The Queen has a navy
That floats in her gravy,
It’s sharp and its clear,
But it’s sure tough to steer,
For the rudders get stuck
In that thick, grayish muck,
And the lads in the stern
Have a penchant to yearn
For the bright shining waters
All popping with otters,
Yet they smile as they sail past
Her Majesty’s repast,
And wink as they think
That they’d better not sink,
For if sailors go down
In the gravy, they’ll drown,
And you can’t hear them yelp
Through the lard for some help,
And therefore it’s wise
On the ship to keep eyes,
And they sail towards a biscuit
And think that they’ll risk it,
‘Midst butters and jams,
And kippers and clams,
On a crumbly crag
Raise Her Majesty’s flag,
And with hearts beating proud
Face the smiling crowd,
For a deed large or small,
It is better than all,
If it’s done with conviction,
Not merely good diction,
And protecting the table,
Or more, if you’re able,
Brings honor unseen
To country and Queen.
Inspired by "All a man really wants, is a girl who looks good in a bikini." - Jack Freestone
A burlesque performer named Gieter
Decided her act would be sweeter
If she wore a bikini
Peep holed, teeny weenie
She’s hoping her fans want to meet her!
But sadly her tailor from Totton
Omitted to use special cotton
Gieter exhaled to sing
New bikini went ping
Her performance was quickly forgotten!
Huge boobies resemble cow’s udders
They’re flopping about not like rudders
I have to attest
The sight of her chest
Was grotesque, it gave me the shudders!
I screamed, “Gieter you may be a star
But this time you’ve pushed it too far
Please remember this fact
Use two fans in your act
And purchase a much larger bra!”
my feet same the cries of deer in the morning,
disturbs the existence of aged wine,
much too
drank, while the smoke of elation,
almost non-existent
it hits you across the cheek
and entail questioning
What did you write in yesterday's history?
Carrying all the words of the world in your hands you clench your knees
as broken rudders,
reproachfully,
The roots disturb the sky,
you wish you could decide
when your identity of yesterday and of today
it's not the same
when the verb decency has been lost,
respect gnawed at the walls of a foreign hourglass. You melt as rain,
on the face of a monk and flow.
All you have most sacred in your life is:
The day you were born
and the day you die
wrapped in a thread of basil.
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.
Hark
The captain spoke to the sick and starving
As he bobbled on the bow
And began
We will go there
Pointing his crooked finger as his dark, salty body dropped
But with each upsurge he made another point
You are here because you got lost
I'm here to take you home
Down surge
I'm not sure we will make it
Upsurge
But you have strong oars made of Spanish mahogany one at a time
Down surge
Some of you are weaker and will think of dying
Upsurge
Others will pick you up because you are worthy of love
Down surge
Your stomachs are full of toxic blubber meat
Upsurge
You will endure for the purpose of Her
hug at port, wet and tired and lost
Down surge
You will not endure if you are proud
Upsurge
Down surge
And just his eyes.
Only sounds of orphaned oars and flapping sails and rusty rudders.
Two whales appear, each pick a side.
Guiding, with twin wakes, and moving the boys toward there
Upsurge
Down surge
The whales were moving them there.
Screaming to their distant loved ones
I'll be home soon
I watch you soar in your thermal.
I wonder what that must be like to feel.
See you glide using your wings tips as rudders.
What skills nature bestowed on thee.
I watch in awe of your splendour.
Power and precision with such ease.
You bank and dive with such majesty, so magnificently.
I see your silhouette over a watered sun.
The sky is yours undoubtedly.
I watch you soar in your thermal.
Nature gave that privilege to me.
Love at first sight was the
language she spoke
A sight to behold
to the angels she woke
A creation with broken mold
from the Divine
The description of beauty
branded in the mind
A angelic appearance
her presence defines
What to do with this spirit?
That forever clouds my eye's
An ocean that desire
could not drain
A torment, envy
could not name
Both heaven and hell
she is the same
The possession of beauty
an undeniable claim
A wondering star
in the universe of her name
Both heat and light
brought forth by her flame
The invisible force
filling my sail
Where rudders direction
succeed or fail
Secret confessions to my
soul been nailed
my desire to possess
and my controls impaled
My eyes silence being hailed
by souls satisfaction fully regaled
The unforgettable sight
that memory cannot fail
captured by photo or ancient
paint brush. Not for sale.
Perfection and it's causes
Divinely detailed
Reflections and its pauses
hopes derailed
Islands in the Stream
Islands linked together like forged argent charms,
In straights of silent, surging currents,
Where Watchtowers of Fresnel lens sound fog sirens
Where sacred shoals harbor shame forgiven;
Lightships built high on cribs and Keys of truth finally seen
As bright argand lamps on chariot wheels send out beacons,
To signal sightless ships with broken masts and rudders
Through whirlpools of turbulent canals and gushing straights,
To find serene deep-water ports in chains of channeled islands.
Yet, these no islands only mountaintops of maturity climbed
From submerged land coupled at a thousand leagues
Beneath the tidal moon enchantment;
Restoring milestone harbors of illumination
Words lit by isophase candle lamps inside carved prisms
Expanding light waves of thought - recognitions of new plateaus
Topping astragals of aerobeacons with untasted adventures
Into enlightenments leaving behind each newly explored isle -
New christened tall ships navigate siren’s lure in uncharted streams.
9-20-21
Contest: Islands in the Stream
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
We are the ones out behind the scenes,
Working everyday…,
Those who should be famous for everything
But got nothing fancy to say
Our world is better than that of others,
It’s almost like we’re not here
Those who man the rudders,
And keep their family’s dear
We’re the 2d characters,
The extras from a movie
To others just the narrators
Designed to keep it moving
Alive just to fill the bus
The bustle in the street
While the richest cringe,
Looking down at us
People who win always cheat
We work long shifts
When you see us, think feeble
Crossing things off lists
They don’t see us as equal
Caught in the twists
We’re the invisible people,
We’re the invisible people
The old captain's faithful ship set sail across the seven seas.
On its last journey, no more to be peppered by waves of salty seas,
Against its mighty bow.
No more will its deck be walked upon by the soles of brave men
who sail the seas.
Nor will the helm be steered by the mighty grip of the captain's hands. after all these years the rudders go still as the old ship is towed out to sea.
For today she will sink gently to her sacred grave.
Never again to feel the ocean breeze upon her sails across the seven seas.
Crossing the Swamp
The enemy within, if unchallenged,
Will destroy the nation to achieve power.
Singing and composing to deceive the innocent,
Spinning narratives to suit their agenda.
For them, the country is a tool to use
To satisfy their selfish interests.
They hate Jesus, Christians, and Jews
And curse the United States of America.
Boldly, the bowman poles away the ‘gators,
While the helmsman rudders straight and true.
Brave Trump, “Commander in Chief,” leads the troops,
Crossing the swamp to root out traitors.
By beacon’s light in murky waters’ blight,
Proudly displayed, “Old Glory” waves
As a nation prays for freedom from evil’s grip
And for the killing of unborn babies to stop.
They threw me off a pirate ship
Into the path of a giant yellow jellyfish.
She had been crying for a bunch of
unsavory fools had thrown her off
another ship
Into the path of rudders that would
not have been kind.
Luckily a wave came along and
saved her.
She was sobbing as she told me
the story; I did not even think she
realized I was hanging on for dear life
I gave her my most interested looks,
hoping she would take mercy on me.
When we reached a whale she gave me a toss.
I landed next to the whale’s mouth.
I thought we were friends! I yelled
right before I was plunged into the whale’s mouth
I never liked humans she said
Then she laughed.
It was a mean, sadistic sound.
The last sound I heard.
My love can part the oceans,
But it hasn’t reached your shores…
Sailing in the breeze with emotions,
As my heart rudders and explores.
Within the mist of heartaches,
The thunder passes through…
Shattering sorrows of earthquakes,
Exposing the love I have for you.
The deep sea swallows my soul,
I’m drowning in ambient aquatic…
Resurfacing amidst the Devil's Hole,
A delusional drift by evil’s erotic.
Sails are down the anchor thrown,
A lighthouse dims of love unknown.
June.21.2019
YOUR CHOICE(12) LOVE VERSE,
Any form or theme Poetry
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Honorable mention for contest...Thank You
It's said a rising tide will lift all ships
And from what I have seen I've found that true
But also comes the wind that blows and whips
And sometimes sinks only a ship or two
For ships are made to float atop the sea
Yet storms determine whether hulls are sound
And even sturdy ships with rudders free
Can suddenly find themselves run aground.
Alas, my friend, that's where we've come to lie
On land where neither tides nor wind can sway
I hope once more we'll sail under the sky
But fear that on the land that hope will stay
I wonder even now what might have been
If diff'rent choices had been chosen then
6.16.19
For Choices poetry contest sponsored by Sara Kendrick
Picture #1 (What might have been)
The world is bending
with noses pointed to the ground
like small rudders steering bodies on busy sidewalks.
People see the sky
only as a reflection on cell phone screens
when texting friends.
Who is left to notice
light as it penetrates new leaves
in a forest where one finds more beauty looking up?
Vertebrae are fusing in a forward position
causing discomfort and distortion
on young people.
Who will see the woodpecker feed her young,
or the squirrel jump to another tree
when no one is looking up?
Those who worship the cell phone
bend in permanent obesciance
to this modern god.
Generations of people
ignore what lies above
by never looking up.
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