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Paul the squirrel tucked acorns 'neath his chin,
dreamt of tides and boarding in~
a tail for rope, a nut for gold,
his oak ship creaked, both brave and bold.
So Paul climbed the mast so vast~
Oak tree rigging, held on fast.
Acorn doubloons filled his chest,
With whiskey in paw,
Whispered, Aye, the West is best!
But storm clouds loomed—his tail went slack~
when oak-leaves turned his raft aback.
Yet home he scampered, safe and spry,
to stash his loot in his piebald tie.
I think on the relief to remove my past,
Of failures and mistakes along the way.
It seems things would heal up fast,
Oh, the hurt, but what a cast,
That made me who I am today.
Cherished are things seen; now I know,
To hit rock bottom stop the digging.
Unfurled instead, their worth does show,
All the lessons firm I stow;
To sail so far is all in the rigging.
O who will sing that rudderless ship
that has lost her destiny?
With her sails in rags
and her lines in snags,
-- the Ship of the Dead is free!
The captain lies in a coma,
his hands clutch helplessly,
and the shantyman chokes
and wheezes and croaks:
-- the Ship of the Dead is free!
The crew are extict and jolly,
they gnaw themselves hungrily,
and their black lips grin
as the rigor sets in:
-- the Ship of the Dead is free!
The pilot has smashed the compass,
and tramples the sextant with glee:
he erases the log
and steers by the fog;
-- the Ship of the Dead is free!
O the skeleton climbs the rigging;
his sockets scan the sea,
and he cries to the crew:
No land in view!
-- the Ship of the Dead is free!
Households unhitch, clapperboard hulls creaking -
the sound of storm-lashed rigging, as washing lines
and telephone wires twist
netting loosening foundations.
Where we once believed roots gripped bedrock,
planks bob in the swell, chests and their drawers
billow and fill.
Bed-springs gape, cupboards
turn inside out, what surfaces
is the face-up exposure
of our everyday innards.
Even as mailboxes are torn away,
we refuse to believe that a river and some wind
could move our lives so a far afield,
or that this world was really in fact,
just this shipwreck on a shore
that is always moving.
What we once thought of
as an address,
has turned out to be only a buoy
on an ever-moving wave.
Listen……hear
the distant hum
of early morning traffic
on Westgate Bridge,
a chorus of birdsong
and that eastbound
aeroplane flying high
overhead en route
to Wellington
or Christchurch.
The clink of rigging
on those moored boats
riding a passing wake,
nearby footsteps,
the tap of a stick,
the jingle of a spoon
inside an empty
coffee cup.
Voices spilling out
of an open window,
someone blowing
their nose,
the scrape
of a soapy squeegee
across a cafe door
and on the edge
of hearing,
the deep throb
of a ferry casting off
from the end
of Williamstown pier.
How wonderful it is
for all these sounds
to have found
a way to my ear.
You see sometimes even though our being up to date
is by virtue a thing
some of these people after the market day will come
up money and ideas however all about may end up
in rigging and fumbling
the thing, yes fumbling.
You see many, many, many a talks reminiscing us let
about the mill, although gal freckle and damn,
will you get back and fumble to choose a better way off?.
Green or blue, golden or silver, far or near, beautiful
blossoming or a dreadful blur thing tonight?.
"Just breathe, you're having your breath taken, 'Aweigh anchors away,' the blessed follows," ... by The Poet
The unnoticeable lulls a fancy
as obscurity stares at a lost
such are promotions
of a trance
stages all ages
a momentous chance
for lifetime promise of romance
shattering glimmering
convinces glimpses
alarm bells--"Hush little baby don't--OH NO!"
"Release the Kraken ... or mices ... an ant if you have any?"
She comes, A ROWER?
It's The Specifics of the Ocean
Those islanders will come out - rigging
and surfing, Aurora, in a pipeline ... she's a dreamer ...
OH NO! WIPEout, its ecliptic ... but there at the ocean's edge
o'er the horizon, Aurora, RISE
the shacks are empty, the fields aplenty
The Drums of the Islands, Aloha Alive.
No more certainties
watch Labour release 40% time served Criminals
Dreams of wealth
manufactured out of thin air
whose funds will be raided?
Bleed the Private schools with a VAT Hike
The Countryside is not safe
building over sacred green ground
No oil rigging in the North Sea
are they eco warriors?
Net Zero is an agenda item
and the never Military expense at 2.5%
Voting out Tories
for alleged incompetence
we've got a voodoo chill now
Border Controls down the swanee
No more certainties
We have incompetence
on a national scale
The Labour Man smiles
he says your 14 years too late
his conscience clear
welcome to the rock world of politics
no certanities
Our bodies work just like machines
Without a warranty.
To know how long each part may last
We have to wait and see.
Certain joints may need replacing
And, through surgery or meds,
Organs may require assistance
So we’re not stuck in our beds.
As we age we may not be prepared
To face the well-known fact
That in older bodies, all the parts
Do not remain intact.
Thus we jerry-rig the wires
And replace the triple A’s,
Hoping that will be enough to help
Extend our waning days.
When on the lonely midnight watch and gazing out to sea,
Thoughts of you waft through my mind gossamer-like, floating free.
And though we are oceans apart and urgent duties beckon me,
I can simply close my eyes and pleasantly dream of thee!
We've been at sea seven months visiting mysterious ports of call.
We've had our rigging rent by many a ferocious squall!
Though our Man O' War may be tossed about by billowing foam,
I am ever comforted when I close my eyes and dream of coming home!
We've borne the brutal battle midst furious shot and shell.
The terrible stench and gore of war I know all to well.
My earnest prayer is that I make it through never more to roam,
When at last you're in my arms to fulfill my dream of coming home!
Are we not our graves digging,
With the keenest interest in rigging,
The first to be buried our image;
“To Electoral Franchise: Savage?
Are we not behind greatly lagging,
When the Neutral Press we keep gagging,
The next to be silenced Plain Truth;
A despot imaged as today’s Ruth…
Often, the time to befriend hell’s thugs,
Remember they don’t need your hugs,
Lover of carpets you take to rugs;
Very few things could say ‘No’ to Drugs…
Election rigged is a virgin raped,
Never count it that you have escaped;
In the robes of Molester draped;
Don’t expect a future well-shaped.
Gluggy margarine marine grips keels
Apex sun spreads sickly circle of lard
Plugged lungs, gust momentum marred
Strait elongates co-ordinate, pace killed
Gliding knife grease fixed current kestrels
Impotent motor pendulums drowsy matelot
Vacating tranquillity served seas slow
Exoteric tampers spatula flat vapid vessel
Crusading armada cruise aquatic canyon
Rigid crucifix mast meanders evangelical
Illusive land sinks split quills, sodalite inkwell
Top-gallant swallowed, whale snack plankton
Inert surrender line honours, hundred strong
Quelled by existence Earth centric
Universe of solar centre offensive
Encourages complacent latent symposium
Rigging ties tradition to methods regaled
Order drifts on brittle fine line filament
Oceanic only planet confirms familiar
Moribund remains phobic, slick oil sailed
18th February
Fear of Anarchy
GAPS GIVE CRITIQUE ROOM
A hundred years from now
or in the next moment
I will be dead, gone and back.
Not this 'I' with its sticky ego
gumming up the works;
forever tinkering, jury-rigging
a mental machinery
that was always poorly designed.
Most likely, baby me, is already out
of the chimeric soup,
he or she probably
made of spare parts also.
Are we are all variants
created in a biological laboratory
purposely put together flawed,
'try outs' tested
to see what works best?
Constant experimentation is important.
Reincarnation but an instant
then we are out the door once more
clanking around
Ade is a Nigerian patriot
But permanent in US’ Detroit,
There, charming Nigerian Flag hoisted,
Bared schemes upon him foisted…
Ade, The Rare Nigerian Patriot,
Scarcely planning to leave Sweet Detroit,
Shall unfailingly shoot all of them,
Giving his Giant. causeless problem:
Politicians who might risk Rigging
He’d begun their graves a-digging:
For them the cheapest US caskets,
A little costlier than Mum’s baskets;
Never to stubborn pressures relax
On compatriots evading Paid Tax…
To keep performing civic duties,
From where he had kept quaffing fruities.
setting latitude
you with your knowing of the rigging
laughing into the sail
Crying out the humour
Playing with breezes you don't understand
Time will erase your voyage
Surely don't strike at
at the Sailing Man
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