.
uh feminine'z
fistful flowerz
uv
bowing
conceding
tumbling
such pretty flicker'n
each theirn
petal
float 'top thuh
kentucky grass
blue
uh message
path
welcome
lure
purty room
one
fer hern first
love
.
brrr'r
'twere trudge
thuh
this time
duck'n umbrellaz
transit's humorous
splash'n
ahhh
wuz wade'n
worth
for
write'n
,)
It looked as if it were ruins
However, it was never a beauty
But the stories it has to tell
Pioneers and gold miners
They may have all lived and died there
That is history, you may never know
© Poem – XI/IX/MMXXV
LRET
Far inland, in the cold and gloomy,
misty wooded mountains,
I huddled up to an open fire.
I picked up a large conch shell,
clad in mother of pearl,
resting by the fireplace and listened,
eye-to-ear, to its bottled,
shanty message.
I heard the soft familiar,
sweet hissing sound,
of the ocean’s breath.
Not a roar, not a crash,
but akin to
a mother weeping with joy.
to have her lost child back,
in the arms of the sea.
The sound surged and waned,
with wave-like surges
breaking and rolling in a lilting lullaby.
Ebbing with the tide,
receding in a glide,
en-gracing in its slide,
into my consciousness.
For some like me, are sea creatures,
devoted lovers of the sea,
that the sea loves to welcome back.
The sea never forgets.
It casts its seashells adrift,
far and wide,
with a message within,
to lure its lovers back home
to 'Mater Mare', the sea.
2. "over the waters blue the night winds sigh, the breakers roar ... Samual Taylor Coleridge
Wailing wind amid strongest ocean storm
Night falls swiftly on tumultuous scene
Sailors aware for they have been well-warned
This is their reality not a dream.
Through long hours before sun ordains to rise
Neptune's wrath bombards with no sign of grace
Mariners strong, elements they defy
Lighthouse aids battle and fear is erased.
As ocean's tantrum slowly does abate
Sunrise breaks through the darkest of dark night
Yet, sailors' love of ocean 'tis innate
Phlegmatic, fearless men removed from fright.
day ends in a shanty town
When crossing the bridge to the shanty town
The day was almost over, blank and tired
and due to pollution, the light on the bridge had a hue of aureate
The huts in the township were utterly miserable
consisted of bricks, stones, plywood and corrugated iron
were the roof of all the shacks
a roof that keeps out the rain but bursts your eardrums
In small spaces in the back of hovels, women were preparing the evening meals
How can people live here, washing on a line said it was possible
Children ran around playing cowboys& Indians
for them, poverty was a word that did not exist as long as they got fed.
The night came suddenly to the tune of music from a transistor radio
the night belonged to yellow cures and rats
A Sea Shanty!
Mother call your children home,
put them in their beds.
Tell them stories of better times,
and try to fill their heads.
Give them dreams of yesterday,
and promises for tomorrow,
but bless them, Lord, as they sleep,
and take away their sorrow.
Jeff the crewman, singing at the wheel of the Maid...
heading for the Island of Edinburgh, home of Zirconia
We are out in the ocean where the spray is rough
Old Medley Meanie decides to get meaner and tough
We take Captain Smithe and we throw him overboard.
We are a crew of roughnecks with our hatchet and sword!
Cap’n is gone, we are cheering our rebel!
The ocean has taken him, he’s head’d for hell.
We are fighting to be Captain, in charge now.
Fighting for the crown on the ship’s bloody bow!
There are ten of us left. We know there is only food for six.
I am hoping to get the one steak, but I am in quite a fix.
The other pirates are as mean as I have ever tried to be.
I am in trouble now in this dangerous Caribbean Sea.
Cap’n is gone, we are cheering our rebel!
The ocean has taken him, he’s head’d for hell.
We are fighting to be Captain, in charge now.
Fighting for the crown on the ship’s bloody bow!
There are six of us left, we are the toughest of all.
I am scared of only one, shipmate Morey, he is seven foot tall.
He comes at me with a hatchet, and I plunge into the sea.
I guess fear will now be the death of me.
A land which doesn’t much nutrients wield
Will certainly not many grains yield.
This I had, flatly, told friend Daniel:
A farmer with more time for spaniel
While it had been Terrible Story
In a Rice Field of One-Time Glory!
And he had begun to with The Dog hunt,
While each time he was back I would be blunt.
Daniel, also, is finding it hard
Bidding The Firmest Farewell to card,
Wherefore he might remain in Shanty
To keep managing what is scanty….
Daniel with chance of glimpsing Yonder
Without having to up there wander.
Universal Sea Shanty; or, The Generic Folk Song
Sailing with potatoes
Sailing with potatoes
Sailing with potatoes
The perfect Irish jig.
The sea
that surrounds this narrow land
floats its salted scent across
on a misted wind.
It calls to us,
a rolling song
of a thousand voices,
swallowed
by its merciless depths.
They chant a crashing chorus
of ships and sails,
prayers and fishing nets,
protesting
their watery fate—
as if to affirm
their seafaring souls,
which are never lost,
but summon their
earthly brothers
to the shore.
Shanty Town
The sun goes down on Shanty Town
And drags all light away
And not one moonbeam touches ground
Though numerous are they.
Not even do the eyes of owls
Pervade the ebon plight
Where air is foul, where stray dogs howl,
And babes cry through the night.
Sheila grew up in a shanty town
Met a shanty man in woods round
Lived in a shanty shack for quite a while
But her shanty man never did truly smile
So she moved on to a shanty boat
Mississippi living easy as a float
Sheila took a job in a shanty band
Made money when they reached dry land
Soon divorced the grouchy shanty man
Developed an annoying groupie fan.
Along with his annoying shanty mother
Closer now to her dear sweet brother
Who lives quietly in a shanty shack
And always has his sister’s back.
Proves you cannot take shanty power
Out of a girl like Sheila McGlower
Set your willy on fire boys,
set your willy on fire
Dance and sing and hop and scream
and set your willy on fire.
Each footprint we make is a step closer
to that moment we brake and
no recent dreams are formed
from that cosmic meltdown to
Which you will encounter a crimson cow that’s
Lurking behind your cup of morning darkness.
The laughing mortar whispers through
The broken window and asked are you ok,
as I walked down the street avoiding the crakes
so, no mothers backs are broken
the crow whispered its lies,
the dancing echoes of yesterday
still, linger for tomorrow and the
future of today still waits around the shanty,
the creature that I am devolved long ago and now my wheels
rusted turning the space of time
My View from my window dancing pigmies
watch as the rain falls up time moves back
and yesterday is today.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.