Long Porthole Poems
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When winter paints those frosty ferns on my windowpane
I find myself a little girl up on your lap again
In that old house there by the sea where you wove that tapestry
With all the glorious memories of your life upon the sea
With weathered palm so deeply etched with every season past
You rubbed a porthole in the center of the frosted glass
Where outside in splendour lie a winter-wonderland
As halos rose above your head from a pipe bowl in your hand
And there upon a rocking chair as smoke rings filled the air
We rocked across a sea of dreams wind tangled in our hair
To lands I’d never been before...we stepped upon those shores
And through your eyes I saw each one...and still I wanted more
The morning passed in dreams between two pairs of eyes of green
As the world outside held its breath in a sea of snowy cream
And when the chill of winter melted from the windowpane
The whistling kettle on the stove brought us home again
You held my hand and looked at me with that twinkle in your eyes
And told me you would be my Captain 'til the day I died
So...when winter paints those frosty ferns on my windowpane
I find myself a little girl up on your lap again
~~~
In loving memory of my Dear Papa
Subconcious streams flitter through my silty porthole
Ebb and flow through my consciences' filtering scroll
Clogging the interstices and my formative, fragile mind doth control
Perceptions of self flood my sensory console
Pent-up desires breach mind's, shallow levee and over carefree banks roll
Carnal instincts bleach and, over time, corrode my chaste compass's steady pole
My soul's rudder listlessly through the choppy waters doth stroll
Delusions of grandeur and trite fantasies o'er my wayward ship troll
Teetering sails are blown about by truant winds so droll
Faulty navigation beaches my tattered psche on a barren shoal
Battered by the waves of inconstancy paying a penitent toll
Tunneling through the brackish bilge; a frenetic mole
Seeking to escape frollicking tidal waves that my froward, youthful mind did cajole
Sifting through the rancid seaweed that years of cresting tides did dole
Cloaked with guilt, shame stranded on a rocky, desolate atoll
Still vainly trying to justify my hopeless condition; my fleeting worth extoll
I’m a person of faith...so are you
Dying by comparison, to
Windswept cliffs
Water with choppy teeth
Baptismal pool?
Will it save you?
Pointing at the whiteboard
Hear the squeak of multicolored markers
In your head, dead
Points most of them
Feet are slipping, stones
Falling to a great depth
This is rather deep, tap...tap
Tapping your toes on shimmering faults
Your fault, my fault
Falling
Through loopholes, crying
Tears pelt the cyclone below
Stars so peaceful in the night sky
Fill your eyes with their charm
As your heels slip slowly as a snail
Hands grasping cold wet air
Can’t breathe in the end
Porthole from tower’s edge
Edgy flames spew you
Out like Jonah’s whale
Splat, splat, splatter
You see it all does matter
All of it
Faith takes a leap
But if you’ve no idea
Where your heading
Hint, South
Can a leopard shed his spots,
Though he scrubs them on the reef?
Relief
Who’s the balm?
Who calms the sea?
Who saves you from spiritual death?
Who created thee?
Thine, thee, we...words
Mean only what they seem to be
Flat
Except in Hebrew and Greek
the bible speaks
Clinging to the rock
Of my salvation
And you?
11/4/2020
Psalm 62:1 My soul finds rest in God alone; my salvation comes from him. He alone is my rock and my salvation; he is my fortress, I will never be shaken.
Romans 10:8-10 ...The word is near you; it is in your mouth and in your heart, that is the word of faith...that if you confess with your mouth, “Jesus is Lord,” and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved.
Loving life hid beneath rim of cool ceramic bowl
Tree frog claimed proud place, toilet's homely hole
Enamoured by his simple palace making stance
I bend to peer at his green grip toe stick, entranced
My ordinary admonished by gaze from onxyx eyes
Quick reflex and instinct, skills by which Frog relies
Shine of black marble smartness lures me nearer
Knowing even with my bulk, I'm somehow inferior
Rubber eyelid winks, peels open again enlarged
Eye wrinkles droop to hammock, I'm encouraged
To nestle within humid folds, shrunk human glued
Oscillated in his lid lures languishing duly procured
Spun suddenly, rubbery cocoon cosy lurches erratic
Some worry occurs I'll drown outside skin hammock
Prior to paranoia taking over, thrown from dizzying ride
Launched into stark big bowl with steep slippery sides
Swim in cistern spew strangely renders me cleansed
Lap in lurid blue sends me to inevitably to S bends
Whooshed and flushed with refreshed perspective
Dark harassed by diffused hues tug seductive
Dolphin derived, my smooth unphased by spiralling
Saturated zones, ease honed, enamour never tiring
Snorkel hole snorts water, puffs readily on its purification
Imbibing combines giddy with clarity, senses' temptation
My forehead flicked flirtatiously by wide flamingo flippers
Splayed feathers fan surface, showcase dance floor shimmer
Cabaret her costume, shakes crystal bead rainbow release
Ravishing precise pirouettes prim pink princess completes
Her curved beak caresses my porthole brain, rubs insistantly
Into warm walnut shell weapon I'm swallowed quite quickly
I spy through pomegranate seed eye, mirror lake unswayed
Stilled kindly by wind's nonexistance, decision to travel made
Climbed to bird's tiny tiara topped crest, covered in feathers
Graceful lace tu- tu floats my aquatic future endeavour
Bouyed weightless and grateful, flip draws no resistance
Swim in S bend treasure, trip of sight resumed brilliance
*** Spring has sprung!!
- in Australia
My branch beyond
The tired pond
of Earth, awakes
Imminent Heaven
(perhaps)
*** A collapse of facts
Flight of flamingo regalia
Revel in place of waste
- Mystery flush takes
on its S bend
1st September 2020
Feelings of despair dredged from the murky dephths of my past
Hoisted through my corroded conscience's porthole
Reconnoitering barge of restitution pushes despondent thoughts through my inner being
Then tows the shame and guilt of my depraved condition to mind's hatch
The murky dross of yesterday's sins seeps deep into my addled psche
The residual guilt oppresses my soul
The brackish bilge of cankerous jealousies trolls through my grieving spirit
My trembling hands grasp the anchor of remorse but slip into the deeper moor of penance
Earlier missteps have my struggling feet sinking ever deeper in the quicksand of hopelessness
The smokestack spews nautious fumes from the froward deeds of my virile youth
My shaky rudder teeters as the raw sewage of past debauchery overwhelms my senses
Sailing my sinking yacht to the edge of sanity and rational existence
Carried along by the unsettling currents of inconstancy and vacillation
Docking in the harbor of reclamation and recompense
My Poems
Are but only and unto me
An inner source of both shuttling
and chastening my day dreams
My very own fantastical imagination
galaxy and far off universe
Inside my head rallying me to discover
what may well just reside beyond the
setting stellar sun or dark side of the moon
Because I would far rather be alone and
searching for something more significant
other than this out there than here
Than awaken again tomorrow with a
sore neck from staring up at a sky full
of shooting stars
Constantly wishing and waiting for the quickening crash of thunder and lightning
to strike
And with such levity and brevity of
clarified thought and sadly devoid of
any means of leaving this world's earths atmosphere behind
I instead have no other option left but
to try and imagine it's splendor in my
mind's eye
And even if I was to take this journey
on my own alone with not another
single soul or anyone to tell
How would that be any different
but rather so much better than being
surrounded by people but nobody
willing to listen
I think at least much like the 1st Apollo
crew taking 1 small step for mankind
who returned
I would rather happily live out the rest
of my life as a Giant
Jettisoned as a castaway just me myself
and Wilson
Gazing out a porthole both utterly bemused
and blown away taking in an ever increasing
impressive interplanetary firework display
Thankful for the fact this ethereal majesty
has thus far been spared from humankind
Otherwise this would probably by now
have been turned into a ride on an
amusement park complete with hotel
casino fast food chains and shopping mall
There is a magical realm in my world, where I feel no fear.
A place of unique experiences, in which I never shed a tear.
It's here that my senses are heightened, time and time again,
where my imagination has no bounds with paper and my pen.
A princess rescued and dragons roar in mystical lands I create
Here, I write fairytale endings and determine a creature's fate
In this amazing domain I view things without using my eyes.
As a poet, I can conceive anything that ingenuity can devise.
Sometimes, when I'm fast asleep, my heart travels in flight
along paths of fanciful dreams, so I pick up my pen and write
about things I see as I journey through my psyche's porthole
penning marvelous adventures that burn deep inside my soul
Maybe now you can understand this wonderful gift I possess
In this magic place I am free from disappointment and stress.
Alone with my thoughts I find beauty in balanced symmetry.
Can you comprehend why I find pleasure in writing poetry?
*Entered into contest with kind permission of my co-writer*
November 1, 2021 DO- IT (DUETS) Poetry Contest
Sponsored by James Edward Lee Sr
Sometimes I feel like a castaway;
My sails and rudder in disarray-
A derelict floating past Cathay-
Then marooned on a shoal.
Other times I feel like a stowaway,
Secreted in some musty hideaway,
Watching the world change day by day
From a filthy porthole.
Sometimes I feel like a runaway.
All my pride’s been sanded away;
Hustling for food and somewhere to stay-
Some dark and dank bolt hole.
Other times I feel like I’ve gone astray,
That the best of me’s eroding away.
Dissipating misty yesterday
What’s left of my soul.
(Chorus)
I’d probably feel this way all the time,
If I didn’t come home with you.
Mornings would start with no sunshine,
If I didn’t wake up with you.
All the world’s imperfections,
Objections, and rejections,
Would drown me in dejection
If you weren’t the Copilot of my crew.
There've been time I've felt like I've gone astray.
Each tomorrow's still another day.
I still have time to change my way
To once more feel whole.
I don't have to be a runaway,
A castaway or a stowaway.
With your help I can find my way
And re-find my soul.
In my dream, a porthole of misty seas, I find myself anew,
My skull, a closed shell, from the shell of a celestial egg,
Together with you, I recreate you from the clay of memories,
Blowing upon you the eternal kiss of desires.
We rejuvenate for a millennium while God rests,
Allowing our souls to bloom in the dandelion of humanity,
A corporeal flower, intoxicated by hallucinatory longing and living water,
Drowned in thoughts, living your new, unrepeatable eternity.
Just as life dares to transport its soul into a corpse,
We chew words spoken before the dawn of destiny,
Foaming fortune in the fire of what was given to us,
In the spring rains, my love, our destiny will sprout.
My love will bloom even after death, within you,
In a dance of eternity, under the star-filled sky,
Dreams will guide our steps on the mysterious paths of the heart,
Wandering through metaphors, in search of the sublime truth.
With the palms of well-worn leathery hands that in younger days guided a Tall Ship round
the globe many times with the help of stars that still twinkled in his eyes, the old man made
a porthole in the frosty forest of swirling ferns that had been painted on the kitchen window
pane by Jack-Frost during the night.
As I sat on his lap, he told me the creaking sound made by the rockers from the rocking
chair we sat in on the hardwood floor - if he closed his eyes, could make him believe he was
back with the wind in his sails, rising and dipping and swaying with the whims of the
waves ‘ore the sea.
Back- and- forth, back-and-forth, we rocked as the porthole on the window pane grew larger,
exposing the winter wonder land outside where trees and roads and roof-tops lie frozen
beneath a layer of fluffy snow that looked like icing on a birthday cake, as the house
softened and swelled in the warmth of the burning kindling wood that snapped and crackled
in the stove.
Rocking back-and-forth, back-and-forth, I asked him, looking into those eyes of green, with
that far away look. “Grandpa, won’t you tell me please, what lies beyond the sea?” He
paused for a moment, blowing silver halos that rose from his pipe in an aroma of sweet
smelling ‘Old Sail’ tobacco, and with the magic of his words, he took me on a journey,
rocking across the sea where he showed me all the places and wondrous things he’d ever
seen.
That was many and many a year ago, in a kingdom by the sea, where an old man, taught a
little girl, that life is but a dream.
~~~~~
In memory of: Captain James George the Third - My Grandfather
~~~~~
2nd place in 'Anything Goes #2 Contest - sponsered by Constance La France
Author's note:
This is one entry of many that will appear in my next book ' A Journey of Roses and Thorns'.
They are true events that have happened in my life - some where roses, some were
thorns. I have learned valuable lessons from both.