Men who sing sea shanties
Are known to wear frilly panties
Their masculine voices
And underwear choices
Upset musical vigilantes.
We are ocean-born—
sea-salt still flows in our blood,
tides within our veins
the rhythm of waves calls us home,
to sea shanties' pulse and chants.
Once the waves have caught
you in their woven square nets
you are never free—
the waves don't ask permission
to sweep you up, knock you down.
Water yields and bends
soft yet stronger than iron,
nothing holds it back—
learn to ride the crest of change,
let its surge flow and shape you.
Each wind wells up
sculpts waves in sand, sky, sea, sounds
with smoothness caressed
to resonate sinuous
clock-like regularity.
Clouds above reflect
the sea's restless memory—
with waves in the sky
mirroring our handset waves
we use to communicate.
Signs ripple outward—
with wave gestures on the tide,
sometimes dismissive,
dragging under, lifting up,
quelling, by just saying 'Hi'.
a shipwrecked treasure
clipper ship on the sea floor
a pirates envy
never recovered
regaled in sea shanties
considered a myth
I walk along the shore, bare feet in sand.
The seabirds wheel and cry above the sea.
The wind hums secrets shaped by ocean’s hand,
As surf calls out, wild-voiced and full of glee.
The sun casts arcs of color through the spray.
Shells open wide, and sing the songs I adore.
As swells roll in, where dolphins leap and play.
And salt clings fast to things we can’t ignore.
The breaking waves still rumble towards the sky.
They toss white veils above the rising swell.
And flotsam clings where tides no longer ply.
Where silence fell, and joy once used to dwell.
And when the summer sets and dusk has come,
We’ll sing sea shanties, lauding light and sun.
Serene sunset, star studded sky, seamen setting sail,
Sixteen salty sailors, surveying southern seas,
Singing somewhat spicily, saucy sea shanties.
Sea sirens serenading, seductively sedates,
Sailors sleeping senselessly, soon sacrifice shipmates.
Shipwrecked sailors swimming, seeking sandy shores.
Spiral sea shells strident sounds, staccato semaphores.
Steering south, steel steamships, start searching stormy seas,
Searchlights, sirens, struggling, serendipity succeeds.
Soul - searching self survivors, salute salvation's sanctuary.
10 / 11 / 2024.
Collective Senryu
Dolphin Pod
white water surfers
dolphin pod squeals sea shanties ~
gymnasts of the sea
Walking, walking, walking!
Impossibly long stretches of walk,
Miles and miles of uncertain journey,
In blazing sun, in sweltering heat,
Tranquil villages with shady trees,
Home, the destination!
Thirsty, hungry, bleeding, exhausted!
With fatigued wives and starving barefoot children they trudge,
Little babies hanging like sandbags from their shoulders, they stumble,
Tears dry on children’s cheeks!
Men and women…they walk, walk, walk
Until their feet can not move an inch further,
Leaving the cities, where they toiled in exchange for a few rupees…
Day after day, months after months,
Hunched under shanties, with empty rumbling stomachs,
Cruelty is the only language they faced!
Trudge beside railroads, follow tracks,
No buses, no trains, no vehicles,
Only two weary feet to carry them to the destination,
Human bodies plodding with all their might!
It’s the darkest of moonless nights…
A few stars glinting in the somber sky to guide them to destiny!!!!
Universe seemed calm, and uncaring!
Come Rest, Come Sleep,
Come Death…blood-stained tracks,
Home eluded them for ever!
Cap’n Jordan was a scallywag from his nose to his toes.
He was determined to follow the gold through rumors galore.
Trusty companion tried to follow him, his name was Mose.
But Cap’n Jordan came just as Cap’n shoved off the shore.
For a decade or two Mose searched for his favorite pirate king.
‘He sang sea shanties in honor of him with an elegant ring.
Cap’n Jordan had apparently finally found the coins he sought.
His skeleton holding fast to the treasure chest, deteriorating a lot.
Mose was horrified when he received the horrible news.
He demanded the forensics which showed a couple of views.
The skeleton was wearing a wicked smile, a pirate’s glee.
At least he found treasure! Mose said. That’s better than me!
A new world,
A new home for all,
Everyone on equal footing,
Even distribution of resources,
None needs necessities,
I’m not held by the pangs of hunger,
My brother doesn’t dwell in shanties,
The world is not ravaged
by sicknesses and diseases,
Crime and hostility
do not lurk around the corner,
We don’t indulge in recriminations,
No one takes a pound of flesh,
Guns, bombs and missiles
are not wielded by us,
We don’t hurl them at each other,
We raise no walls,
The air is clean and conducive,
Nature is in its pristine state,
Unharmed and not endangered,
I’m not at my brother’s mercy,
I’m not his puppet,
A world for the weak and strong,
A world for the low and mighty,
A world for the gifted and paranormal,
Brotherliness entrenched,
United with one voice.
Breezes are whispering through the tow’ring pines
Sounds like the mountains are crooning a lullaby
Reminds me of the steam engine’s lonely whines
When the verdant valley echoes its somber reply,
I stand in awe of the vastness and wonder why
Soft winds in springtime elicit such a pitiful sigh
Could it be the shanties of the men in the mines?
Or, perhaps, telling us it is someone’s time to die
Breezes are whispering through the tow’ring pines.
Written March 30, 2022
[Verso-Rhyme]
*Image of People of the Dawn by Pixabay.
Instruments of Mercy
Amidst the wailing whiplashed 'neath a moonlit plight,
Against the cowered beast of demons gnashing white,
Angst men in their temporary shanties walled bubbles,
Atheist fated them to wile their skill with steel shovels,
Apologist to the bitter end proves it's never supported,
Absolutist self-denial raw display ne'er to be thwarted,
Awarest who'd weathered the conviction of strong will,
Awkwardest fretted near sunk rocks, lost eyes wet still,
Aptest met their latest neighbor, old-timers now closer,
Antichrist organized bits of their faith sitting as a poser.
2022 January 22
the sounds of a world which once rang
with the magical rhythms of rhyme
from sheep being shorn of wool
to remedies given by the spoonful
magic lie in the ticking of clocks
nonsensical like hickory-dickory-dock
sugar coating the process of learning
lessons came with a cadenced adorning
sailors at work on their ships
sea shanties sprang from their lips
cowpokes alone on the range
clerks counting out the small change
uncrowned royalty without retinue
pouring forth all the things which they knew
beauty came with words which were said
as if laughter and precision had wed
abandon in the scramble for time
the long lost realm of rhyme
The man remembered
He had been a popular TV entertainer, written a book
and sang his songs we could all understand.
He was tall, looked heroic, sort old Vikings we hoped
they had looked like.
but most of all he had a left-behinds song called
“Amanda”
Which was about a motorboat but had to come
to symbolize the suffering womanhood of the world.
He set out to find the song up a mountain of bad
the poetry he climbed, through a plateau of forgotten
Musicals, across a lake of a petrified sea- shanties
And rhyming verses,
He found Emma in s grotto, in a globe of shiny
Diamonds, the immortal words a honeyed song
of a motorboat.
Shanties of pain, children of lesser God
hungry and homeless, our naked feet trod
Propitious nights, desperate and sleazy
in ugly darkness , sleep comes so easy.
On silken dust, hard pillows under a bridge
extra slice of bread,... some more porridge.
Alliteration of plight, poor pain of poverty
a picture perfect, in poems of prosperity
Models parade ghettos, bones of pale skin
Gross Domestic Products, we end and begin.
Fat bank accounts, talk of weak misery line
over barbecue dinner, toasting health in wine.
From pots of kindness, your charities flaunt
beg two meals a day, you think is all we want.
You push each other, upgrade in fancy cars,
we stay put in boxes, sinking dome of stars.
A child of lesser God, hopes higher totem pole,
sparkling silver spoon on golden glittering bowl.
14th April 2020
Sponsor craig cornish
Contest Name Children of a Lesser God
One More
Raise the curtain,
I am ready.
Let's write and read together,
for hours without end.
Dressing up in costumes,
singing crazy shanties,
or Round the Mountain western tunes.
Wear an apron,
a cape, a bonnet.
Be spontaneous and laugh.
Tell a joke... you made up.
Play with blocks,
and paint your own pictures...
upon their surfaces,
to reflect all the right letters,
and numbers and places
and faces.
A memory of yesterday,
a topic for tomorrow.
Be true to your craft,
get in the raft.
Don't swim to shore,
but out to sea,
and flee...
so we can save
all the flowers,
for hours...
and the powers to be,
will let us
live free,
or die...
with dignity.
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