Long Frigates Poems
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Legend Of The Black Dove
(Part 6) "Peril At Sea"
The Black Dove whilst trapped under the water, uses his amazing strength
to break the chains that bind his body, he then swims under the ship and
climbs up the rigging then climbing on deck. He discards his mask and clothing
and assumes the role of John Norrington. He looks for an opportunity
to obtain dry clothing. Finding a storage locker he puts on a sailor's outfit.
He then goes in search of Bill Jenkins, he notices him inside of the galley
where he is working as a cook. He is alone as Norrington goes in to talk to
him. On the main deck the pirate captain observes two American frigates
heading towards them. He orders his men to open fire on the vessels, the
two ships fire back and prepare to board 'Raven'. The pirates are ready to
do battle. As 'Raven' picks up speed and is pulling away from the slower
frigates, the other ships keep firing all cannons at the fleeing ship,
while whereas down below Norrington and Jenkins arm themselves with
the intention of stopping the pirates somehow, they charge on deck with
swords in hands. Norrington manages to fight off most of the men using his
super strength and speed. Jenkins holds with two loaded pistols in his hand
holding the pirates at bay, while Norrington and the pirate Captain are
fighting a duel to the death with swords. While all this is going on the ship
in the meantime, the ship is hit twice by cannon fire and the third blast
hits the main mast at the bow of the ship, causing it to fall where Norrington
and the captain are fighting. The other men run for their lives as the huge
mast collapses with a loud thud.
Can these men survive the onslaught of the falling mast ?.....
Will Bill Jenkins be rescued by the opposing enemy sailors ?......
These questions and more will be answered
in Part 7 "Civil Unrest".
Posted Here at the beginning of each month
she knew all the moves
Queen's Gambit
Sicilian Defense
Bura's Desperado Sacrifice
with her arms wrapping me
we barreled the freeway
racing headlong into the wind
balanced on two wheels below
as free as mustangs in the mountains
abandoned in the moment with the herd
where the only destination
was in the hooves desires
when emotions move beyond
any resemblance of logic and reason
my arms began to leave
their grip upon the handlebars
wings were birthed, expanding in flight
soaring in a vision of Magnificent Frigates
liberty in the thermals, gracing the air
ecstatic and free of gravity
casting fate into another paradise
look, mom, no hands
when came the scream
the slap to my back
what are you doing command
as my hands returned
slowly to the handlebars
i returned the conversation
the universe was out of balance
i put it back, time to think quick
not every move is in a book
of chess
later over lunch, there was the lecture
where bad boys are brought to heel
those stern warnings
you will never do that again
there could be a rock in the path
there could be
there could be
one of those times
they will never know why
or will you really, the stars align
the anger in her face
telling you in large measure
how much she loves you
not in any chess book
it is secret men keep, silence is golden
because sometimes a woman's anger
is her most adorable moment
when you fall in love yet more
where every upbraid becomes a rose
reminding you how precious she is
one of those ways fruition luckily forms
and you get attention, a bonehead move
pays in dividends
like pulling ponytails
not in any chess book
but what is, a most arduous trial
never mentioned in the books
of chess defenses
when the king takes the queen
OKC 7/22
i wander these winter beaches
where autumn's storms
have removed the footfalls of summer
believing in spring
here i am alone listening
to the waves mellifluously remind
yet never recalling
floating the river Lethe
alone where the frigates soar above
pelicans traversing the waves
the terns work the receding water
i am the intruder
waves erasing my past
placing before me rearranging sands
paths never worn
only the belief in spring
with each step forward
i wonder if the gulls see
my past being removed, the future
dependent upon some wave
fortune or contretemps
i wonder if the gulls feel
this surreal gull glides, turns, drift
upon grateful wings
grateful to those who long ago
gave freedom to thought from hunger
the plight of thought
the flight of thought
freeing this surreal gull to wander in wonder
i wander here keeping the dream alive
faith it will evolve into more
some empyreal dictate
some Newtonian machine
there is a numen to winter beaches
here i can laugh with humanity, smile
the hubris belief this can be destroyed
changed yes, but so may volcanoes, asteroids
none of which has a brain
here i can believe that dreams
will be given to reason, logic
and end to war and peace on earth
that there is nothing fatal
even science cannot deny
these rearranging sands and time
will produce another poet wandering, wondering
i wander these winter beaches
where autumn's storms
have removed the footfalls of summer
knowing sunrise, sunset, and spring returns
i am alone, yet far from alone
i am home
where dreams glide, turn, drift
soaring in the thermals of thought
the flight of belief
terminus ad quem
terminus a quo
Playa Del Rey 91 The Patient Stones
she is running down the staircase
que pasa, que pasa, echoes before her
i am on the front balcony
watching the butterflies wander
from one miniature rose to the next
having my third cup of coffee
cream, Kahlua, a tad of rum
as Beethoven's Fifth drifts out
escaping into the verdant
she too is enveloped in escape
her piece of resistance
the taxi waiting below
a week ago they arrived
love abounding everywhere
i had checked them into the hotel
i am the resident poet
fill in for a drunk night manager
the brotherhood of the inebriated
they had met on acid
true love, fate, destiny, you know the routine
Leary would have been proud
the first day they were a ballet
dancing down the beach
romantic eateries watching the ocean
tumble continuously in
as pelicans and magnificent frigates
filled the sky in an aerial choreography
then the acid ran out and tequila waltzed in
by the third day, doors began slamming
the iguanas could not bear it anymore
retreated to the din of the jungle
by weeks end the mosquitos
pleaded to be let out
screams became crescendos thru the hotel
now he comes to the balcony
she and luggage are loaded
into the waiting taxi, the que pasa
now a raucous cacophony
of stick it up yours
slowly fading into the neotropical jungle
she is off to another piece of resistance
of that i am sure
i ask him, think she will write
he ignores me, returns to his room
where for three days no one sees him
the bottles pile up outside, he is alive
the fifth day he is gone
Play Hermosa 91
my friend,
beacon, bright ...
how you have bewitched my years,
dancing on the wall of my room since my first memory,
a warm sweep of security and steadiness,
never failing - ever true ...
blinking me to sleep each night like a prayer -
"I'm here! - I watch! - You're safe!"
I wonder ...
are you really a warning?
Or do you wink your sparkling eye
only to taunt the unwary prey at sea?
Schooners, barques, cutters, and frigates,
wagging their masts like bony fingers,
admonishing you for your questionable intent.
How many have fallen for your treachery in ages past,
turned to driftwood and terror by your crimped and craggy skirt?
Not even Neptune's raging ire can affect your flicker,
for you have stood, steadfast and bold,
through the wickedest of gales ...
splitting the beastly billows with dire disregard,
and turning the tempest's tides
to naught but foam and spray.
But your days are numbered, old friend,
the world spins far too fast these days for your kind ...
your lights being snuffed by digits and dials,
and the indifference of technology.
But I shall remember you ...
your pulse will live on in my mind,
and in the hearts of all those who knew you -
all those who survived for your sake ...
and numbered your glinting gaze.
the boat is as weathered as his face
it is his life, his treasure
steering the prow to sea hours before dawn
and in that darkness, the nets are set
small talk meanders the ponga
time to catch up on some sleep, other times
arguments erupt between brothers
keeping everyone awake watching stars
once dawn has passed the nets are retrieved
to pay for the daily bread
it was in that uncertainty two perished
as nature's fury rolled from the darkness
those red skies of mourning
son, brothers, husbands, fathers, friends
headstones never say it all
the funerals have come and gone
sitting upon the late morning shore
watching the fishermen, boats lie tethered
their hands are honest, scarred
their knives sharp, scarlet
as they gut the fish above roars
a maelstrom of pelicans, magnificent frigates
in serious air-shore warfare for entrails
and small fish these men toss
there is laughter in those eyes
brothers sharing the plunder of the sea
once the fish are sold they share a beer
stories of the sea, repair nets
clean pongas and more than i will share
by early afternoon they are gone
such is the daily bread here
where the demons howl the night
the angel's right to sing dawn's glory
these are the patron saints of cantinas
vassals to the sea, nature's capriciousness
whose fate on the morrow
could be drinking in Neptune's Tavern
San Blas 91 The Patient Stones
for the fishermen of San Blas, Matachen Bay
Select the right alternative
Despite rigours of states of nature
Electing to sweep aside your initiative
In the midst of shocks and blocks that determine to fracture
Well meant decisions to break free of the past
Draped in darkness, wrapped in coats and votes of despair
Freaking out at your attempts to cast
Doubt, to diminish and finish strangleholds of disrepair
Twitted, broadcast with fanfare and pomp
To proclaim your downfall
In a marsh, in a swamp
Where foes in their frigates call
To compromise your desire
Accentuated detours and contours
That set your life and aspiration on fire
To blight and slight your duty tours
Despite God proclaiming victory
On your behalf as he hands over the staff
That strengthens your shaking hands in the territory
Where God decrees enough is enough
No more tears should you pour
At home, at work, at church
Where detractors shout and pout galore
Vowing to leave you in the lurch
Weeping, creeping, reeling in tears
Disbelieving the grace God grants on the mission
He assigns without fanfare signs to wipe away fears
That clutch and snatch the ferment of the permission
God has poured into the new adventure
He blesses in your earthen vessel
Stressing access and success, guaranteeing certainty to the venture
Designed from above as faith and strength pervade and invade your every cell.
i become lost in these lazy days
the ones i have learned to allow
sitting here on the balcony
watching the frigates glide to Bolero
below a content ocean, empty beach
my attention was broken by a Tropical Queen
butterflies in pursuit of drams
vases rose, yellow, orange, purple
a squirrel scampers across the banana tree
below, kittens in ludic behavior
practicing top dog, the sun bears down
iguanas abandon the roof's pinnacles
for the trees and the shade therein
it is time for siesta, i am tired
this morning the children and i
were playing warfare in the yard
my cane magically transformed into a rifle
i am learning again
what i was once an expert in
a child amok in the fields of imagination
tomorrow i may take out the beach towels
and supermen will fly the patio
or stealth ninjas having hidden in the bamboo
till at last mother calls and it is time for siesta
and as does the wise old iguana
back we crawl to the nature of dozing
there was something i had to do
however, the myoclonic jerk has begun
lay down and drift away
even clark kent needs a respite
from the chores laden world
marbles
i forgot to buy marbles
Miramar 94 The Patient Stones
and this begins my first year of sobriety....playing marbles in the streets, learning the basics of the language...
Midst mild and wild tumults like eddy, vortex, swirl, and whirl,
A maelstrom is a summation of curl and twirl and hurl;
Weather and season get amalgamated with currents,
Winds, storms, gales, squalls, haboobs, and wuthers become deterrents;
Vacuum, like caves or tunnels, into hearts of water,
That curve and cleave and crack, and clang and constantly clatter...!
I have never been to the far or deep sea for fishing,
Or for an adventure that involves mind-body squishing;
Corvettes, cruisers, battle crafts, frigates, and great galleons,
Have got gulped by the colossal maelstrom daedalians;
To the courtyards of the sea gods, these underpasses lead,
Wherein, motionless, creatures feel absolute bondage freed...!
Chaos, violence, and ethnic hatred in every form,
A ship-devouring maelstrom as an innate psychic norm;
Regions, regimes, trade, and populace seeking protection,
Religious democracy coming to conscience flexion;
Wanes into vain vanquish; drains virtues into cosmic pain,
Strife to swim against maelstroms is our existential gain...!!!
20 March 2023
'M' Words - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Theme: Maelstrom
Rhyme Checked At: Rhyme Zone
Syllables Checked At: How May Syllables
i suppose they will all
be soon to depart
the danish girl
has removed her top
the germans will soon follow suit
the french girl
will arrive soon minus everything
there goes the male tourist
down the beach
time to stroll, exercise
amidst the breasts residing on the sand
isn't it funny
tables emptied of annoying badinage
i owe so many clear views
of Mexican beaches to Europe
but the sad aspect
is that amidst
all of this tropical beauty
the male tourist is unable
to rise above the preoccupation
of viewing breasts
myself, i prefer legs
they represent a short blip
a blink of the eye
to the pelicans coasting upon
the wave generated wind
the sky filled with marauding
magnificent frigates
surfers hanging in for the wave
where they balance in nature
on a ride into shore
where some will banter me for a poem
i reply, your eyes (fill in color)
are birds who steal my thoughts
my breath, my heart
go away now
and it ain't look at that ass
it is a callipygous goddess
yes i wrote short love poems for them
and bettered their vocabulary
San Blas 92