Long Commodore Poems
Long Commodore Poems. Below are the most popular long Commodore by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Commodore poems by poem length and keyword.
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)
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
In Land of Oz a thousand feet below
was the morn on New Year’s Day,
and ‘neath a shining weightless wing
the steep sea cliffs of Botany Bay.
We taxied through old Sydney Town
with all wild expectation to come -
and when in Rome did as Romans do
and made way for the colosseum.
There it was, that grand noble edifice -
mortals did her sidewalks pound,
through those gates the arena roared
inside the Sydney Cricket Ground!
And later that balmy night wandered
after a cruel last ball Windies loss,
but ever closer drew those neon lights
in the noisy heart of King’s Cross.
Among the pushers, whores and vice
the city underbelly we did follow -
bordellos, dives, strip joints and bars
led Skeet ‘n Rich to take in a show.
At sunup the heights of Centrepoint
with its sky towering crow’s nest -
the sun and sands of Bondi to the east
and Blue Mountains in the west.
Behold Sydney Cove in Port Jackson
where soldiers and mariners sailed,
the tall ships that her garrison moored
carried convicts from Blighty jailed.
And upon pink granite cathedral walls
a new age do new virtues espouse -
its topaz curtain glass and white sails
shining on that grand Opera House
Next destination the Capital Territory
and a disappearing lake rivermouth,
over hinterland plains and gorges deep
and Snowy Mountains to the south.
Yon Canberra to the Queensland border
at the wheel of our V6 Commodore,
over “The Bridge” up the Pacific Highway
on seawatch north to Maroochydore.
To Byron Bay, Coolangatta, Surfers rode
the onya adventures of Skeet 'n Rich,
and after a thousand miles at our backs
it was a true blue hot son-of-a-bit*h!
And at journey's end up in Cotton Tree
on Aussie time we did celebrate -
struth, with a tinny and sambuca shots
we got fair dinkum pissed, mate!
Written: April 1996
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.
*Image of Hawaii State Flag & State Motto/Seal by Pixabay.
The Great Mahele
The Hawaiian islands were overwhelmed,
In the year eighteen hundred forty-three,
Hawaiians were prisoners, promptly held,
By Captain George Paulet a Lord he'd be.
Constraining the islands for his monarch,
Accusations formed by Richard Charlton,
The islands British Consul a suave shark,
Aberrant land swindler cursed charlatan.
Prod Captain British subjects land taken,
Put was U.S. Captain Long ne'er meddle,
Commodore Kearny's U.S. warships end,
Six months seizure--awards a nonmetal.
Paulet cut our flags Union Jack now flys,
In part plus changing words immortalize.
2021 November 16
"Ua mau ke ea o ka aina i ka pono." (Hawaiian)
"The life (or sovereinty) of the land is perpetuated in righteousness." (English)
Hawaii's State Motto/Creed and Hawaii's State Seal
King Kamehameha III, of The Kingdom of Hawaii, said those words as part of his message to the people of the Hawaiian kingdom after British ships withdrew rather than risk conflict with America. The acts of the usurpers caused the king to establish "The Great Mahele", giving land to the commoners, whereto, I'm now a benefactor thereof.
King Kamehameha I friendship with England caused the inclusion of The Union Jack as part of Hawaii's State Flag. It has eight stripes of white, red, and blue that represent the eight main islands. The Union Jack flew o'er the islands during the seizure, but the Hawaiian Flag was restored after it was learned that England never sanctioned the occupation.
My daddy, he gave me a silver dime
For to fetch him a bucket of cider.
My mama, she tended the laundry line,
With a big wicker basket beside her.
I took a hard left at the barber pole
And I walked past a drunk by the deli.
He was likely reliving his throw-away years
In some dark nightmare’s underbelly.
The Ferris wheel is frozen in place
By the exotic dancer’s cherry tree.
The sideshows provided the usual freaks,
Teasing gut brain and muscle memory.
An ascot wearing yacht rock commodore
Come ashore for his usual wage:
A pickpocket imperialist strutting the boards
On his chosen colonial stage.
He came from some tiny Alpine principate
After stealing a movie star’s roadster.
Just know for a fact that it weren’t Lichtenstein,
It was really Lichtenstein’s monster.
He has black labs, brewskis, and bluebirds
Neatly baked into his trendy man bun.
For when a little dab ‘ll do ya, as they say,
Who needs all that greasy kid stuff?
He’s just another two-bit clown
We see his pants fall halfway down.
There’s no understanding really what he did.
He claims he played marbles with the Sundance Kid
And the barkers lined the midway
From the high bridge to the gateway,
As I marveled at the wonders I saw
In this place they call Carnival Town.
THIS SPACE RESERVED FOR
A SUCKER BORN EVERY MINUTE
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
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.