Long Leeward Poems
Long Leeward Poems. Below are the most popular long Leeward by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Leeward poems by poem length and keyword.
No Anchor for Rancor
Wounded the ship of my soul,
With tattered sails,
Heels up in malevolence,
Venom puffs out the jib
In leeward grudges of tactless spite
On a pointless reach
Heading up into retaliation.
Heart hardened sends out a deep tap root,
Like a dagger board,
For my blustering hubris
To drop an anchor and moor animosity
In a portage of perpetual whirlwinds
With undertows of enmity
Crashing about in irons of spite.
Yet steady winds rise up
And I must come about
Heading into prevailing winds
Then journey through hubris doldrums,
Sails filled fresh with newborn winds,
Orphaning rancor - breathing in forgiveness -
Sailing beneath full sails of resurrection
Dropped anchor off the Fever Coast
‘board a rake-masted schooner
Spooked by Ahab’s ghost.
Lamps glowered through the yawning blanks
Casting bone-twisted shadows
Over teakwood planks.
Salt biscuits and Jamaican rum;
Heard the deep-throated rattle
Of the talking drum.
Count it with numbers. Say it with words...
Leaned hard against the mains’l boom.
Strained my eyes in the blackness
Of the brackish gloom.
Port lookout gave the counter sign;
Put our boats in the water,
Oar blades dripping brine.
Paid tribute to the pagan chief
In exchange for a passage
Past uncharted reefs.
Count it with numbers. Say it with words...
Slave dealers ruled the hidden cove
Near a shrine to the god
Of the cassava grove.
Made landing on the leeward shore.
Stacked our crates on the beach;
They totaled near a score.
Trade muskets worth some eighteen head
Pleased our hosts and they showed us
To the holding shed.
Count it with numbers. Say it with words...
Grey shackles made a hollow clank.
Moved them out single file,
Guards on either flank.
Fog greeted our return aboard.
Stashed our cargo below
Where once the guns were stored.
Turned to and dodged a man-o-war.
Rode that swift tidal current
Like a smuggler’s whore.
Count it with numbers. Say it with words...
Fair sailing till we hit the Cape,
But we made Madagascar
Still in decent shape.
Brisk business on the auction block
Where a Dutch merchant
Purchased our entire stock.
He sold ‘em to the Portuguese.
We set course for Calcutta
With the morning breeze.
Count it with numbers. Say it with words...
Crew mustered in the open air.
Coins were stacked on a blanket
And I took my share.
Two hundred stone of human freight
Brought me four Spanish dollars
And a piece of eight.
Christ Jesus, we be ruthless men.
Tell the god of the cassava
We’ll be back again.
Count it with numbers. Say it with words:
Guilt and compassion? Sh*t for the birds!
Vapour
While I sit lonesome at the water’s sprawl,
crepuscular rays have the heaven’s sigh,
as golden hues descend on evening’s crawl,
and soften the edge of a fading sky.
A gentle mist ascends above the lake,
to veil twilight’s plunge with a hoary shroud,
slowly curbing my vista to opaque,
while swans shelter unruffled in a crowd.
A sailboat drifts athwart my vision lines,
winding in patterns delicate and slow,
clutching the air, adapting to the signs,
an ambling dance as the leeward winds blow.
In this serene and tranquil atmosphere,
my thoughts like vapour gently disappear.
The pungence of heartbreak swelters
in the tangled dreadlocks of love-lies-bleeding
Take me somewhere exotic
to breathe not the foul aroma
of disappointment and despair
Show me fields laced with frangipani and orchids
in colors sweet and light as daydreams
Find me seafoam fields poppied
with pomegranate and honey
opium of jasmine lilting on a leeward drowse
delicious sift of sand drifting
warm and soft between my toes
as coral breezes court flamingo scapes
with pina colada suns
and I drift in and out of hibiscus euphoria
Let a mist of cockatoos flutter
in lapis skies puffed with fat feather clouds
parrots and toucans preening
like a rainbow shimmer
Tingle my pineapple senses
through the afterglow of mango afternoons
Create visions of paradise
in the cerulean of hyacinth
and never bring me back
As a rainbow of the sunset descends
and the balmy breeze washes over sand
that tickles between toes and carefree hand,
I’m in the company of valued friends.
The deceptive calm of darkening sea
where the cormorants dive for their last meal,
the leeward shadows of the rocks turn teal –
I would not wish in other place to be.
The windsurfers had furled colourful kites.
Easterly wind had died down for the day
and sharks are out to forage and for play
in riptides, lurking out of reach of lights.
I lift my eyes to the offing distant,
the aspect of which is ever constant.
INSPIRED BY:
Sonnet VI,
by William Lisle Bowles
Poetic form: BOWLESIAN SONNET
***************************************************
*offing: (n) The sea-level horizon is the geographic horizon at sea level. One of the best places to see the sea-level horizon is a beach. The ocean and the sky provide a clean, flat line where the Earth seems to meet the sky. If you’re standing on the beach looking out at the sea the part of the sea that ‘touches’ the horizon is called the 'offing'.
A life on ships, a–sailing
A–rolling on the sea
Misspent days and misspent nights
Ol' Davey Jones and me
A wayward list, to starboard, boys
A leeward tack we found
We'll spend our days on the briny sea
And our coin in the Holy Ground
From first light, in the morning
I'm a willing Galley slave
Til well past evening, falling
From the cradle to the grave
The cabin boy, a-wailing
As we rounded, on the Horn
With half the crew, a-bailing
Wishing, they were never born
The pastors on his knees
In the throes of his contrition
While the rum, it flows with ease
On the road to our perdition
Six months, or more at sea, boys
On the mighty ocean swell
Til we chart our way back home, boys
And we'll drink our way, to Hell
A life on ships, a–sailing
A–rolling on the sea
Misspent days and misspent nights
Ol' Davey Jones and me
A wayward list, to starboard, boys
A leeward tack we found
We'll spend our days on the briny sea
And our coin in the Holy Ground
Though, drunken to the scuppers
Awakened on the foam
The merchant ship, 'Perdition'
I happily call my home
And when the cargo's lightened
And we're journeyed, homeward bound
With cheery hearts, and ocean charts
We'll reach, Cork harbour sound
We'll cry, with tears of laughter
Til we're so full of cheer
We'll raise the ale-house rafters
With whiskey, rum and beer
Though masters on the water
We're hopeless, while ashore
And when our purses empty, boys
We'll go to sea for more
A life on ships, a–sailing
A–rolling on the sea
Misspent days and misspent nights
Ol' Davey Jones and me
A wayward list, to starboard, boys
A leeward tack we found
We'll spend our days on the briny sea
And our coin in the Holy Ground
**A lesson offered by the poet in me I've seen,
The lee sides (leeward) of mountains are where the winds parts upwards,
And the warmth of the earthen mound, extends outward becomes trapped,
Within the grasps of escaping winds that lifts, carries its prisoners of air,
As the winds go beyond, the trapped air burst over the mound and holds,
Whispers they are part of the mound and choose to remain for a moment,
The brevity of time, the mound holds its vague strands that hovers tenderly,
Their embrace ingratiates eyes far below, for nature's love is for all to behold.
**last two images of where I live in Hilo, Hawaii of 50k residents and Mauna Kea (White Mountain--'snow capped') firstly clear skies and lastly one with the lenticular cloud above it.
Don't stop the CHOP
dash the glorious bits of foam and froth
let the leeward side fill
let the fertile delta pray
for mercy from Poseidon
All hail the storm God...
Angry, black-and-blue, bruise
the coast, claim the futile calm...
meditate on the black hole of the abyss
Can’t STOP the chop…
Brash and brazen tentacle of DOOM
destruction stirs the devil’s cauldron
Watch the witches brew boil over the
capes of man
removing the zen garden
prissiness of the pandering fools
Batten DOWN the hatches boys
There BE a BLOW on ‘er…
ships flail like paper boats
RALE against the dieing, FIGHT
Ride the crest on boards LIVE the fright!
Your sullen muted whispers,
wafting in this dank whiskey inn,
are falling on wide-open ears, except,
your mousey annoying voice lacerates my brain
with claws that rip and tear and impale,
yet, I desire more of this, here
with these wet unhappy sots,
lost forever like me,
on a dark numbing cloud,
as it floats aimless to the endless east,
leeward like a restless barge,
netting and trapping more broken souls,
more reluctant denizens, more
lodgers for the vacant harbor inns,
and the laurel-shaded graveyards.
But we are different than they, you and I.
We know when to stop talking,
and start nodding.
“Miss, could you speak up, I can’t hear you.”
The din of these dozens of voices here,
amongst these dancing grabbing fools,
are drowning out your sad pleadings.
But I can taste your sadness, and your
self-realization of a life worth nothing.
“I’m lost and don’t know where to turn.”
Then, in the neon darkness,
the staid barkeep places a covered porcelain dish
on our corner table, by the exit sign,
brimming and teeming furiously
with steamed remonstrances of insatiable fear.
“You should see me in the morning,” she says,
“Certainly not now, when it is the end of day,”
when night has ascended its ego curtain,
and a thousand imperfections are revealed.
“No, not now!”
"But my dear," I say, with eyes screwed forward,
“You are perfect in the twilight time,"
this now time, as we sit here in the back booth,
sipping these strong white whales.
“No! you fool of a man!”she says,
“I am not perfect enough!”
a Christina’s View poem
Perhaps an inner calm we feel
Even when in the world we reel,
Any leeward port we appeal
Care for us against raging wind,
Embrace us when the veil is thinned,
moreso when we stand chagrined
in light of your most holy sight~
when darkness attempts to benight
us in shadows of sinful blight.
The shadows say it’s up to us
but that’s just putrid rotting puss
forged in hellfire, satan’s dark truss…
If I had the wings of a dove
I would fly to realms above~
but merciful Jesus sends love.
*****
NOTE: Christina's View is an Acrostic invented verse in the frame of 5 classic triplets. It was introduced by Christina Jussaume who recommends the first letter of the first six lines spell CHRIST, spelling out any word or phrase works too. The elements of Christina's View are:
1. stanzaic, written in any number of triplets.
2. syllabic, all lines are 8 syllables.
3. rhymed, aaa bbb ccc etc.
4. an acrostic, it is recommended the first letter of the first six lines spell out CHRIST.
~Poetry Magnum Opus