Long Gangway Poems
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A light wind gently rocks our sailboat as
breezes begin to pick up on the sun drenched dock.
Cable wires rap and tap upon the mast as
daylight filters thinly through the clouds.
Egrets begin to peck around the gangway
foraging for scraps from bugs or grubs.
Great blue heron busily prepares her nest
high upon the eucalyptus tree.
I sit and daydream on the harbor deck
just enjoying the sea breeze, sights and sounds.
Kelp beds sway rhythmically with the currents
lapping the rocks at low tide, while
massive flocks of birds perch purposefully
near a lonely lighthouse high on the jetty.
Open seas spread toward the horizon where
pelicans busily dive bomb for fish.
Quarry rocks surrounding the harbor create
rocky protrusions, allowing ground squirrels to
spy sailors earnestly jibing on ocean water
tacking swiftly through the northwest winds.
Under the pylons and gangways
various starfish and mussels cling
with schools of fish swimming in tandem.
Xylophone sounds drift with music from a
Yacht club hosting a spring concert.
Zeal for the beauty of harbor life moves me.
Written on 2/11/2015
Nagasaki
There are nights when things become clear
when the Pacific Ocean lived up to its name
I sat on deck, listened to the heartbeat of
the vessel, which ticked faster when an engineer
opened a door and came out on the deck
Laughter in the mess hall, no, I was not at ease
in their company, too old at sixty
I have tried the swagger, the misogyny, where
Women were either whores or mothers
The ship was bound for Nagasaki, and I had
been here before when looking for a graveyard
where Portuguese sailors had died when
Japan was an unknown land
When walking down the gangway, didn't
to say goodbye, it was dinner time anyway
before flying back to Europe
Westbury where skyscrapers scratch clouds,
And backstreet murmur under glowing hum,
The metro slumbers,but terror thunderous crowds.
Laaities hone okapis where mumbled thugs come,
Each gangway a rabbit warren of cries,
And moms grab the dark,awaiting some.
In kangaroo courts blood thirsty 28s and 27s rise,
A revolver roars,the night asks but none says a prayer
While guiltlessness is sold in whispered lies.
Yet in this war,the lane hides myths rare,
Of youngsters who dodge the deep state,running fast,
Their footprints rebound,shivering through the air.
Westbury your skyscrapers check out the die cast,
Each brick a testifier,every lantern a guide,
The twilight is long,but hope remains at last.
The matriarchs of sections keep life supplied,
Their pleading a vein hope under mortar veins,
Where cowards hide,the soul of Westbury won't die
I step onto my departure from the dock
to embark on a voyage of the amygdala.
Here lies a treasure trove of motion.
The gangway moves slowly,
no suitcases or fare stubs,
only our passports—
those little books of identity
that grant us entry.
Then we all separate into the chambers
of the left and right atriums.
We check in at the front desk
like a queue of traffic.
Murmurs from fellow passengers drown out
the gratuities,
as our steward paces the hallway
with a duty-free smile.
At last, we reach the bridge,
suspended between the bow and stern.
All my ‘what ifs’ and ‘buts’
rising up and thrown overboard
like drifting flotsam.
Haven is a safe harbor to shelter from a storm.
A castle with a moat, a gate, a gangway— it's safe and warm;
a pause between exposures, not some prison fortress,
a place to lower your guard, to undress your distress.
Crossing its threshold, outside laws lose their reach.
The storm rages on, smashing into rock walls along the beach.
The longer you linger, the harder it is to leave.
Sanctuary breeds dependence; its reprieve can deceive.
Stay long enough, and the anchors learn to bind.
Safe walls grow inward, closing around the mind.
A haven keeps both entrance and escape unconfined.
A sanctuary locks the exit, when leaving is declined.
Four walls and even headphones can make a room.
A garden shed, a studio retreat, lets stolen hours bloom.
Even a kind shoulder, a hug, or an empty chair—
can be small atolls where, we briefly taste fresh air.
A haven needs the storm raging beyond its door.
The harbor never stills the troubled sea offshore.
We sleep because we have briefly quieted our fear—
Yet even in our dreams, we know what brought us here.
The safest anchor can still chain us to the bay.
The shelter becomes a prison when we linger overstay.
A haven earns its name by sending us restored.
Back across the gangplank we once fled aboard.
I donned my best Sunday working coveralls
Plopped the hardhat on my waiting head.
Just another twelve hours of service rendered
To an employer who cares not if im live or dead
Ive seen days and months and years fly by
As I travel horizons far and wide
You become bitter to the loves lost along the way.
But you learn to bury the pain deep inside.
Ive fought with men with hardened hearts
Who poured out their hurts in the fists they threw.
But in the next Port of Call all was forgiven
And you would share an ale or two.
The land dwellers never witness the struggles of this life
Or the burdens of each cross we bear
Or how much we anticipate coming home.
And falling into loving arms that still miss and care.
Ive seen young lads come up the gangway
Thinking they have found an adventurers paradise
And watch their smiles turn to grimmaces
Once the sea steals their soul and life.
Its a job unlike no other
Where your gone for months that just drag on
And when you finally make it home again
You find your feeling like you dont belong.
The ancient regime
I was in Shanghai once during the cultural revolution
everyone mostly young people wore the same grey clothes
half military cut, not a colour in sight except for the flag.
And the book they gave everyone called “Mao´s little red book.”
where words the new China was printed, those
who argued had to confess in public and sent to a camp,
or farm this to learn to be a worker.
Of course, in this socialist paradise, we were not allowed
to go ashore and the was a guard by the gangway to be sure
we didn´t run away.
It didn´t strike anyone; it was the last thing we would do.
It couldn´t last slowly colours crept in, and women dressed
even if grey dresses, with feminist style
Today China is a state capitalist country and is doing
very well, thanks to American outsourcing (wages) making
the Midwest into a wasteland.
We set sail as Reggae music played out on the Lido.
Our first night was casual; no need for tuxedo.
We could eat a pizza by the Windows On the Sea
or go beneath and dine on shrimp and meet the maitre d’
We could gamble, see a show, or just gaze at the ocean,
then in bed, relax the head and sense the soothing motion.
We woke up in Freeport where the ship would dock all day.
Folks could disembark, take tours, or on the ship just stay.
On board were people lounging or dancing to Calypso,
working out or shopping or even playing Bingo.
All day long you could find folks doing funny things
like contests for the men with hairy chests or knobby knees.
Day Two when we awoke, we were then in Nassau.
There was stuff for everyone, from your kiddies to your grandma!
Little ones could stay behind. The staff would entertain them,
or the kids could tag along with mom and dad. No problem!
Those who liked adventure could visit Blue Lagoon.
For snorkeling with sting rays, the boat left right at noon.
I got to pet a dolphin, but extra had to pay
to swim with one! That was sure an extra special day.
In town I got nabbed quickly by a plaza beautician.
Getting braids was all the rage, so people got their hair done.
We went to the gangway before the ship set sail.
Those not having fun by then were deader than a door nail.
“Day at Sea” arrived as the trip was winding down,
and the biggest night was coming; women wore a gown.
That final evening getting all dolled up to dine was when
I wished instead of ending, the trip would start again!
Gals and guys with braided hair; everyone looked nice.
Ah, the midnight feast with pretty sculptures carved in ice.
The ultimate for having fun unless you were just snoozing,
in the laid-back natives’ lingo, I say “Mon,” I sure loved that cruising.
(may not be following precise time line, but this was before year 2000 that I took my one and only cruise, so I'm a bit fuzzy on precise day by day details. it was a Carnival cruise only 3 to 4 days in Bahamas and back to Florida)
Feb. 1, 2022
for "My Favorite Vacation In Rhyme" Poetry Contest of L. Milton Hankins
First sighting
It was an early summer morning when my best friend Edwin
threw pebbles on my window to wake me up
I like morning slumber, waking up at six, looking at the alarm
the clock on the bedstand and think of two hours more sleep.
Ewin said there was a big ship at the dock fully laden with
copra; five minutes later, I joined him as we ran to
the harbour to collect the broken nuts.
When unloading, bits of copra fell down; we had pockets
full of it, and the white flesh was still soft and chewable.
Look, said Edwin, and there, on the gangway, stood
the first black person we had ever seen; he had a bag
in his hands that turned out to have booze and cigarettes.
We took him home to our street to show him to my mother
She was working, but my aunt, living on the first floor
took him in; we were milling about till she threw us out.
Two days are gone, a tall -in our eyes- old man, the captain
who came looking for his cook.
He is from Sudan, the captain said, which, meant
little or us and he is black, oh, him, he is in my aunt's flat.
Half an hour later, the captain and his cook walked
to the ship, we followed at a respectful distance to think
a captain!
On the gangway, the Sudanese waved to us he looked
Happy smiling, broadly; it was a day everybody was happy
the crew waited to be fed, my aunt sat in a chair in
her flat smoking ready-made cigarettes.
Light of heart, and with dancing eyes,
I gripped my Johnny’s strong right arm
And faced a swelling sunlit sea
As we sailed out from Stornoway.
Farewell to maples, loons, and John.
My yellowed wedding gown lies curled
Beside my beau beneath the sod
Sixty-five years from Stornoway.
Across the gray Atlantic sea,
A locket held my heart’s two loves:
His gold ring and a heather sprig,
As I sailed home to Stornoway.
With watery eyes and baggy cheeks
Gently caressed by cooling wind,
I walked the gangway, cane in hand,
And left my ship in Stornoway.
On rocky bluffs, hard by the sea
Where rest my Dad, wee Joe, and Mum,
An ancient stranger I am now
Returned at last to Stornoway.
Just one more prayer, sweet Lord, to Thee:
Bless me, please, with some swelling seas
And heather scents on fine spring days
At rest, at last, in Stornoway.