Long Offshore Poems
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BOTTLE DANCE
Across my land, abysses gnaw at automobiles,
From the foot of the mountain,
To the shores of the oil fountain.
Certificated youths drinking piss to mellow their brains,
Clutching at wheels, dodging bumps into fog lights.
“Stupid, ing dog” curse survivors of amputation “you bastard”
“Who cares, you swine” retorts I the offender
just before crashing into the next one.
In my shack, counting my yields and sighing,
evading the burning eyes of hungry breeds.
How did I ever get here?
In the ring stood I, surrounded by Foncha, Endeley, Jua and Ntumazah
Um Nyobe sang the UPC song and they danced.
They danced the bottle dance.
Sandwiching in the center, on the slaughter slab, my motherland.
Nigeria to the left, La Republique to the right,
Trampling upon outright independence.
Foncha danced and Endeley danced and Nyobe sang and Britain watched.
The tune was clear, the rhythm was jazzed but the lyrics were blur;
Whence had a nation’s independence,
Been conditioned upon attachment to already independent states?
So how did we ever get here?
A loaf of bread baked in the flames of WWI
And served into the plates of Imperial barons of foreign insanity
Too blind to the tongues of oneness.
Drawing a line far far away in the halls of mirror
That tore grandmother’s breasts apart.
The story of the Ewes of Togoland
Was being whispered in her land while she slept.
A line dragged across the highlands of the Adamawa and drained into the Atlantic,
Sullied the virginity and orthography of kamerun.
Grooming a set of dysfunctional twins through years of alien doctrines,
Only to be reunited in an unholy matrimony called Cameroon or Cameroun.
Testaments of tongues foreign like those on a devil’s Pentecost,
That sowed seeds of immortal division.
So this is how really I got here!
A son deprived of the warmth of a Mother
Drained of her milk,
Tapped and shipped offshore.
Scorned and oppressed by a brother,
His name slowing fading away from the sands of time.
And now, the land of bottle dancers clamour for a new dance:
For I know how we got here and I too want to dance;
Federation to the left, secession to the right,
Trampling upon the pseudo 1972 re-unification.
The blood of the brave pipe the tunes
And rhythms of gunshots meet hallelujah,
Sang in a coffin.
SYRIAN REFUGEES
I'm watching a programme on telly
About the Syrian refugees
Men and women and children
Humanity brought to its knees
I'm watching the desperate faces
The terror and hunger and fear
They're facing their ultimate nightmare
And me? Well I'm just sitting here
And saying 'Isn't it awful'
'Something needs to be done'
Whilst searching the TV listings
And planning my evening of fun
Then I happen upon the BBC news
Cameron wringing his hands on my screen
Saying Syria is a priority
Then slips into a black limousine
Then Hollande, and Angela Merkel
Echo the prime minister's views
And tell us how hard they are working
Another soundbite for the news
Then shoot off to their heads of state dinner
Which will go on well into the night
While in the camps the tears will continue
No dinner for those folks tonight
At the meeting, an idea from Turkey
Amongst the platitudes and the kind words
The plan that they're putting forward
Is to drop lots of bombs on the Kurds
I flick channels and happen on Tony Blair
Offering the world a solution
I really can't listen to that grinning clown
Spouting his verbal pollution
He's jabbering on about Islam
Trying to give us the wisdom we lack
And hoping the world has forgotten
What Bush and him did in Iraq
Perhaps he's just a bit jealous
That he's not allowed to the feast
After finding Saddam's nuclear weapons!
A doggy bag surely at least.
While another mother loses her children
More slaughter and mayhem we see
And imagine the arms manufacturers
And dealers, jumping with glee
As they make another few billions
And probably a few billions more
Then they'll hide all their dirty old dollars
In their financial laundry offshore
And the politicians turn a blind eye
And I'm sure that they won't be divulging
How some of them came by their fat bank accounts
And why their back pockets are bulging
But then.......success I hear on the news
The EU says all is not black
They've solved the refugee crisis.
When they get here.........we're sending them back.
Job done, EU movers and shakers
So sorry for doubting your cause
You've sorted the Syrian problem
Give yourselves a big round of applause
© Ron James 05/04/2016
My Carolyn and I, on Plymouth Hoe we stand
To leave this shire of Devon, to far distant lands
Our desire to leave, and this change in our lives
There's a future out there, for me and my new wife
As I look down on the harbour, at these ships of grand
To be honoured and trusted, my voyage of command
Tomorrow we sail, to the South Seas and beyond
My crew and I, in dutiful naval respond
Even before we set sail, a hurricane did brew
At first we met calm seas, if only we knew
For as we headed south, Atlantic waters churned
Yet still my Highlander's passion in my heart burned
A tsunami grew on the eastern horizon
Would we reach our Caribbean island?
The huge water mass approached and toppled our ship
But James' strong arms ensured that we remained adrift
Tossed and battered, in the midst of her rage
Spewed onto the shore, our bodies and sands engage
Weathered and ashen, we arise in the sun
Deserted and beached, a new day has begun
We view our surrounds, in search of a haven
To collect our thoughts, now in survival craving
It's been many weeks, as we have formed an alliance
Our deserted island called home, in total compliance
A thatched roof he has crafted, shelter from the storms
On this palm-filled beach, two survivors are born
My sweet Highlander climbs and shakes coconuts free
He forages through jungles, brings meat to me
I crafted a spear and have caught many a fish
Whatever I cook, he says it's his favorite dish
When falling sun brings colorful skies, we cuddle
We embrace where nature's other creatures huddle
It's been many many years, on this island of ours
Living with nature, our most wonderful neighbours
We awoke one morning, to see a ship offshore
I turned to my Carolyn, with emotions galore
Do we stay here in paradise, or leave for new lands
It's what we intended, being deserted was not planned
Our signals in tune, we declare to prepare
What we have learnt here, the world needs to share
Form:
A monochrome of boho days
segue one another surreptitiously.
Endless pantomimes of idle chatter flutter by.
Cantilever bridge, a one stop halting site for gossip and suspense.
Small talk, bespoke winged creature, Combe of pleuron.
Turin shroud spotter in the mise en scene melting pot.
The spirited stride of pavement strollers prompted by
agenda.
Metatarsals on the march.
Street vendor’s spooky cry with banjo beating busker at his side.
Dirt pan bellow and brittle strum about the
orange alert ahead.
Crowded car park, careening bus, frustrated taxi driver rank and file.
Backstreet Barney or kerfuffle on the lawn.
Swing sign overhead, a pawn in every trending breeze.
Office block malarkey cutting capers for the press.
New age ante-fix, the cover tile for corruption.
Whistle blowing wag inside the
city centre fault line.
Brass neck
reservoir of hoodwink high and low.
Harassed mother, barefoot beggar
nervously extends her rusted tin.
Guilt edge coin as bandage to our shoddy scruple.
Bag lady on the fringe of some haute couture complex.
Stasi-like security whose bluff veneer belies an inner
bludgeon.
Crouton salad diner has his finger on the pulse but not his pulse rate!
Tycoon in transition with an open brief!
Teflon tyrant
back to the future.
Ambulance chaser …. legal eagle…..with fortune in misfortune their calling card .
To the limit and beyond like an offshore Ansbacher.
Noonday bell
interloper at the scuttlebutt tavern.
Seconds out,
moments out,
hours in a hari kari haze.
Sensei’s of the left filling void with vacuum.
Laboured diatribe against dynasty, trite slogans, empty rhetoric, mannah from heaven?
All this from the cadres of social despotism!
Passage, the
pollinating insect of aroha.
Behind the rhythm of the grind a broad leaf grain of hope may sprout.
Green shoots of bounty.
Latent sidewalk bloomer.
Blossom by default or tender impulse
The Curse of the Dead Sea
Dark ghosts traveling through the chilled air mist
where rare rough rivers, eddied and revolved, in
twists around into a violent, furious funnel offshore,
as this turbulent salt sea of iniquity opens up its storied,
salted bowels with its turgid moving fluids drowning
into a space of predestined bedded death—for all who
unknowingly venture into the embrace of the Dead Sea.
For knoweth that Poseidon, the ancient god of the sea,
may not be there in time to spare thy life that be in the
fatal grip of this salted deadly destiny, and its jeopardy,
as it’s written in the “riddle of sands” that remain blowing
as this earthly desert speaks to thee, spiced by the coldest
of raindrops carried on winds held deep within, as dark
clouds escape with their droplets running down into the
mountain “waters of life” that feed and form an evil river
that pulsates through the deep veins of existence, as drums
inside heartbeats play to a harmonious harp filled with a
mystic music dancing to visions of a salted angel who lives
deep within the Dead Sea.
Falling throughout the depths of time in the history of this
ancient sea of sure death, are grains of sand and pure white
salt which hold misted gems that speak to each and every
human footprint, leaving an imprinted, indelible image true,
behind the frame left crowned in the deep well of a forlorn,
shimmering pond that presciently knoweth that this ancient
Dead Sea, with its “salt of the sand” shall explain to you,
in kind, of the dangers that lurketh within the waters of its
salted, deadly grip, if thou chooseth unwisely to venture in
knowingly or unknowingly.
For Poseidon shall not be there in this “modern age” to
saveth thee and thy immortal soul!
Amen.
Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid – A Collaborated Poem
Copyright © All Rights Reserved – December 16, 2018
(Narrative)
Casted wrong feeling
Yesterday was much better
Today cries for warm healing
For morrow not to be a debtor
Or else, the whole isn't appealing
I never got such a dude in line
Happy moment has been fraudulent
Temporal is long vacation at the shrine
Sad moment is no difference cum design
To back up resumption of peace so violent
Let us pretend we never met
May be(if not fine) we can get along
Let us pretend we are poets cum duet
May be(probably never) see each other so wrong
In act of actualizing deeds without regret
Not for anyone, you wouldn't wanna fall
I don't think( in any instance) that would ever work
But you wish to feel among the way we ball
You can only over time develop more a quirk
Thinking you were there but growth thou forestall
Don't love them anymore with thy heart
How can you be home dieing and crying
For long, you've done well been so smart
Don't leave until you changed love not complying
Check, don't live on with that spell; kindly restart
It is better than sending live out to hell
Where yelling continuously compounds
In pains of groan without possibility to be expell
Except it becomes adamant as it abounds
Putting a stop to all seeds planted of earthly spell
A year ago
You were you
Suddenly let go
Fast of you so true
Into a raging bullying ego
Good luck is the wish of these times
Prayer has been on lips everyday long
Before it gets weary, been bordered sometimes
Makes it hard to learn the best song
To sing during praise and worship indoor of rimes
While kneeling unto God Whom you adore
You should also learn the level of maturity
Alongside the peace of neighbors and strangers to restore
The height of reasoning and conversing cum obscurity
Before its end sweep thy name and memories offshore
© Olábòsóyè Wèmímó Oláolúwá
® 2022
Boby Shafto was just told to go
When made redundant from P&O.
He’s annoyed with the company’s gall
They only dismissed him by video call.
They just gave him hours too pack,
No appeal allowed, he’d got the sack,
But there’s nothing more he can do
They’ve been replaced by agency crew.
He had to sign on at the Dole
No jobs at steel or old King Coal.
Modern work’s changed that’s a fact
Now they have Zero hour contracts
And Politicians just don’t give a toss
As long as companies don’t make a loss.
Wasn’t it a Minister of State who said it
Subsidise slave wages with Tax Credit
He’s heard all about the hardship
Of trying to survive on basic PIP.
He thank the Lord he has no wife
As he starts his unemployed life.
He’s got redundancy cash to be fair
But maritime jobs are so very rare.
He remembers when the port was full
And a huge fishing fleet sailed from Hull.
He’s not used to being at home,
Used to having the world to roam.
Bobby’s glad he wasn’t born too late
To remember when Britain was Great.
Now we’re run by pimps and whores
Hiding their money in funds offshore,
An economy that limps and stalls
A pound that sharply rises and falls,
Not helped by that disastrous exit
Caused by a minority voting Brexit
They still wave their Union Jack
They think they’ve got the country back.
P&O continues and is thriving still.
After massive cuts to its wage bill,
Bobby Shafto’s still back on shore
No job for him at sea anymore.
The shipping company P & O dismissed a large number of staff, without prior notification or negotiation, by Zoom. They were given just hours to leave their ships. Replacement Asian crews were waiting on coaches to replace them. Their wages were well below the rate agreed for British seamen, saving the company millions.
OH, FATHER in heaven, you I adore,
And thank for your son's Savior blood;
And for your Spirit caring evermore,
And for your word by us is heard.
Again I come to thee with a cry-
My sins are to me a heavy burden;
Jesus' blood wash me by,
I thus wear His york and walk unladen.
This soul you brought to this vain world,
And your favor has kept still alive,
This soul forever enable t light hold,
This soul protect from adventure to vice-hive.
We your lambs are on a land full of harm,
And the jealous land yearns to swallow us;
Enemy lurks to ambush so keep us under your arm,
We'll away turn never from the savior Jesus.
When I wake up in the early morn,
Through the day ever bless me to your glory;
As I sleep still looking up to your throne,
Clothe me your warmth that I'll have zero worry.
For my plans, deeds and daily stay,
For brethren, friends' and strangers' even,
Provide and guide and conquer every day,
While we tread this narrow path to heaven.
Control my arrows to sure-shoot my target,
As fine as you my Father do please;
My joy you will never me falling let,
From you I won't myself release.
See me in my voyage since I set offshore,
Calm the storms and the sharks make blind;
Sink any sinker send by Satan the foe,
Till the face of you in eternity I find.
I pray you to the poor give and the sick enliven,
For as the rich and healthy they are no less;
And the repentant who you've forgiven,
On that shower grace and peace, and bless.
Your will be upon me and show me your mercy,
And your forever enduring love,
Oh my God, king of all supremacy,
Oh my help from the heavens above.
I will worship you every day, hour and every minute,
I will proclaim your mighty name here and there;
I will sing your praise, beat drum and blow flute,
All in verve enough to rule over air.
Amen.
I never thought of love as a game of chance
Only that we were forever bound by romance
Didn't think it was a gamble to fall in love with you
until the interest on my losses quickly began to accrue
I intended to play the hand that I was dealt
but nothing eased the grieving and pain I felt
I didn't see it coming. I didn't hear thunder's roar.
No time to brace myself from being swept offshore
Fate shuffled the deck, and you got the joker,
A wild card you used as if we were playing poker
Your actions made me falter, wobbly and unsteady
but to walk away from you? For that, I was not ready
I'd already thrown my ante upon the table
and kept playing the game as long as I was able
but I had no seat belt to buckle; no life vest found
I couldn't prevent myself from crashing to the ground
I was unprepared to lose; no time to be braced
against grief and heartache with which I was faced
The stakes were much too high. Should I raise or fold?
I said, "I'm all in." No longer was I willing to be controlled.
I braced myself when you replied, "I'll call."
Never did I think I'd feel so vulnerable or small,
Despite the odds, I steeled myself to see your hand,
but what I saw was fear in your eyes once mine was fanned.
You tried to bluff me with just a pair of kings.
If you felt the need to win, take my wedding rings
You're nothing but a loser, and I'll have the last word.
I've won back my heart before more sorrow was incurred.
You better brace your ego, now that you're alone,
reaping calamity and regret from seeds you've sown.
Love should never be a gambling game that people play.
Your betrayal impacted my life, but I survived to walk away.
June 6th, 2022
This or That, Vol 12 Contest
Sponsored by Edward Ibeh
***********************
Country Inc.
We're not as backward as you may think
we're citizens of The Country Inc.
the mission statement, our purpose stated
is not that we're all made equated -
It's more that this quarter's statement's due
filch off the many, to pocket the few
The ad campaign's already produced
lie lines written and on the loose
You fool ninety percent all the damn time
and they don't believe that it's a crime
How cool is that!, how cool you ask?
is a topped-up Ponsi so hard to grasp?
Our constitution's shape, a pyramid
reminding the point is unwarranted
The pointed top, they say is sharp,
sharpest guys in the room they'll say
Keep excavating the base's strength
and it'll invert over the other way
Toys are things and people are people
who has the most of each, says a lot
about what a person values as equal
what's yours is mine, no matter what's got
if it ain't now, we'll make it legal
wink 'n' whisper 'n' don't get caught
bye-bye freedoms bought by our by-laws
in micro-pica font for fine-printed clause
corporations are people and people The Country
we all know, that it's all for the money
and money after all is what we're here for
scraping and clawing in this capital war
so damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead
fodder citizens and soldiers so easily bled
of riches hard-earned, their hard-work toiled
for the few, the chosen, their soft hands unspoiled
not calloused yet callous in daily demeanor
easy to take the whole Country to the cleaners
I'll swear to you that economy is paramount
stuffed into clandestine offshore accounts
but business is business no need for rancor
vocationing as a Wall Street investment banker
and take what's there pinched by legality
incorporated into our capitalism's reality
© Goode Guy 2013-05-21