There is a little Pirate Girl,
Her name is Captain Alanna,
She wears a Jolly Roger on her hat,
And she loves bananas.
She sails on a Pirate ship,
Across oceans and seas,
Swashbuckling and hunting treasure,
In between having afternoon teas.
No other ships or crew are safe,
When Captain Alanna sets sail,
They see her ship on the horizon,
That’s when they tremble, then turn pale.
If anyone makes her angry,
They’re made to walk the plank,
She hides her treasure on desert islands,
It isn’t in any bank.
She prefers to drink apple juice,
She’s not too keen on rum,
A happy pirate girl she is,
And hardly ever glum.
With her crew she’s bossy,
She calls out “All hands on deck”,
“Arrrrgh”, they all reply,
Then whisper “Oh heck”.
There’s a parrot on her shoulder,
A patch over her right eye,
She’s ruthless with her cutlass,
Enough to make grown men cry.
Afternoon naps are forbidden,
She sleeps when she’s ready,
Snuggled up with her trusty sidekick,
The one that she calls Teddy.
sculptured hobo of the sea
a pirate’s swashbuckling adventure
siren, kraken, leviathan
or some other ocean creature
but now enjoying retirement
as peaceful a garden feature
I love you rain
Come at me
With your sparkling
Diamond splashing
Water baguettes
Diamondize me
Lick me with your
Splishering diamond joys
I love you rain
Come at me
With your portly portable pumping poetry
Flitter pitter patter buoying boosty banter
Pouring snoring, roaring soaring, jumping jets
Splitting swishing swashbuckling glitzy gorgeous glitterama
Blinging blanging clanging gluey golden glory
Air cleansing wooing wooshing wooting wind friend story
I love you rain
Come at me
With your dancing
Deftly dangling diamonds
Unfurl glowing skies
Flights of soothing cries
Your micro thunder
Kiss parade bluster
Skywide rosary seeds
Natures prayer leads
Meditation chi gong traffic
Micro hugs of time's fabric
I love you rain
Come at me
With your awe inspiring
Diamond light cracking crackling kisses
That sharpen, brighten, spin, shower, empower
The kaleidoscopic bright lips of faceted light!
Nurture us all, fill us all, with your connected inside out love!
Load us up with your resilient diamond fiber winks & glows
Quiet slinging sure serene silent super strength that guides the cosmos
I love you rain
Come at me
By Davieo, David Rothchild
father figures
I never knew my father well as he was not at home
I think it had something to do with other women
mother divorced him and said he was a butterfly.
I could not picture him as a colourful insect in the glade
instead, I made him into a swashbuckling hero.
A new man moved into our life, and I didn’t like him
he smelled of smoked sardines, telling me what to do.
I was ten years old and decided to leave home
with two apples and a boiled egg, I left slamming
the door behind me; the evening dark and cold
My mother’s friend was sarcastic when I returned
looked at his watch two hours had gone.
In later years I wrote a series of poems about “Alfred”
the pianist who denied he was my father and
realized how important it was for a little boy to have
a father figure when growing up.
adieu summer sun
swashbuckling autumn weather~
picturesque canvas
Autumn in Nature
Poetry Contest
Haiku
Sponsored
by
Tania Kitchen
11/09/2022
Pixabay image by:Valiphotos
I used to play both Peter Pan and Captain Hook
When I was a child, being dramatic and loud.
My prissy sister had to be Tinkerbelle and Wendy.
This made the swashbuckling scenes more difficult.
As Peter Pan I would do a bit of sword play from the porch railing.
Jump down, switch capes,
yell “Now I’m Captain Hook” and jump back up.
The neighborhood children loved the silliness of it.
I was out of breath by the time the play was over.
My sister Wendy/Tinkerbelle was not sweaty or out of breathe.
We are identical twins, but not in the ways that count I guess.
I thought I was daring and brave. The porch railing was ten feet high.
Years later I discovered I was wrong; it was not even three feet.
She likes her feline side; it cozies up to warm books.
But pirate woman is not far behind, slashing and swashbuckling.
Her mood does not last a week, a day, or an hour.
She is mercurial, flexible, a chameleon.
Living striped, polka dotted and in paisley.
Reveling in silk, linen, and persnickety idealism.
Her yin and yang complement each other
Appearing with their own whims and whistles.
She is woman, she is girl, she is crone, she is empathy, she is hope.
She is a nurturer and a killer. She can destroy and rebuild.
Books cannot capture her emotional power, for the words are not invented yet.
For each she is extraordinarily herself, living as a bear, a bird or a bug.
Streets awash with mewling cats
and surly swashbuckling pirates.
Somber skies with swirling bats,
and ghastly goblins chasing rats.
How can she balance herself like that?
Did she stack those or did something magical stack them?
What kind of a witch is she?
I don’t know but she sure has game.
Winteria heard them but refused to look up from her book.
She had a daily goal for herself.
She always read eleven books before lunch,
And an additional six books in the afternoon.
Her goal was to read all of the books in the library
By the time she left for the middle school.
Besides, she was busy swashbuckling another pirate.
Streets awash with mewling cats
and surly swashbuckling pirates.
Somber skies with swirling bats,
and ghastly goblins chasing rats.
Wicked witches’ evil glare,
grisly ghouls' ghostly stare,
taunting with a double-dare.
All in fun to give a scare.
Haunted houses with darkened walls;
afraid to walk spell-bound halls.
Toffee apples, popcorn balls;
eating brains and toad eyeballs.
Trick-or-treating door-to-door.
Treats too tasty to ignore.
Harmless tricks more smile than roar,
kept us giggling for much more.
Parents, neighbors joined the fun.
Scary ghost stories spookily spun.
Fortune tellers’ crystal balls to shun.
Homemade costumes unique to one.
Creamy fudge and devil’s food cake,
all wrapped up for us to take.
Mom's scratch treats, nothing fake.
She took all day long to bake.
Bewitching hour over, fun now done,
to our homes we’d quickly run.
Goodie bags that weighed a ton.
We would share with everyone.
Playing games and laughing out loud,
good times again next year we vowed!
Explorations of cerebral fascination
Devilish ideas' mutated peregrinations
Spirited inhalations of tribal incantations
Torso-twisting through saucy peregrinations
Whilst the grimy sesame toast's torn asunder
Swashbuckling seafarers burble and blunder
Through Deli Yammer's roasted pickle bars de-acidified
n Arm n Hammer's blue-cabbage-power shake de-histified
If you think all this is rather hard to follow
Dr. Fauci's linking it in cuneiform on marshmallow
Sex 101
by Michael R. Burch
That day the late spring heat
steamed through the windows of a Crayola-yellow schoolbus
crawling its way up the backwards slopes
of Nowheresville, North Carolina...
Where we sat exhausted
from the day’s skulldrudgery
and the unexpected waves of muggy,
summer-like humidity...
Giggly first graders sat two abreast
behind senior high students
sprouting their first sparse beards,
their implausible bosoms, their stranger affections...
The most unlikely coupling—
Lambert, 18, the only college prospect
on the varsity basketball team,
the proverbial talldarkhandsome
swashbuckling cocksman, grinning...
Beside him, Wanda, 13,
bespectacled, in her primproper attire
and pigtails, staring up at him,
fawneyed, disbelieving...
And as the bus filled with the improbable musk of her,
as she twitched impaled on his finger
like a dead frog jarred to life by electrodes,
I knew...
that love is a forlorn enterprise,
that I would never understand it.
Keywords/Tags: first love, sex, sexy, lust, passion, desire, school, student, teen, teenage, learning, bus, foreplay, fingering, odor, musk, romance, romantic, humiliation
My foe, shivering
I drew my sword, glistening
Swooning dead away, he, hushed...
Over to him, ran
I, swashbuckling... Arising
he, screaming madly... Deaf, I
In times oft-forgotten great freight trains rolled through.
Each boxcar was tagged in a swashbuckling hue,
Flamboyantly hawking some stale, mawkish view.
Now all that remains is the desolate track.
Clickety-clack, clickety-clack:
Our eeriest memories’ ethereal track.
Those heart-pounding engines, in Santa Fe red!
Their sheer mass of metal would thrill me with dread.
With full sound and fury they powered and led,
Not seeing they followed that rigid steel track.
Clickety-clack, clickety-clack:
Time’s mindlessly marching, immovable track.
I wonder too often just where they’ve all gone.
What exploits or griefs will their odysseys spawn?
Then, hearing their whistle, I’m fearlessly drawn.
I shadow their ghosts up the unexplored track.
Clickety-clack, clickety-clack:
Our haziest days’ inevasible track.
It was "The Cape" in early June
Along with her sister Vie
They had strolled down past the dunes
Under a cloudless sky
She could taste the ocean salt
On a swirling southern breeze
In new dresses mother bought
Instead of their dungarees
On a rock, the eldest in blue
Matching ribbon in her hair
Going on 'bout a boy she knew
The youngest pretending to care
But sailing on a green grass ocean
Drifting in a pirate's dream
A young girl with a swashbuckling notion
Stealing gold from a Spanish queen
Looting up and down the coast
Black patch over one eye
Sailing with Blackbeard's ghost
Skull and crossbones flying high
Then suddenly, back in a blink
Captured by mother's call
A girl pirate dressed in pink
Her saber, a red parasol
an original poem by Daniel Turner
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.