Now all the maps are gone
I am the sailor who sings a new song
I am pulling up the anchor
I am unfurling the sail
I am the only hand on deck
But I know a wind that will prevail
I have a guiding star to navigate
For a horizon through a sound
For here is my destination
That I have already found
High above me, a new heaven
Way down below, a new hell
The crossing of the two is something I dispel
Streaming clouds scatter crystals in the sun
It means little to me that I am not the only one
My determination and resolve is for all to see
To follow in my wake
To liberate and be free
"A bucket is oft called a pail,
but a walrus is not a whale".
So says the wise skipper
of a Yankee clipper:
"It's more than a matter of scale.
While both of them like to swim,
I can tell you by golly, by Jim,
while any landlubber
can see both have blubber,
a walrus has whiskers on him."
Contentions,
trespassing frontiers,
trading feuds,
naval wars:
a social rift devised by
Davy Jones locker.
keep me anchored to your bosom as I swim into your eyes of blue
The cobalt mind of ancient mariner of the seven seas,
the surfing sailor tosses on the waves of youthful life,
rolls on the curled crests with the splintered moon,
drawn into dark agony troughs of the drowned stars,
spread pearls of joy on shore embroidering exuberance.
Crushed sands sculpt the trail of the seaward footprints,
designed by the crumbled contours of transient decay.
Time arrow points to the turquoise terrain ethereal,
away from the wistful wilderness abandoned,
where the chasm stratifies the collapsed hopes undying.
The weed-webbed wasteland defined deep within,
piles up the shipwrecked splinters of life unlived.
Withering garden garners tinny bleakness, yet shining,
as the path paved outside the obscure familiarity fence
waits to be walked by the mesmerized wanderer
to the marvelous meadow of tantalizing tomorrow.
The invented alchemic aptitude of the mystic memory
makes glittering gold on the rusted crust of the ruins.
Marigold blooms on scrap heap with steadfast sanguinity
in Midas touched shipwreck junkyard of the metallic mind.
in stagnant water
aesthetic ecstasy sinks~
engulphed by a lake
planks in protrusion
brooding clouds enshroud a pier~
silver lining plush
Walking along the seashore
Sand sifting through my toes,
Pondering ancient mariner lore
Walking along the seashore,
Scenes my mind can scarce restore
Of sailors and their pirate foes,
Walking along the seashore
Sand sifting through my toes.
Written March 10, 2022
On a clement February morn
There we were you and I strangers
Unaware our lives would take a turn
Your maritime charm won me over
As love effortlessly blossomed
Who’d have known we’d soon be
Celebrating our 10th wedding anniversary
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
May's maritime plants
making way for those of June;
the sea not watching
----------------------------------
4/10/2015
Contest - Get your Senryu on
Sponsor - Judy Konos
1st place win
Gray ships
Docks and ports
Palm trees
And mangoes
Fresh breeze
Wide relief
A night on shore
Red lips, hot breath
Oh, no
Baby wails
Woman sits on golden land
Bundle in hand
Agony
The choice.
There is something not right in what I see.
There are not enough lifeboats in case of emergency.
I had a dream last night where we were lost at sea.
Mass negligence resulted in many a casualty.
The crew alerted a nearby ship with flares in the sky.
The other ship ignored us and kept sailing on by.
What they have said is an inappropriate quip.
There is no such thing as an unsinkable ship.
Yes, I know it is the pride of the White Star Line.
However, what they have stated sounds asinine.
Even though we must be in New York by next week,
another cruise liner is what we must seek.
He, too, has risked his life at sea –
Climbing up the slippery steel grey sides
Of ships larger than village squares,
Angry white waves nipping at his heels
Chasing him up onto rain washed decks,
While strapping winds whip overhead.
Yet, unlike his African ancestors
Huddled helpless in dark holds,
He stands up high at the helm
With clear views of what’s ahead,
Piloting goods from afar into port –
Captain of his own destiny.
I wrote this for my brother-in-law who was one of the first African American Maritime
Captains.
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