Long Undersea Poems
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I remember the land of drums I was born
bedded beneath great hanging nets;
the sound of the conch and the horn.
My blue suitcase filled with stuff,
the red tricycle and pedal car
that made me race and made me puff.
I remember the hounds of revolution nightly howl
on the streets of my island home.
Now I reign afar in the land of my exile
as might a king given up his throne
I remember my first day of school so bleak,
a gingerbread house on Picton Street
where I first kissed a sweetheart cheek.
Hearken tales of men in Sherwood,
Nelly Stone in her rocking chair
reading The Adventures of Robin Hood.
The loud guttural yard turkeys’ gobble and flap,
and kids singing their songs of joy.
I remember the year, the girl, the songs
in all its virtue when I was a boy
I remember the front yard we would play
and the annex rooms we called home
watching The Riki Tiki Show at 17 Gray.
Waving at the Queen’s royal parade
down on Saint Clair Avenue
in the crowds following her motorcade.
I remember huddled around the old valve radio,
long siestas in the hot afternoon
till late beneath a corner streetlight halo
raving drunk slumped Blue Moon
I remember sticky chewy peanut brittle
with my cold Nestle chocolate milk
while gorging my tummy little by little.
Behold down-de-islands dashing
in a pirogue out on Grand Fond Bay -
the sea spray across the bow crashing.
Watching as darkness fell on high moon and tide
shining on bay and jetty so bright,
when as young eyes grew weary I would
rest at peace all through the night
I remember all dressed for Sunday School
and afternoons at the Country Club
splashing around in the swimming pool.
And at sea playing captain and sailor
on board a ship Panama bound
in my cabin with my toy boat and trailer.
I remember the ports and voyage of no return
into the yonder crossing the equator,
when old Neptune rose from the undersea
to bless our ship and navigate her
Written: September 1990
As I lay on mounds of a shoreline,
weightless in eyes' astounded spirit
blending with angels, dirt, and crosses;
my soul bears this emptiness
in writhing streams omnipresent for day
and twilight's heavy float-- hours change
beyond primitive instincts--a landscape
of bittersweet cycles appear, and below it,
the fluidity from incandescent waters lap
on mouths of frozen stars requesting patience.
Here am i sprouting below, above and under
their flesh; fulfilling my need for deliverance
out of some needled pinch :
awash by whimper of rain , all senses
moored and fashioned so lamely
on brittle soil of life unlived ,
seeking a depth of quiet within myself
time rippling upon this decayed shell undersea...
yet nothing came except a leaf falling.
argh
the wooden pirate
with a real leg
‘pon his left shoulder
not a parrot but a peg
argh
his ship inverted
sailed ‘neath the wave
and in his treasure chest
was a craggy cave
argh
he roared with rum
empty barrels were full
his flag was white
black bones and skull
argh
the flag though ripped
caught on his hook
but not for a hand
‘twas ‘stead of a foot
argh
he roamed the undersea
looking for loot
but oh all the bubbles
from a whale in a boot
argh
the old salt
was seawardly feared
for everyone knew
and heard of Woodbeard
argh
the submariner pirate
of raid and of plunder
sprang up on those
and pulled them all under
Witnessed together, both the bright sun and the faint moon.
Oh!That early morning cruise was really a fortuitous boon;
Ride on the banana boat, and snorkeling in the Havelock Island,
Lightened up my mood; The colors of captivating coral leafs and
Delightful marine life rendered a mesmerizing magical tune.
Couldn't forget the scuba diving, where I glimpsed Harlequin wonders.
Rapture embraced me when I did parasailing and my distress got plundered;
Undersea walking was such a lovely experience, where I touched the sea floor
In short, it was the best place to experience the undersea and to explore;
Sailing across the Andaman island made me overcome the fears of oceans,
Enjoyed exuberant cruise with remarkable memories and numerous emotions
I was an inscrutable, capricious mystery writer, like a pure mystery of days;
And I had composed best selling novels, like westering sun's scarlet phase.
An unparalleled passion for writing, had for quite long been the motivation,
Behind novels which captured hearts, like pink clouds, drifting in formation.
My office desk faced the picture window, near the border of riotous blooms;
And sunny views enriched often eager eyes, owing to birds of many plumes.
Friends were a forever force in my life, like the natural floods of floundering,
Or as sun and moon meet in an eclipse, darkening heyday, with no warning.
Fairy-like forests, and fields of colored flowers, flamed with furious abandon,
Frequently, as fulgent family found one, to dazzle brighter than amber sun!
I lived in the house of mist mysteries, in haze shrouded, mighty mountains;
And each cherry dawn doled surprises, like roving redbirds in the thousands.
So sleepy in sun-drenched summer, my silent street was stained with hues,
In new modern, stylish, songbird days, like a gold treasure you cannot lose.
Neighbors would navigate narcissistic night, bearing an apple pie, or a joke;
Sharing fun and noisy laughter, like a blue undersea volcano, magma awoke.
Birds swept peaks of sculpted, stunning mountains, in the hot, daisy season,
And sky and the earth merged twice a day, in affinity hues of love cohesion.
The naked man orchid shivered with breezes, like quivery trees of November,
And Johnny Jump Up puckered at lemon sun, like a sour taste remembered.
In a sapphire sea near the mountains, a friend and I set out sailing one day,
As a youth follows wildest, golden dreams. Yet, heavy fog descended to stay.
Were we heading for wide open water, or drifting to shores of purple flowers?
That danger held a lovely mystery, like adventure during the nighttime hours.
Hour after rosy hour, we were drifting blind. Our motor had long since died;
Like green butterflies, questing for hours, in a place pink daisies lately cried.
We were afraid of being lost forever, so Pearl and I joined hands and prayed,
Also praying for our downhearted families, if fate's hand would not be stayed.
After many anxious, vagrant moments, a foghorn sounded, loud and so near;
Our desperate prayers were answered, by the voice of our Savior, very dear!
Eyes they speak truth
In the dungeon deep
Shackled and chained,
caged by you
Hell of a making
Judged not worthy
Imprisoned alone
Here I saw the light,
in silver strands
Written on the walls
My answer
Weeping willow
A past nightmare,
casting shadows
Water in darkness draped
Thrown in hell
Silently to the wayside
A bitter blow,
the stomach curled
In its silent scream
Drooped heavy
Inside pain
Dragging myself
To the crossroads,
dagger of truth
In a bolt of lightning
You shot me down
The eyes told me a story
Popping out
from your face,
inner skeleton spoke
Upon the mirror
The heart
did not lie
Written all over
Your bare face lie
Ending became ice to me,
the titanic sunk
Ending dreams
Words hold no truth
In the foul deed,
caught like a kipper
In the net
ending love
Without heart
Attacked feelings
Falling into an undersea current,
swallowed truth
Words spoken
untrue
My end
The sea is aglow with her memories
Seaweed meadows of deep cave treasuries
Stories that summon the lost and curious
Legends embossed in silent reveries
She drifts the illumined waves of her home
Wide blue realms in which she may roam
Her spirit alive beyond undersea depths
In echoes of songs over silver - green foam.
What is it - what does the mermaid know?
Beyond the clouds and winds that blow
That she is woman and nature combined
Her secrets sleep in the ocean below.
Rubaiyat
Rubyiat Contest
Sotto Poet
I wrote this one for the contest 'Mermaids'
that I sponsored. The goal was to capture the essence
of a mermaid. There were many wonderful mermaid poems.
Enter your own competition
Contest Judged: 9/24/2017 5:05:00 PM
Sponsored by: Cecelia Hopkins-Drewer
2nd Place
101 in a ROW contest -7
Contest Judged: 7/27/2016 9:30:00 PM
Sponsored by: Poet Destroyer A
6th. Place
(Rhyming Haiku)
Whenever I view
I jot each line heart pursue
Yet plead muse too blue
Whenever I saw
I am fine if it is raw
Yet mix lines muse draw
Whenever I get
I love timing an art duet
Yet both rarely vet
Whenever I fix
I do such of rules that mix
Yet both brings conflicts
Whenever I bow
I bid grace of sins avow
Yet life disallow
Whenever I can
I bask being an earthly fan
Yet wish flesh be ban
Whenever I see
I wish flesh be drown in sea
Yet swims undersea
Whenever I call
I feed service like a thrall
Yet quests don't install
Whenever I cry
I see reason not to try
Yet I dream to fly
Whenever I sing
I hope my voice wins Eon's King
Yet my lyrics sting
Whenever I pray
I decree of divine sleigh
Yet its race delay
Nowadays I view
The change in lines heart pursue
How money comes new
Nowadays I saw
The change in thoughts I couth raw
How progress won't flaw
Nowadays I get
The change that balance dream's duet
How time flies cum debt
Nowadays I fix
The changed rose and violet mix
How future predicts!
Nowadays I bow
The changed call nature avow
How circumstance plough!
Nowadays I can
Change the night, Arsenal fan
How Arteta span!
Nowadays I see
The change in season and sea
How good is referee!
Nowadays I call
The change a long waiting thrall
How freedom treats all!
Nowadays I cry
The change that waited my try
How staying paints bye!
Nowadays I sing
The change running London's King
How lovely is spring!
Nowadays I pray
The changed wheels of gunners sleigh
How to bring hooray!
Seahorses on see-saws prance, sashay and dance
gliding majestically under the sea.
No clip nor clop for this aquatic steed
for no legs adorn its knight-in-armour body.
Instead its fins keep these hippocampus poised
as they gambol gently and frolic about.
But of course it's a horse
with its tell-tale head and mane.
Ignore the odd prehensile tail
that some over-zealous strapper coiled.
It's a special horse for an undersea course
swirling and whirling silently
through seaweed strap slalom gates.
With no trot, nor canter, nor gallop, nor panting,
but with a leisurely pace in ambling gait,
like the painted horses on a merry-go-round,
the seahorse is forever poised,
in true dressage collection.
On ocean bowride below gentle titans peep
ghost ships of the Pacific hunt and chase -
where great barnacled seafarers of the deep
beneath the waves its blue waters grace.
Old sea tales of killing lance and spear tip
tell of the dying struggle of the flurry -
once more mighty hulks of beast and ship
haunt the dark shadows of the undersea.
Let no harpoon pierce your skin,
no flense cut and slice,
not body or fin.
Let no kill sound its death throes,
and may long
live the shout of “thar she blows!”
Far and yon an old boneyard whaling station
fluking bulls and cows circle the perilled pod,
and breach and dive in fabled echolocation
the bones of Ahab and wreck of the Pequod.
Still ghost ships old hunting grounds scout
that mystic echo whalesong far reaching,
and still cavernous mouths unmade to shout
trap by moon and tide on remote beaching.
Let no harpoon pierce your skin,
no flense cut and slice,
not body or fin.
Let no kill sound its death throes,
and may long
live the shout of “thar she blows!”
Written: July 1992