Long Skippers Poems
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seafarers’ paradise
seven men drowned
when a ship sank under gigantic waves
seven weeks later
they appeared on the Island of Saragossa
where singing shanty is forbidden
but seaweed is served in 7 variations
by a female ship cook, the only woman
who had been welcomed
as mess-maid was not proper sailors
as for the dead they are soaking wet
it is what keep then going, and lives in caves
lit up by electric eel and blue sea stars
the carpenter has added shelves.
strict ranks are observed, the skippers have
the biggest cave, in a smaller cave, the chief steward
drink whisky from a flask that fills itself up
insist he is an officer, is in conflict with everyone.
since the island is timeless, no one knows or care
whether it is forenoon or afternoon
they listen to the cook’s bell, especially if curry is served
when it is summer, they swim with dolphins.
They slip in unnoticed
just below the burning rays of the sun solstice
lighting on the last flowers of summer bare,
sweet nectar wafting in the heavy laden air,
colors brilliant, glowing, coy
orange black monarchs and viceroys,
great spangled fritillary yellows and whites,
tiger swallowtails in yellow black stripes,
California sisters, red admirals, blues, skippers,
silent and stealth like they come on windy clippers
floating and flittering in mid-August dance,
waltzing on the warm light breeze tree branch,
eye-catching, dainty lace winged soarers,
quick and slow in flight flutterers scorers,
enticed by flowered whispers between thorn and nettles
painted ladies hovering in place on petals
mourning cloakers, dark gray stokers with blended color palettes,
rudders navigating windy turns and landings on salads,
southern dogfaces heading south in transition
migratory lives gathering in submission
to climatic phenomena seen on the window pane
tempered by the sun, the surf, and rain
waving goodbye to the northern lights
hello to the southern fields and forests cool nights.
Lies in the large area of Atlandic deep
Betwixt Florida, Puerto Rico, and Bermuda
A creepy, frightening, and mysterious reef
Formed the devil's triangle above atoll Barbuda
The heavily travelled shipping lanes of the globe
Where vessels vanished in mystic circumtances
Region where aircrafts routinely fly over and rove
But skippers and aviators still believe in chances
With the shot in the arm of weather satellites fly
Seen and noticed the unusual hexagonal clouds
Experts in atmospheric phenomena decrypt the sky
Hoped to save from deadly blast of water-air shrouds
Precioso Tano
May 13, 2017
Ancient Aliens
They have always been here
ancient? – alien?
living amongst the unknowing
hiding in plain sight.
How have they altered
our past? – our future?
advanced or hindered
our progress – our failure.
How have they touched us
with an unseen nudge,
aligned the stars
that we might follow
crumbs of reason,
sat with us in silence
awed by our insolence
humbled by our fervor.
They view us from a distance-
time and space overlapped
knowledge and inexperience
in conflict with themselves.
Knowing that in time
experience becomes
the proving ground of knowledge,
knowledge the anvil
shaping the experience.
They are the flat rock skippers,
the kite flyers, paper airplane makers,
sidewalk chalk drawers,
mud pie makers, frog catchers,
butterfly chasers, bug touchers,
flower sniffers, feather collectors.
They will always be here
ancient – alien
wiser than their years
greater than their fears
in forever’s - ancient moment
alien – in human form.
1/6/2018
submitted to – Ancient Aliens – Poetry contest
the following quite quirky epistle may not exhibit the ordinary characteristics of poetry, but i decided to share this self made challenge (where every word begins with the letter "S" - no explanation can be offered why such self cerebral torture imposed, nor what motivated me to focus on the nineteenth letter of the english alphabet at the exclusion of other noble vowels and consonants.
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Sunday September seventh started seemingly same since...silver screen show secured seventy seven SeventhSeals.
Soupy Sales supreme salient strengths (starring smart pet sidekick Springer Spaniel Socrates) salvaged sagging sporting sorties. Slap stick stereotypical swashbuckling shticks supplied shipshape shenanigans.
Spartan stage set spurred spontaneous simply stupefying solution. Suede shod schlemiel. Sartre seasoned scenes. Sharp sticks supported sphere. Seats situated semicircular semblance.
SPCA, Siemens, Sears sponsored soiree. Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious shouted satirically 'specially Saturdays seemingly sellout. Spontaneous spritely Shogun Samurai sangroid stance satiated slipups stripping stellar seasoned Skidamarinks substitutes sacredly, seminally, silently, slipstreaming soulfully saving saga.
Sometimes silly spouse studiously sought spurious strategy stringing superlatives showcasing senseless sophomoric soporific skills specifically spelling storybook sassy sharpshooters supposedly sleuthing shapeless seated sideways (sic seasonal slate smug spotified snapchatting skippers selfishly scooped sloop-ful seasonal six-packs) sinister Swiss scalpers sat sometimes squatted.
'While stranded high and dry
unemployed skippers ate a lot of kippers'
which smacks of a red herring to me
is a tale told when we were but nippers
altho' with neither fowl nor feline
in a beautiful pea-green boat
the motley crew who put to sea
were assuredly safe and sound when afloat
but then as ocean water rose within
thereby a somewhat large hole revealing
the now woeful matelots felt dreadfully unhappy
as they smelt a strange yet serious sinking feeling
for sadly a rather bad leak had sprang in the bilge below
and their ship went down like the proverbial stone
so the jobless captains fared far better
as landlubbers secure ashore home on their own
Friend Ship
When my inner compass falters
with joy suspended from a sinking buoy
as waves rush by in sunken dreams
you shine the torch’s flare of sun and moon
When the tell tale light house fades
shrouded in the miserable fog of doubt
as currents scupper down with leaden anchour
you catch the comet’s touch of fallen stars
When the mocking pirates entertain
gloomy thoughts from skippers’ ropes
as darkness permeates the ship wrecked sailor
you share your life boat’s stellar luster
When broken drift wood fragments spike
the surface looms with shark’s grim grin
as buccaneers maroon the lost survivor holding on
you salvage patiently with love and kindness
You tug me into wherever our paths will venture
You are the vessel and the oars that row
01 May 2018
Once almost a little village
Within the city’s bounds,
Huddled around the fish dock
With its own smells and sounds,
Streets of rows of terraces
All well kept and neat,
Pride shining through
Every worker Street.
Deckies, Filleters, Bobbers
All closely living there,
The Skippers and Mates
Breathing more refined air.
Overalled fish house workers
Mingle with and meet
Segged clogged bobbers
In the early morning street.
Then they pulled down terraces
Replaced with industrial estates
Rehoused to the city’s fringes
Splitting up families and mates.
And the fishing industry died
Trawlers tied up in the dock
And old Hessle Road trembled
Nearly died from the shock.
No more deckies, filleters, bobbers
All the fish houses long gone
As this once vibrant area
Learned to adapt and move on.
The once thronged Hessle Road
Seems near deserted these days
As the population slowly adapts
To the area’s very different ways.
Rayners, the fisherman’s pub,
Struggling to survive,
Has mementos of the fleet
To help keep its memory alive.
In an ironical gesture,
Sadly surveying it all,
There’s a mural of a trawlerman
Painted on a gable end wall.
Chiseled bone fibre silences white noise water
Shiv splits through throat, jugular scissored
Flung spray fusillade's lain flat slaughter
Bluster bullseye stabs canvas concave
Albatross follow our sharp slipstream
Wind vane spins blur invisible
Dolphin pod adjacent symbol
Ludicrous becomes our lucid dream
Green glaze wake calms crazed waves
Plunge smashes panic, pindrop pools surface
Instinctive dive into icy effervescence
Jolts flailing heart buoyed purpose
Castaways tack to breeze's best advantage
Seahorse spawns, cloud coral hammock
Hull pointed toward demand
Relentless racing hour hand
Gathered globe gauges chances gigantic
Skippers puncture tides, shark agile voyage
20th February
Triumphant Felicity
When my hand lets loose the pen
Lamp-less face I such parting darkness --
Preordained that Passing-night! God’s plan
So decrees, we all come home His timing~
Naughty wanderers, reclaimed beloved strays.
Then you must write for me, dear brothers
And sisters – that which yet need better said
And would I were it not for parting bed,
My throbbing head, blessed pillow of down
Such inevitable sleep no point longer fighting --
I hear the angels, sniff the starry-seas;
Hearken to the oars of Eternal ferry. Be not sad,
But glad for me. We will meet again, somewhere
Beyond the known dippers, to sail fondly further as
Blithering Gilligans and Compassless Skippers.
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(No, I am not ill, that I am aware of. Just thought I would get this out of the way while still well and able:))