Long Haggled Poems
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Those wooden meant to for all season,
Blue painted motored boats beacon,
Us to calm green sea waters,
To sail on and that’s all that matters.
The calm green waters dolphin rides,
Deep inside when the tide subsides.
Eight pals and two sailors sailed on
On a boat with the rent haggled upon.
Two and a half miles have gone,
Into the waters we sail on,
Squealing and giggling in delight,
Adrenalin pumped up and over excite.
The motor the sailor cuts off,
Over and over with a bit of scoff,
The dolphins they say swim and are gone
By the dull sounds of the motor whirr &drone.
Waves they splash frothy sprays
On the bodies bathed in hot sunrays,
Shrills cries of joy erupt,
From us sightseers eight on a glimpse of dolphins seen abrupt.
The wet bath suits and sun tans,
Some with hand held beer cans,
Watch the dolphins frolic in the sea
Cavorting in graceful curves both she and he.
The sailor maneuvers you to the place
Of marine life ,pelagic birds his boat with grace,
The sight of these magnificent mammals,
Feeding and playing their bodies look coated with enamel.
The thrill so great just to watch,
These mammals is just top notch
This pod of dolphins swim away,
We watch through misty sea sprays.
Salty breeze seep in our hair,
Smiling sun shines on our burnt backs bare,
The dull sounds of engine power,
The enchanting sounds of rythimic waves in my ears still hover.
By Sashi Prabhu(zeauoxian)
Water circulates somewhere in the US
Where rain isn't left to condense,
To well, like life leaves space for time.
I'm fanning my hands on a street in
London, Soho, where we never went
But an unplaceable conversation is in the tides of heat, one that spoke of Her.
I decided I needed something disposable -
A balloon-buoy swayed with an unease that carries -
Eyes that make mothers cross the road.
I bought one and he gave me two more, haggled, too hot to... fight. Paid, left with this in my hand.
On the bridge. Wish I had a weight.
It's a pain to hold but I don't want to watch my money sweep past Big Ben and the disgustingly scenic city scape.
Water circulates like these e-bikes.
Round the pre-plotted roads -
I think of the Romans, dead in the ground.
There's probably a few still in the Thames.
Death feels so historical.
We discovered clouds that hold rain forever.
I have everything in my pocket.
Within arms
Reach
In a dream of future foreseen, a stranger I see,
Familiar, yet foreign, just staring back at me.
Lines etched by laughter, eyes bright with knowing,
Face creased, scarred and pitted with forgoing,
Harangued and haggled with lines of old age.
A tapestry of choices made, right there on stage.
Suddenly, I recognize this creature standing there.
It's a strange concoction of self-awareness in the glare,
It's my future self, rejigged and rearranged,
Of future and past potential, all there estranged.
There's a whispers of triumph in the hair,
Shades of regret, darkness under the eyes that stare.
Rosy cheeks beam the warmth of relationships much cherished.
A smile half-baked is tangled in lament, entwined, embellished.
I see a montage of moments I've not lived yet.
An amalgam of potential, of what not quite, not yet met.
Of things tried, juggled, shuffled, as corrections.
Of resolutions, lessons, and inner self-reflections.
What dreams were bloomed? What paths were trodden?
What mountains were scaled? In what sea was I sodden?
How has this future seen, and past reshaped, conned the future me?
It's mosaic of maybes, a collage of what could be,
A kaleidoscope of who I could, and might be yet.
An echo chamber for all my tomorrows yet to get.
Shaken and forsaken, I awaken to the real myself,
Saying goodbye, good riddance, to my future self.
On this land of shifting sands under hot hazy skies
Merchants bringing their treasures, and best wines
Arabs traveling the sands with valued salt supplies
The caravans of camels lead by their puller in lines
Merchants bringing their treasures and best wines
Worth its weight in gold to help its people survival
The caravans of camels lead by their puller in lines
As seaports along the coast awaits on their arrival
Worth its weight in gold to help its people survival
Other merchants come with fine cloths, and finery
As seaports along the coast awaits on their arrival
As to reach their much-needed destinations finally
Other merchants, come with fine cloths, and finery
Some sold to kings, and princes, others on bazaars
As, to reach their much-needed destinations finally
Prices haggled in Dinah’s for quality smoking cigars
Some sold to kings, and princes, others on bazaars
Couriers standing idle, waiting about on the hot tar
Prices haggled in Dinah’s for quality smoking cigars
Where goods that have taken months to travel afar
Couriers standing idle, waiting about on the hot tar
Arabs traveling the sands as with their salt supplies
Where goods that have taken months to travel afar
On this land, of shifting sands under hot hazy skies
Let me say the earth with stones,
never at times to agree to bow,
if he be haggled to loss wow hints,
let nature pass and winds to follow,
the lied down rules, the stary ways and most,
these laws amidst, one by one and word by word,
to do exactly press of trust.
As I know the road is jeweled and of course,
almost no one may care to monitor a growth of flower,
to know when the mode may change,
and thus needs the earth to watch her,
through, so she may turn to hope,
however, objection is still it is...,
when now the bosom, the flower figure.
Appeared to be more matured than she is,
points to note, the law seems clear for satisfaction not for hinter,
a reference to a maniacals,
is serious; when again most men hither,
didn't notice or didn't feel will.
Lead to havoc and calamity without excuse,
for it is a force of nature that she holds,
though unintentionally she pretended to use,
to fine, to talk, to adorn and furnish the odds,
a sense to say it is alarming piety,
this readiness without how,
of course, table should focus on how to solve it's "y".
To be truly free one must unshackle themselves. First the hand shackles followed by leg shackles. Feel them in turn flying open and free.
Now try flapping your arms feel yourself leaving the ground there you go
you can now fly. Try a few loop the loops and spins see Of course you can.
Look, look over there its Pukka Simba bounds over Pukka he cries lets have an adventure. Oh yes how spiffing an idea lets set course south by east looping round Zanzibar on the way and then on to the Serengeti So off they set and arrive an hour or so before dark. We sat eating and drinking under sparkling stars. We laughed and laughed till bedtime
AT dawn we set off for the distant mountains Quickly we were above them
as we landed a mighty voice said who dares trespass here on my land
an enormous elephant rounded the corner. He told us his name was Tembo
he wanted to own a special blood red stone stolen by the pirates of Zanzibar
A haggled old witch said any one wanting the maiden of the moon must
get the pearl of beauty from the pirates for her. Wanting to help the beautiful moon maiden and Tembo they put their head together and came up with a good plan to brew a powerful potion to put them to sleep til we meet again
and we will take a break for another day
victorian canal life - the reality (a true tale from from my maternal heritage )
We left our abode
in old Cowfair
haggled a price
for an old shire mare
Onto the
landlord's canal boat
lock stock and barrel
for a life afloat
farewell to our
Buckingham birthplace &
its meagre living
from old point lace
dawdled slow
up to Cosgrove
taking our meals
. . around a blackened stove
our moveable house
painted castle& rose
not a life
we would have chose
Eighteen fifties harsh
&
mean
coal cargo
so nothing stays clean
doff your cap touch your forelock
every two mile
at
the gatekeeper's lock
Fresh food scarce
except for fish
perch & roach
a staple dish
clothes dry
on a washing line strung
out for a timeout
the toddlers young their
number so soon increased & grew
places to sleep
all too few
family life impossibly hard
so back to a tied cottage
in
Aylesbury's Anchorage yard
Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2007
Visions Beyond the Horizon
The doctor incised the umbilical cord, the nurse held him by heel,
They waited; the baby cried not; the nurse nudged and he giggled;
The baby giggled again; new mom laughed; doctors just haggled;
The new age baby breathed normal; ancient medic annals to heal
Had no entries; baby crying on first breath norm, they had a ***** feel;
Like POTUS, medics threw up arms, helpless to his tantrum. Cuddled
By mom, he slept and giggled, never cried for milk. With heads muddled
They fiddled with the issue; he woke up giggling, laughing for family weal;
But it was strange, people thought it his harangue; he was deranged,
Some claimed. He crawled around sparring worries with laughing queries,
And it was strange, people thought. Their frowns chilled the entire loving bond,
And in expiation the mom showed the cradle, as they stood like dolls disarranged
In Walmart malls, waiting to be billed; the infant spoke, dispelling all their queries
And opened their minds; with closed eyes, they saw visions from horizons beyond!
An empty packet of Gauloises,
black coffee, a croque monsieur.
An aromatic café
breakfast in the Montmartre.
Later I switch to Camels,
a bumpy ride to seek out a friend
in the sixth arrondissement,
that night I left my Dunhill lighter
on her bedstand.
The cigarette lighter
had value,
I had haggled for it in Malacca,
eventually a young Hindu guy
reluctantly parted with it
as if selling his own grandmother.
Malaysia smoked lucky Strikes,
sold as single sticks,
you could buy them at any age,
they kept them in a glass jar
on the counter like candy.
Our generation thought it
too high a risk to die old,
and yet here we are
still lingering by the La Brea tar pits
looking for smoke signs.
Lay down noiselessly,
as long as you stay still
and breathe lightly, then they will ignore you.
You can smile under your eyelids,
you can pretend that they have legs
and wear business suits.
You can imagine milking the poison
out of their hollow fangs;
like sperm it will ease your mind.
In the viper pit
let the forked tongue's sense your resignation,
let the forked tongue's lick your meekness.
Let the forked tongue's wrap you up
in their sinuous dreams.
On Monday morning they will be waiting
to interrogate your presence,
Their tight shiny pants dick slick
and cocksure. Their pointing shoulder pads
puffed up like rock adders,
high hips sharp and akimbo
pencil-sharp eyes probing,
testing your capacity to still undulate.
If you are male, screw red thorns upon
your rodent parts.
The mice around your spine
are freezing,
wrap them in fox skins
you haggled for at the meat-market.
Grin with your back teeth.
If you are female,
If you have hands,
then hold them up, reveal your armpits,
cream your pheromone-laced musk
into their morning coffee.
Loll with the water-cooler moccasins,
laugh at their venomous jokes.
Feed them scraps of velvety rabbit skin
you have shaved off your inner thighs.
Wear your skirt just a little bit higher.
At the end of the work day,
if your eyes are filled with dried-up slime
remove the crud with a cattle-prod
then slither into a deep sleep.
Dream of eating the juicy white meat
of roasted pythons,
or disemboweling a writhing nest
of Anacondas
with a razor-sharp, steely forked tongue.
.