Long Helmsman Poems
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The helmsman sings a merry song:
Haec est vera fraternas,
and downs a cup of something strong,
Hick, vera, hick, hick, fraternas.
The sailors dance a lusty jig,
forsaking sails, crow's nest and rig.
Young princes and their ladies fair
join in the drunken helmsman's air:
Haec est vera fraternas.
Commoners with nobles prance.
Friars and laymen, how they dance!
The jester sports a broken lance,
a trophy from the fields of France.
"To Henry!" sounds the raucous toast.
Hear the young knights, how they boast
of conquests on and off the field,
when foemen or coy maidens yield.
While Fitzroy strokes a wench's leg,
the boatswain opes yet one more keg.
See their chains of gleaming gold,
but feel the wind grown strangely cold.
William the atheling alone,
to the marrow of each bone
feels what sorrows must atone
for the sins of court and throne.
Woe to the ship, woe to the realm,
where none is mindful of the helm.
Woe to the king who ne'er shall smile,
woe to those bereft of child.
Gone is that day and gone that night,
gone that ship so ghostly white,
gone the prince who bravely sought
to save his sister, deed ill bought!
If, one night by Barfleur's shore,
you may hear that song once more:
Haec est vera fraternas,
et haec est aeternitas.
It’s caught up, always, in those little things:
street corners, half-familiar: shop facades:
it’s not so much expansive boulevards
as rain-worn roofs which pluck the silvery strings
of sorrow. Part of my subconscious clings
to remnants – ruined fragments, broken sherds.
They say the brain’s an organ which discards,
not hoards. Why, then, these cruel rememberings?
A tranquil helmsman, plotting perfect vectors,
is how I see myself. Wretched delusion!
We’re buffeted by failure and exclusion,
divided into Hectors or defectors.
The only shred of dignity it brings
is when we learn to love our sunderings.
Our heart sensed a potent pull magnetic,
borne by a sublime mist mind could not trace,
subtlety aesthetic, rhythm poetic,
grace influx holding us is close embrace.
With each pore a door we could keep no score,
although later mind tried to analyse,
who is the helmsman, who is at the oar,
breath by breath causing heart’s vibrance to rise.
Transformed from inside out, each node was stormed,
by the bliss current pulsating within;
of wisdom of sages we were informed,
silencing ego’s cacophonous din.
Such is as it was, such is as it is ~
We’re the effervescence of a bliss fizz
We’re the effervescence of a bliss fizz,
renewal continual, a heartbeat,
for lower mind, an unsolvable quiz,
there being no translation for cool heat.
Notice the blossoming of a flower,
opened petal by petal by God’s hand,
life in motion, all held by His power,
in the womb of space we don’t understand.
Contemplating thus we asked, ‘Who am I’,
in as unchanging presence in this form,
where memories are clouds and we’re the sky,
truth supreme to which we wish to conform.
To accomplish our goal, that we feel whole ~
We slid into silence to find our soul
We slid into silence to find our soul,
remaining motionless in the vast void,
to reclaim light innate, our ego stole,
that we regain our lustre unalloyed.
Focus animated in cessation,
our emptiness was then filled with bliss mists,
heart’s elation as our meditation,
force of magnetism unclenching our fists.
This narration is a flashback of course,
of how the pathless path may be traversed,
the code easy to read, penned not in morse,
as dance of polarities unrehearsed.
Epiphanies that dawned are prophetic ~
Our heart sensed a potent pull magnetic
Through the prism of the soul, a mysterious alliance of reflections is bound,
Pieced together from shards of worlds lost under bare soles.
Streams of betrayal trickle over the skin, constructing ruby maps
In ten directions, to be wrung out, to be cleansed of primal anguishes.
The agony writhes, a tremor of despair suffocated between stammering sobs,
A home is built upon the canvas of reality, just to see it shattered in the porcelain of promises.
The sign of peace is vain when screams sustain an endless echo,
From the ashes of your being, the fire stubbornly flares up towards the infinite.
You tread over embers hidden beneath ash, anguish on hot coals –
Your home smokes the reddish light of dusk under the weight of silence.
The scent of cigars and the noise of fallen bottles in a symphony of shadow and flight,
Each step echoes a gathering doomed to insignificance.
A disjointed section, a star-studded rainbow with the caress of fleeting hope,
Are broken dreams and wilted wings yearning to envelop,
A flicker of the firmament, proud in the moon's reflection, testimonies of imperfect brilliance.
You are lured by the dungeon's aroma, but it's just a dream encircled by passions to which you succumb.
Rustling through oceans of quiet, the fear of the grave keeps you from the depths,
A laugh of hypocrisy breaks through, the metaphor of a cave full of echo and re-sanctification.
Be a guide on a tour of truth, if you are a helmsman on the rivers of the soul.
When the veils of silence fall, we will find ourselves in the unsaid verb, in the long-lost vow.
If I were to expose my vulnerable breath before your pure gaze,
Would you continue to kiss my wounds, to confront the red that paints your lips?
And, at the moment when scars weave stories on our skin, will you venture forth,
To embrace my enigma for a long while, even if the fire burns and sparkles within us?
Will I still be arcane enough for you, then?
PASSIONS
On the deck of his life’s boat
In a state of confusion
Was he sitting
Gazing at the horizon of
The unknown
Dark clouds of doubt were hovering
In his puzzling mind
His thoughts in disarray were venturing into a labyrinth
Of faint speculations
The dilemma was his, knowing not where to go
The roads of virtue and that of vice before him
They stood:
Equally appealing
Equally accessible
Equally demanding!
He tried to pierce the veil of life’s mystery
With his wondrous, enquiring eyes but
Every effort is a sound failure:
The riddle persists
The obscurity endures
The enigma remains.
Impatience enters now his troubled psyche and
Horrid panic becomes his constant companion.
Suddenly, his choleric aimless, and violent passions
Snatched the rudder of his life’s boat in their needy:
For control
Hungry for rule and
Thirsty for power
Arrogant, reckless hands and
In their eagerness to rule over his
Disorientated mind, enslaved
Reason: The illuminated helmsman
Hand-cuffed love: The tender-hearted captain and
Tortured understanding: The knowledgeable pilot and
Threw overboard benign compassion and
Holly mercy.
Shortly after, the humane crew of lofty virtues,
Subjugated to the newly established tyranny was:
Ruthlessly deprived of its power
Violently derailed from its course and
Brutally twisted in its meaning,
To fit passions’ newly adapted schemes,
Of infamy
Of turmoil
Of inconsideration and
Of shameful vice.
Then, as the sails of vanity and blind temptations
Opened wide and
The craven wind of uncontrollable urges rushed to
Swell them with corrupt impetuous desires,
His shaky boat unguided drifted to the open rough sea
Of self-destructive indulgence,
Through the hurricane of obscure ignorance,
Towards the perilous sterile rocks of despicable lust
Where it crashed and sank into the abyss of filthy appetites,
In the graveyard of lawless souls at which
Murky desperation eternally reigns!
Ah, if only he had chosen the path of virtue!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
18 January 2013
"over the waters blue the night winds sigh, the breakers roar”...Lord Byron
I love to be upon the sea
When’er the tides are high
For rough sea does not bother me
Or thunder of the sky
Of this maybe you wonder why
It’s just the way I am
Unafraid and so brave am I
I’m Simple Sailor Sam.
Sailing along I sing with glee
Until the night is nigh
A time to rest this busy bee
To acquire earned shut eye
How quickly time goes floating by
I’m not a lonesome man
As my adventures keep me spry
I’m Simple Sailor Sam.
There’s lots to explore o’er the sea
Dolphins come to say Hi
With acrobatics that cheer me
As I am sailing by
For scenery I have the sky
A gift to an helmsman
Such a jolly sea dog am I
I’m Simple Sailor Sam.
So my hearties please do not cry
I do the best I can
Roaming raging tempests am I
I’m Simple Sailor Sam.
In the odyssey of my soul, I have sailed seas of uncharted destiny,
Embarked on the ship of time, under the flag of a stormy youth.
Six years under the starry sky, I forged myself among the wave crests,
Learning the language of the winds, the silent dialogue between star and compass.
I wove dreams in the workshops of the day, in a symphony of masterful gestures,
From painting dawns on the canvases of walls to building fortresses from old wood.
I planted gardens in the heart of the earth, carved beauty under the burning sun,
And purified the day's scents in the silver coat of kitchens, where time weaves its flavors.
On the paths of yoga, I was the flame of calm, master of ancestral balance,
Guiding steps on health trails, coach of spirits in search of harmony.
A wandering teacher through the halls of knowledge, I was a helmsman in the ocean of science,
Mentor for those weaving their path in the tapestry of education.
In the sanctuaries of museums, I became the weaver of silence,
The storyteller embracing centuries, opening the gates to the chambers of the past.
In hidden taverns, I was the evening's alchemist, pouring the elixir of stories into crystal,
Living among spirits and shadows, I found oases of peace in the everyday desert.
In the realms of factories, I lost and found myself in the dance of fire and iron,
In every corner, a story, in every spark, a promise.
I carved desires on small objects, in a miniature universe,
And discovered the hidden joy in the small gestures of existence.
I was the light in the night of those seeking meaning,
Guardian of silence in the temples of learning,
Weaver of lessons of history and society, for hearts open to knowledge.
My last journey, a master of balance, guardian of a kingdom of green and stone.
Writer of dreams, I gathered the echoes of each experience,
Weaving from the threads of reality a tapestry of fairy tales, transforming the mundane into magical.
Each job, a chapter in the epic of my life,
A pilgrimage through the labyrinth of memory, in search of the light lost among shadows.
Beyond this space called here and now where hopes are often lost;
across the seething sea of time where dreams are tempest tossed,
there lies a haven well desired to gain at any cost;
to lie at anchor there will be worth all the waters crossed.
The port is gained by following a narrow path, we know.
Many ships have run aground on reefs of sin and woe.
Sound the waves and fathom out the deeps that lie below,
and guide your ship to safety, watching ever for the foe.
In that haven time will cease; the sea shall be as glass,
and all the evils known to man will in the depths be cast.
No parting and no weeping, heartaches, too, will pass
for joy will reign on every ship whose tow line is made fast.
Put forth all effort, then, to reach that harbor through the foam;
cease seeking for the pleasure isles that call the soul to roam.
Mark the charts with vision clear by heaven's starry dome;
make Christ your helmsman; through thickest fog He made that harbor home.
Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright, 1987
The helmsman sings a merry song:
Haec est vera fraternas,
and downs a cup of something strong,
Hick, vera, hick, hick, fraternas.
The sailors dance a lusty jig,
forsaking sails, crow's nest and rig.
Young princes and their ladies fair
join in the drunken helmsman's air:
Haec est vera fraternas.
Commoners with nobles prance.
Friars and laymen, how they dance!
The jester sports a broken lance,
a trophy from the fields of France.
"To Henry!" sounds the raucous toast.
Hear the young knights, how they boast
of conquests on and off the field,
when foemen or coy maidens yield.
While Fitzroy strokes a wench's leg,
the boatswain opes yet one more keg.
See their chains of gleaming gold,
but feel the wind grown strangely cold.
William the atheling alone,
to the marrow of each bone
feels what sorrows must atone
for the sins of court and throne.
Woe to the ship, woe to the realm,
where none is mindful of the helm.
Woe to the king who ne'er shall smile,
woe to those bereft of child.
Gone is that day and gone that night,
gone that ship so ghostly white,
gone the prince who bravely sought
to save his sister, deed ill bought!
If, one night by Barfleur's shore,
you may hear that song once more:
Haec est vera fraternas,
et haec est aeternitas.
Across the roaring 40’s
I sail
I fly
She’s in a hurry
To reach out
That Southern land
Like a horse
That knows the way home
She bucks
She sways
Her cloth
Slides across the wind
Hell or high
I will make sure
We harbour
The leeward side
And the Jack tars will sing
Hey ho
Here we go boys
Hold your breeches
And heave ho
Hold ya breeches
And heave ho
With white knuckles
I hold that wheel
As helmsman
I fear breaching
I won’t let it go
The wind
She blows
The waves
They tower
Nothing will stop me
Heading Over
That rising sun
And the Jack tars will sing
Hey ho
Here we go boys
Hold you breeches
And heave ho
Hold ya breeches
And heave ho
Swinging through the rigging
I take me time
To set a working sail
Up here
With Albatross
And god
I ‘am sailing
Through time
On a wing and a prayer
And the Jack tars will sing
Hey ho
Here we go boys
Hold your breeches
And heave ho
Hold ya breeches
And heave ho
Land ho
The call is made
There she be
That Southern land
Soon we’ll be safe
For sure
Me mates
On the leeward side
We"ll harbour
And the jack tars will sing
Hey ho
Here we go boys
Hold your breeches
And heave ho
Hold ya breeches
And heave ho