with black masks
then toss their ashes into dying seas.
An infinite plague of cannibal crows to be avoided
locked away - lowered into water cages.
otherwise wordily titled: pooped out
after pouring bucketfuls of water into
place of ablutions
all the while skipping to my loo
umpteen times courtesy bathtub faucet
turned toward hot temperature
so toilet would finally,
magnificently, and royally flush.
As ofttimes occurred in the past
anonymous reader's time
I once again promise to waste
concerning asinine verbiage
without this bard **** feeling shamefaced
broadcasting his fealty
to posterior predilections must appear
(as rearing to volley rebuttal
against fans of mine) yours truly
ofttimes discusses that byproduct,
which issues out buttucks) narrow-based
if not downright banal, gross, offal... in haste
to craft something more philosophical
how craven potty talk
whereby theme doth self debase.
I excreted a bowel movement
earlier today June 5th, 2022
substantial enough to sink battleship
(maybe ye experienced tsunami after effects)
laboriously dumping bucketfuls of hot water
insync with applying plunger found me a drip
with perspiration, and would have possibly found
site manager and/or maintenance man to flip
(a rare sight to behold
worth inconvenience of clogged toilet bowl),
which yours truly felt strain in back muscles
as he poured bucketfuls of water from his hip
accidentally splashing water
on bathroom floor
yes your honor
(necessitating poop deck to evacuate)
if thee choose to sit in judgeship
but please be mindful
to restrain giving me any lip
cuz atypical dilemma I figuratively did nip
in the bud, yet foresee similar outcome
sure as this...
once upon a sage, rosemary and parsnip
herbaceous generic fellow sought readership
ideally landing webbed wide world trip
heralded all along as a V.I.P.
where fanfare for this common man
would find his doggerel
induced listeners to yip.
Detailing delicate defecation debacle
Otherwise wordily titled: pooped out
after pouring bucketfuls of water into
place of ablutions
all the while skipping to my loo
umpteen times courtesy bathtub faucet
turned toward hot temperature
so toilet would finally,
magnificently, and royally flush.
As ofttimes occurred in the past
anonymous reader's time
I once again promise to waste
concerning asinine verbiage
without this bard **** feeling shamefaced
broadcasting his fealty
to posterior predilections must appear
(as rearing to volley rebuttal
against fans of mine) yours truly
ofttimes discusses that byproduct,
which issues out buttucks) narrow-based
if not downright banal, gross, offal... in haste
to craft something more philosophical
how craven potty talk
whereby theme doth self debase.
I excreted a bowel movement
moments ago today April 11th, 2024
at approximately two thirty post meridian
substantial enough to sink battleship
(maybe ye experienced tsunami after effects)
laboriously dumping bucketfuls of hot water
insync with applying plunger found me a drip
with perspiration, and would have possibly found
site manager and/or maintenance man to flip
(a rare sight to behold
worth inconvenience of clogged toilet bowl),
which yours truly felt strain in back muscles
as he poured bucketfuls of water from his hip
accidentally splashing water
on bathroom floor
yes your honor
(necessitating poop deck to evacuate)
if thee choose to sit in judgeship
but please be mindful
to restrain giving me any lip
cuz atypical dilemma I figuratively did nip
in the bud, yet foresee similar outcome
sure as this...
once upon a sage, rosemary and parsnip
herbaceous generic fellow sought readership
ideally landing webbed wide world trip
heralded all along as a V.I.P.,
where fanfare for this common man
enjoying Appalachian Spring,
would find his doggerel
induced listeners to yip.
We sat in the fallout
of last year’s gift exchange—
smashed angel centerpiece
taped back together
as good as a rogue bomb
if someone mentioned it.
Our voices dragged
like anchors through an ocean—
low, cold, summoning something
older than Kris Kringle.
I strained to recall
a time when it wasn’t like this.
The kitchen table—
a battleship, whipped tension
and potatoes. Dad’s knife slipped
once, then twice. Mammaw clutched
her rosary, counting sins like beads
of gravy on the drop-cloth. The whiskey
isn’t worth your soul, she whispered.
Our air was burned sugar—
a water pie, depression-era relic
left too long in the oven.
As they say, it’s the ingredients you have
that bake the cake.
Mom whispered, Let’s just get through it.
The corners of her mouth disappeared—
I knew better.
When my sister reached for a biscuit,
I grabbed her wrist—too hard.
Mine, I hissed. The room turned
quiet, the kind of silence snow wears
before an avalanche.
By sunset,
half of us were crying—
over the ruined pie,
or the family tree
we couldn’t stop cutting down.
When I reimagine it—
and I always do—
I don’t erase or the snowfall
or the tension.
Instead, I break the bread
without a flinch,
leave my sister’s wrist unmarked.
Dad’s carving hand steadies,
and in my version,
we get grandma drunk—
the old broad needed to lighten up.
The angel still shatters—
but this time we laugh,
our elbows knocking it over
reaching for seconds.
In the end, we huddle closer,
ash still falling, we celebrate
cold on the other side of the door.
Our hands stay sticky, glue healing
the angel’s cracked wings,
sugar crystallizing our fingerprints—
we press lightly, only to test for doneness,
we are patient,
we watch as snow smothers our wreckage—
call it DNA, an elegy.
[In my youth, glue was tubes or bottles of gloop
for sticking stuff together: cement was grey powder
that you mixed with sand and gravel to make concrete]
***
I wish I spoke American when I was a kid
I might have built my airfix kits better than I did
I’d get so exited as I opened up the box
Even though the parts inside would end up being rocks
First I made a battleship but made a mess of it
So I tried another kit... a model Messerschmitt
I messed that one up totally, so tried a Saturn V
I built that rocket carefully... it made a mess of me
What the hell was wrong with ’glue’ or possibly ‘adhesive’
All of the instructions were frankly in-cohesive
The writer, were he English, would have written what he meant
And not suggested sticking bits together with cement.
Daydreaming holding your hands love
we came to the great walls of Derry
sitting on the riverbank arising dream
awakening sweetly pointing out its guns
felt like singing into your ear
your an adorable dream
about this armored city enchanting castles
trying to give you each and every day
that very special bit of magic glow
I was drawing pictures for you smiling
saying how romantic sweet it felt for me,
saying I thought it looked like a great battleship
posing showing her strength
or even pirates on land smiling
overlooking the river Foyle sings out from the ripples,
drawing how softly I saw it in my childhood vision
only now adoring you the heart's queen
It really sparkled telling you love
this the first time with anyone,
sharing this was with you honey
just out of this world
most loving of all dreams
sparkled in such amazing beauty
I remember reaching over softly to kiss you
sweetie holding your hand just love your shyness
thinking back with such gentle warmness
truly my soul mate your smile shines in the mirrors,
thanking God for having found you
I am so happy this day such a memory
with such a dream never ending blissful thoughts
feelings of such joy spilling over
just loving you so beautiful warm flickering the firelight
so sorry if in any way I ever offend thee ,truly ,
never will it be my intention or will
as the love for you grows stronger
in the passing of each new moon
each day with you beautiful
never will i forget me not
beautiful flower you are baby
the secret vessel who shot me down good .