When my hand lets loose the pen
Lamp-less face I such parting darkness --
Preordained that Passing-night! God’s plan
So decrees, we all come home His timing~
Naughty wanderers, reclaimed beloved strays.
Then you must write for me, dear brothers
And sisters – that which yet need better said
And would I were it not for parting bed,
My throbbing head, blessed pillow of down
Such inevitable sleep no point longer fighting --
I hear the angels, sniff the starry-seas;
Hearken to the oars of Eternal ferry. Be not sad,
But glad for me. We will meet again, somewhere
Beyond the known dippers, to sail fondly further as
Blithering Gilligans and Compassless Skippers.
---------------------------------------------------------------
(No, I am not ill, that I am aware of. Just thought I would get this out of the way while still well and able:))
'While stranded high and dry
unemployed skippers ate a lot of kippers'
which smacks of a red herring to me
is a tale told when we were but nippers
altho' with neither fowl nor feline
in a beautiful pea-green boat
the motley crew who put to sea
were assuredly safe and sound when afloat
but then as ocean water rose within
thereby a somewhat large hole revealing
the now woeful matelots felt dreadfully unhappy
as they smelt a strange yet serious sinking feeling
for sadly a rather bad leak had sprang in the bilge below
and their ship went down like the proverbial stone
so the jobless captains fared far better
as landlubbers secure ashore home on their own
the sea is high and running
sails are fighting for the shore
skippers in their shrimp boats
are hauling in
blow wind blow
none of us are sailors here
we are washed up on this Tiki bar
mugs foaming and topped to the brim
Umbrella drinks fizz and tipple
oysters and crabs
salting our ready tongues
if the night leaves us a roof
to drink under
if the sky don't drown
or waves don’t slosh and spray
we will untangle all our nets
so torn by frets
and row this rollicking night away
seafarers’ paradise
seven men drowned
when a ship sank under gigantic waves
seven weeks later
they appeared on the Island of Saragossa
where singing shanty is forbidden
but seaweed is served in 7 variations
by a female ship cook, the only woman
who had been welcomed
as mess-maid was not proper sailors
as for the dead they are soaking wet
it is what keep then going, and lives in caves
lit up by electric eel and blue sea stars
the carpenter has added shelves.
strict ranks are observed, the skippers have
the biggest cave, in a smaller cave, the chief steward
drink whisky from a flask that fills itself up
insist he is an officer, is in conflict with everyone.
since the island is timeless, no one knows or care
whether it is forenoon or afternoon
they listen to the cook’s bell, especially if curry is served
when it is summer, they swim with dolphins.
fat globs and splashes jive off the spin cycle of the ocean this afternoon
I see round circles of suds amid dancing twirls and whirls, it is fabulous
no one could paint these artistic swirls and blobs, they are God-made
foam of an inside washing machine cannot hope to match these dancers.
I stare into the abyss of the ocean, past the lively excited foam dancers
what magic have these enchanted leapers and skippers seen today?
the sand is a staid, quiet, sedate contrast, moving in no direction.
unhurried, stilling meditation comes easily from my beach chair seat.
Once almost a little village
Within the city’s bounds,
Huddled around the fish dock
With its own smells and sounds,
Streets of rows of terraces
All well kept and neat,
Pride shining through
Every worker Street.
Deckies, Filleters, Bobbers
All closely living there,
The Skippers and Mates
Breathing more refined air.
Overalled fish house workers
Mingle with and meet
Segged clogged bobbers
In the early morning street.
Then they pulled down terraces
Replaced with industrial estates
Rehoused to the city’s fringes
Splitting up families and mates.
And the fishing industry died
Trawlers tied up in the dock
And old Hessle Road trembled
Nearly died from the shock.
No more deckies, filleters, bobbers
All the fish houses long gone
As this once vibrant area
Learned to adapt and move on.
The once thronged Hessle Road
Seems near deserted these days
As the population slowly adapts
To the area’s very different ways.
Rayners, the fisherman’s pub,
Struggling to survive,
Has mementos of the fleet
To help keep its memory alive.
In an ironical gesture,
Sadly surveying it all,
There’s a mural of a trawlerman
Painted on a gable end wall.
Chiseled bone fibre silences white noise water
Shiv splits through throat, jugular scissored
Flung spray fusillade's lain flat slaughter
Bluster bullseye stabs canvas concave
Albatross follow our sharp slipstream
Wind vane spins blur invisible
Dolphin pod adjacent symbol
Ludicrous becomes our lucid dream
Green glaze wake calms crazed waves
Plunge smashes panic, pindrop pools surface
Instinctive dive into icy effervescence
Jolts flailing heart buoyed purpose
Castaways tack to breeze's best advantage
Seahorse spawns, cloud coral hammock
Hull pointed toward demand
Relentless racing hour hand
Gathered globe gauges chances gigantic
Skippers puncture tides, shark agile voyage
20th February
Triumphant Felicity
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.
May the butterflies of this world return to us once more
when the spring provides her heat we will no longer hide
Eastern winds of far away lands flying in unknown shores
their cellophane wings of light need to return and chide
Once they adorned our many flowers here in Canada
now they are a memory of yesterday's summer gaze
I cling to the hope that tomorrow I won't need algebra
to count the flutter of their wings, like yonder days
I'll know them by the colors of their flight and groove
that April has arrived with her rainy cascade
all the trees will suspire as they soften their moves
garnished once again, with butterflies of every shade
I know that when the season wakes we are going to see
Monarchs, European skippers, and frosted elfin too
as the warmer shades and colors meld into the sea
we will begin to spot the pupas, and butterflies anew.
Contest Name: Your best quatrain
Friend Ship
When my inner compass falters
with joy suspended from a sinking buoy
as waves rush by in sunken dreams
you shine the torch’s flare of sun and moon
When the tell tale light house fades
shrouded in the miserable fog of doubt
as currents scupper down with leaden anchour
you catch the comet’s touch of fallen stars
When the mocking pirates entertain
gloomy thoughts from skippers’ ropes
as darkness permeates the ship wrecked sailor
you share your life boat’s stellar luster
When broken drift wood fragments spike
the surface looms with shark’s grim grin
as buccaneers maroon the lost survivor holding on
you salvage patiently with love and kindness
You tug me into wherever our paths will venture
You are the vessel and the oars that row
01 May 2018
Ancient Aliens
They have always been here
ancient? – alien?
living amongst the unknowing
hiding in plain sight.
How have they altered
our past? – our future?
advanced or hindered
our progress – our failure.
How have they touched us
with an unseen nudge,
aligned the stars
that we might follow
crumbs of reason,
sat with us in silence
awed by our insolence
humbled by our fervor.
They view us from a distance-
time and space overlapped
knowledge and inexperience
in conflict with themselves.
Knowing that in time
experience becomes
the proving ground of knowledge,
knowledge the anvil
shaping the experience.
They are the flat rock skippers,
the kite flyers, paper airplane makers,
sidewalk chalk drawers,
mud pie makers, frog catchers,
butterfly chasers, bug touchers,
flower sniffers, feather collectors.
They will always be here
ancient – alien
wiser than their years
greater than their fears
in forever’s - ancient moment
alien – in human form.
1/6/2018
submitted to – Ancient Aliens – Poetry contest
The Light House
Terraced light
Holding bright
Effervescence behold
Long lost
Intrepid sailors
Grope for
Halo's beacons
Teaming ships
Home alone
On sentry's
Unrelenting watch
Skippers bastions
Emitting guidance
connie pachecho
8/7/17
Lies in the large area of Atlandic deep
Betwixt Florida, Puerto Rico, and Bermuda
A creepy, frightening, and mysterious reef
Formed the devil's triangle above atoll Barbuda
The heavily travelled shipping lanes of the globe
Where vessels vanished in mystic circumtances
Region where aircrafts routinely fly over and rove
But skippers and aviators still believe in chances
With the shot in the arm of weather satellites fly
Seen and noticed the unusual hexagonal clouds
Experts in atmospheric phenomena decrypt the sky
Hoped to save from deadly blast of water-air shrouds
Precioso Tano
May 13, 2017
1
by the river Seine
a girl of sixteen summers
opened her blue eyes
2
the tulip opened
to speak out love but the bee
carried the last dew
3
a wrinkle in time
puckered the curtain of her
certain diffidence
4
the distant thunder
to wake the quick and the dead
smashed in the window
5
the sun cascaded
over the back of egret
to give birth to dawn
6
nimble fingers curl
plaits of creepers wedded in
moonlit slumber dew
7
mittens of rabbits
galloped in yellow forest
gamboling skippers
8
succubus laid eggs
hatched clone in gray and blue suits
on some other world
In summer my garden comes alive
as graceful butterflies make it home.
Peacocks with vivid colours flit
from blossom to blossom
Busily working gathering nectar
pollinating as they go on to next
flower. All so pretty I love them all
visiting my climbing rambling roses.
Red Admirals, Swallow tails and monarchs
adding swathes of brilliant colour
chased by Skippers and Orange tips
as each one vies for one more bloom.
While Gatekeepers and Clouded Yellows
delicately sip from my hibiscus.
A cloud of Fritillary's descend on stocks
and Painted Ladies mock the sweet peas.
A drone of bumble bees sets the tune
for Tortoiseshells to dance to.
Purple Emperors set the scene
as they visit my asters and begonia's.
Ah! sweet summer flowers, all
are kissed by Comma's and Coppers
bringing my garden to life
with joy as they all busily work
written 08/12/2015
contest Skat's Butterflies
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