Grandpa Francesco Proia,
from Caserta, Italia,
a clever stowaway
in the bowels of the ship
bringing him to Ellis Island,
Feb. 4, 1905.
Gruff ways,
often snarling a guttural “Huh,”
a lack of English,
never-ending hand gestures,
made me fearful of him.
But awestruck I was
with the romantic notion
of his stowing away.
Bootlegging homemade vino
during Prohibition – another
plus as he captured my imagination as
un farabutto – a scoundrel, a reprobate.
Add in his being a coal mine boss
in Marianna, Pennsylvania,
and I had a genuine hero.
How many other children
claimed such details about their grandpas?
Never telling anyone
of my naïve admiration for him,
family loyalty prevented me
from bragging about him.
Living to just a few days short
of his “hunnert” birthday,
I loved and admired him to the end.
Even when the ship’s manifest
I discovered for La Lorraine
listed him as a passenger
in steerage, not a stowaway.
He is watching an in-flight movie,
staring at it in steerage
as he fades away.
The boarding procedures were too slow,
there were delays.
Tightly stringed tensions
arose between ears and nose.
Cardiac murmurs grew raucous.
He is a pilot, but not on this aircraft.
He’s flying a Piper Cub over Sri Lanka;
much younger of course,
alive not fading -
a dead girl is laughing once again.
He wishes that he had
found someone to film that flight,
it was never a movie
and he needs a different picture to watch,
especially now that he is slowly floating
alone like an air balloon
over a disappearing landscape.
Trailing naked toes, hat low peaked
fingers laced abaft head and sun,
white-water gently threading through
the webbed keel of one foot.
The sky is blasting blue,
splotching louder blobs of cobalt
around a midday solar blaze.
Even the river billows,
heaps uplifted ripples into crests.
An old man rests
his skiff rolling rhythmically
to a tune
the wind whispers
through reed quilled banks.
He smiles beneath a broad brim,
wonders how long further this journey
can flow onward
without a braced rudder,
nor clinched knuckles
upon an implacable steerage.
He wallows in his ease,
allows the world to float on,
to find its own effortless,
unhindered way.
I knew the day we met that we were meant to be
I realized our destiny was set and she was the one for me
She was rich in beauty but poor for she will die with it
Her appearance nonplussed me and I couldn't hold the steerage of my course anymore
She is the one I consented to have on my slender thighs
At that point her pearly lips gave appointments to mine
This lady killed me and roasted my carcass
Leaving the scavangers performing the post-moterm
I walked tall in the genesis of our affair
Now I'm wrecked….
Higgledy-piggledy daughter of a lesser god!
Today, deluged with anger I regret
The day I met this devil incarnate;the mastermind behind the bleeding of my heart
She tattooed my heart with wounds;I no longer have a clean heart
Her friends and her drunk the gushing blood of my wounded heart
That night my heart contorted into painful lumps
But I had to forgive the being that created her and put her in my world
Bitter are my words,she is a nonsense with no sense at all
Daughter of Jezebel-show up on the day I get laid to rest;lower me to the ground,let me down like you always have-stupid creature!Nkt!
John Lenda (Poetic World,2022)
At the birth of every male child,
At his hair-cutting event styled,
At first birth-celebrations wild;
At his sister's ear-ring pomp, mild,
At school when their admissions filed,
Blasts the crumb, whole soul forces, piled...!
When enjoying a silent sleep,
When solemn meditation keep,
When, within, alone, cry or weep;
When as rituals blind-faiths, seep,
When in farms rich harvest we reap,
Roars the crumb of drum like bomb-heap...!
When boys go mystic in playground,
When girls hysterically bound,
When kith-and-kin awe-filled surround;
When moralists sow seeds so sound,
When, wildest of the wild gets crowned,
Booms crumbs of music; all get drowned...!
At great festivals of marriage,
At bride-groom's glamour-horse carriage,
At bride's courtyard like effleurage;
At death, with mourning, like steerage,
At mingle of broods like peerage,
Cracks crumbs with fullest coverage...
Crumb, for us, is not bomb or shell,
Nor any grand ancient witch-spell,
Nor blast of some planets far dwell;
It’s, loud noise pollution, like hell,
That, in truth, is a rude death-knell,
Though we cherish it like church-bell...
19 January 2022
War of subtleties
Terse battles
Sanctioned victories
Temporal losses
Shooting blanks
Dull blade
Cassanova's gaze
Mata Hari senses
Jagger's "Moment has passed"
Frost "Two roads diverged..."
Thunderous crash
Newborn's coos
White lies
Dark truths
A trident
A halo
Demons
Angels
Trump's hair
Hitler's mustache
Casting spells
Reading scriptures
The White House
The House of Horrors
Halls of Congress
Hall of Mirrors
The Wheels of Justice
The Ferris Wheel
Titanic's First Class
Titanic's steerage
T-Bone Steak
Garden Salad
Delicious apples
Sour lemons
Excercise
Lethargy
Tolstoy's War And Peace
A note from your teacher
... a pound's worth and not a penny more!
2019 September 12
***Song suggested by my 22-year-old granddaughter when asked for a song best represents this muse.
They hailed her as the empress of the waves
Supreme upon the ocean’s vast domain,
Yet those who watched her launch, and bid ‘Godspeed’,
Could never have foreseen her fleeting reign.
She left Southampton heading for New York;
The sky above was somewhat overcast.
Such hopes and dreams were riding on her bow,
But this first voyage proved to be her last.
The pinnacle of luxury and ease
Awaited wealthy passengers on board,
Whilst crystal chandeliers to music swayed,
A toast to life was raised and champagne poured.
On lower decks the entertainment lacked
Yet children made the most of little space.
Locked heavy gates were purposed to divide
And keep the third-class steerage in their place.
But when disaster struck the glacial path
And frozen waters threatened souls of men,
Proud opulence and rank would count as naught;
Humanity was equal once again.
25/03/19
Titanic - Fare Thee Well Poetry Contest
Sponsor : Tom Woody
'2019 Poetry Marathon Mile 27' : sponsored by Mark Toney
A Noteworthy Ship Poetry Contest : sponsored by Robert James Liguori
Courage in Steerage and Porridge
You will never read another
limerick like this one. Was
watching Cinderella when
courage was mentioned.
We heard she had so much courage;
Was stuffed in shoe in her steerage;
So much delight,
In pretty sight;
She also had tasted it in her porridge.
Jim Horn
Seafaring Foreigner
In steerage on a steamer with
Figs conceiving in Vesuvian soil
Hidden in a pot of a sturdy trunk
Made of hope and adventure. Fear of
Sights unseen and joys unbeknownst
Of sons and daughters yet.
Hazy canyons of skyscraping giants
Overshadow brick row houses
Hard at work, ethnic pride
Shameful bathing, worn-in
Clothing and nourishment
Beyond the return to
Much worse.
Cold Coffee they call him
and only a few people know
his real name, this odd fellow
who raises pigs off the coast
of Ireland and comes to town
bouncing in his horse and wagon
to buy supplies but not food
because he eats from the harvest
of his fields and a piglet now and then
that he can't fatten up for market
to take with his sows and boars
that always bring a good price.
He's been called Cold Coffee
for decades now because as a lad
he wanted to be as rich as Trump
and sailed in steerage to America
to make a wonderful fortune but
then sailed home in just a month.
Everybody would ask Cold Coffee
why he didn’t stay and all he would
ever say with his toothless smile was
he missed his sows and boars and
the only thing he got in America was
a demitasse of cold coffee.
Donal Mahoney
Make Way for the Mighty Titanic
By Elton Camp
Of its age, it was the crowning achievement
Never would it come to experience bereavement
The powerful ship that even God couldn’t sink
Commenced its voyage across the huge drink
For the rich it provided luxury beyond compare
In steerage, the lower classes had their share
Its Captain Smith was a great man of the sea
Not a single one was more respected than he
The crew catered to first classes every need
Provided the finest food, music and great speed
From perils of ocean travel Titanic wasn’t exempt
To warnings from other ships she had contempt
Wham! Into an iceberg with the side of the ship
From their mooring many rivets then did rip
Inrushing water carried the enormous ship down
Many of the passengers and crew had to drown
A cataclysmic event from a hundred years ago
To unbridled confidence struck a fatal blow
One hundred year’s young.
The
grand old lady
lying still
in the blackness
of time.
Her great hull
standing silent
weeping for
its precious
cargo.
Shivering vaporous forms
of first class and steerage.
Stroll hand in hand
together to the
surging currents
of the Atlantic.
A vast wardrobe
of scattered luggage,
across the sandy floor.
Small ghostly forms
play chasey among
the tattered decks.
The finest ship of the White Star Line,
Titanic majestically sailed the brine
A floating palace of opulence
A thing of beauty and elegance
But beauty is but a fragile veneer
And conceals a truth more austere
Into the depths Europe’s poor, are thrust
Travelling in steerage like human ballast
The iceberg cut her stem to stern
But at first no one showed concern
Except the poor below the waterline
Where it quickly filled with Icy brine
“Only God himself could sink her”
It was claimed by an unknown author
The Titanic promoted by J. Bruce Ismay
Quickly sank to his utter dismay
Travelling to America with hopes of a brand new life;
Crammed into steerage with his young child and his wife.
It took his whole life’s savings and some borrowed money too;
Dreams of prosperity, this trip would get them through.
Sounds of music from the top deck, where the privileged class would dine,
Were fodder for his new world dreams of a life in a future time.
His skills as a craftsman, he was sure would treat them well;
Where they go after Ellis Island only chance and fate could tell.
He laid with his wife that night; his young child in-between;
For days, the open skies, not one of them had seen.
They drifted off to sleep with thoughts of an America so nice;
Later that evening the Titanic struck some ice.
The rest of this story, you certainly already know;
What few life boats they had, weren’t for the passengers down below.
Their prayers for a better life were answered in a different way;
At the bottom of the ocean, in the unsinkable liner they still lay.