They say money can't buy happiness
but it sure can patch that hole in the roof or rowboat.
It can buy you a fat neck ring or your dream dress
it can buy you a tanker of gas -a new set of whitewalls
get you to a vision that you've never been to.
Tell me the truth, are you happy
with that naked old maiden's finger
or that dated-frayed dress
Are you happy only seeing your favorite dreamy place
forever turning from your face in a Highrise magazine.
They say money can't buy love or happiness
but it can buy a teaspoon of attention
or a bushel of silky pink ...
a bit of bling to cover chronic loneliness.
Tell me the truth, are you happy being broke all the time
debt hovering like a twitchy witchy blade
over a sweaty neck that's not worth a dime.
Money will buy your pills and A.C
Money will buy your Heat and pills.
With that being said:
money can't buy sunshine or time
it may get you an airy ocean front home
but someday that bipolar wind's going to blow
and money will never weave wings to the soul.
Categories:
tanker, happiness, money,
Form: Rhyme
There's a water shortage in countries,
especially where there's strife,
and air conditioning is needed,
to lead a pleasant life.
We also have bone-dry Bermuda
where, except for 5" monthly rainfall,
collected in cisterns or brought by tanker ship,
there's no water to be had at all.
Attempting to inform the people in power,
an endeavour which failed of course,
what every island AC emits,
and it's their free drinking source.
As AC units create water naturally,
on average 5 to 20 gallons
of condensate per day,
producing H2O from humidity,
it's a crime to let it waste away.
It may be but a drop in the bucket,
and yet, place a clean container,
when the unit is switched on,
to collect the drips
of distilled water, safe to imbibe,
below the condensation drain,
and you may have a million sips
again and again and again.
Categories:
tanker, water, word play,
Form: Rhyme
Russian wine
It must have been a winter when the old tanker
sailed through the Dardanelles into the Black Sea
that was full of ice flakes
the tanker was loading black gold at a town I have forgotten the name of, but I recall how spare the street
lighting was on a wide boulevard
We found a restaurant in a stern-looking building
possibly built with Stalin as architect, we had caviar
and drank excellent white whine
the nomenclature sat there in their suit that
appeared to have too much fabric, friendly
sorts who smoked all the time
The dull Soviet Union still existed in its dullness
and general sadness that is over now, people
who makes good wine can't be kept down
Categories:
tanker, anti bullying, blessing, break
Form: Free verse
Note this poem was written some time ago but I was sick and deleted my site. I have been patiently reposting my poems since 9 October 2000.
On November 13, 2002. The Prestige, one of twelve tanks burst during a storm off Galicia, in northwestern Spain. No help was forthcoming and by November 19, the ship split in half. 20 million gallons were spilled into the sea.
Beneath the heavy dark clouds,
the storm broke.
An oil-filled tanker sank
spewing black lakes of murderous slime.
What a giant "Prestige"!
Despite the roar of untamed waves
there was a deadly hush over the ocean.
A low death knell sang a purgatory of pain,
as contaminated birds of gulls, orioles, kestrels
squawked their last dirge:
What a giant "Prestige"!
Too late men stretched their ingenuity,
a desire to save and spare
the livelihood of so many families
that sailed the oil-spilled seas,
where baby dead fish dotted the surface,
sands and rocks tainted with death.
Elsewhere engineers burned their chemical gases
and smoke escaped from the earth's fragile shell.
We all have our "Prestige"!
Written 2016
Categories:
tanker, abuse, pollution,
Form: Free verse
JOTTINGS
Folded paper and scribbled notes
Mutterings of my cluttered mind
Things to do I hope to remember
The memory club, I’m a member
If not, then that’s why I will find
Ideas are sheep, words are goats
Jottings serve as an aide-memoire
Notes to self, so that I won’t forget
Phone numbers or reference codes
My brain cannot handle such loads
I haven’t sorted through them yet
Mental logbooks can only go so far
A thought is ethereal, like vapour
If written, it serves as an anchor
Words can be both meat and rind
Helpful, especially if underlined
Minds turn slow, like an oil tanker
That’s why I get it down on paper
Categories:
tanker, writing,
Form: Rhyme
The elephant in the room went out for a drive,
creating a scene in the scenic coastal town.
Large as a barge, roaming the hills and the valleys.
It was a bumpy road, mammoth and metastatic.
It was like letting the bees out of the honey hive.
Oh what the historic and stately place was shown.
Not normally seen, the victim from the alleys.
Causing accidents - it was briefly traumatic.
The elephant’s ride was towed and does now sit
out of sight. For his hide and tusk, it was quite a blow.
The elephant in the room, it was his last shot.
The affluent paid attention - for a time, it was quite dramatic.
By droves, as tanker-ton came through, they came out to see
the gray and stormy, with trunks and tusks, migrating.
His travails and luggage, his need for snacks, a barge -
the elephant in the room, they’d not allow a visit.
10/20/2022
end rhymes first two verses (drive, hive)
verse 3 rhymes with first words in verse 2 (sit, it)
with one exception.
verse 4 rhymes with first words in verse 1 (see, the)
Categories:
tanker, allusion,
Form: Rhyme
68 years ago
68 years ago, I was onboard the world's oldest tank ship
wooden decks and looking like a sailing ship more than
a tanker in the Black Sea on the way to Odesa.
The sea had ice flakes, fishing vessels got stuck, and a Russian
minesweeper was on its way to help it was painted dark
blue and red; the sky was slightly overcast.
What I remember best was the silence, no TV. no noise
from constant communication in the cold air, above all
no mobile phones had yet to intrude.
Now, ships loaded with grain follow a mine-free lane
on the way to the Dardanelles for inspection by men
in uniform before heading for Africa.
Not destined for the famished population, not yet
the grain is stored in gigantic silos by trying governments
distributed by them at an inflated price, the poor
cannot afford the starvation continues unabated.
We have been here before, in the winter of 1949, people
froze to death when fishing and fell like nine pins when
spring came; few families had any furniture left.
68 years ago, I recall the unmoving stillness, now
there is a cacophony of angry voices protesting against
the burden they are asked to carry for our leaders.
Categories:
tanker, books, conflict, devotion, history,
Form: Blank verse
Previously happy to live in Sri Lanka,
Doing well as mover of tanker,
Even as Sri Lankan roads got busier
And traffic of the rush hours not easier…
Then, he was fatter and franker
But living far political demand;
Also, after Riches did he hanker
But more after a chance to command…
So, he had to bounce back to Nigeria
But in her politics at the rear:
Always colliding with hateful ridicule,
A bit invisible like molecule!
He needed not have left Sri Lanka
Where joy had been a sure banker…
It’s been a Joyless Lip-Biting Ben
Often recreating Sri Lanka of then.
Categories:
tanker, career, character, confidence, dream,
Form: Rhyme
I recall a scary time
when I brushed shoulders with death.
A blustery winter wind
seeded snow with freezing rain.
I got stuck on the highway
in whiteout conditions.
And the road was one big mess,
traffic was moving too fast.
Hitting a patch of black ice,
I’m spinning out of control.
And I’m right in the path of
an on-coming tanker truck.
The driver’s frightened face was
visibly white with panic.
Letting the steering wheel go,
I was prepared to meet death.
A calmness came over me,
there was no panic or fear.
For I knew it’d be over
in a mere millisecond.
Then something miraculous
occurred, and my life was changed.
Through Divine intervention,
my car got nudged to the side.
And then that tanker whizzed by
with only inches to spare.
I then believed and thanked God,
for my guardian angel.
(Blank Verse)
12/18/2021
DIVINE INTERVENTION Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
Categories:
tanker, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form: Blank verse
Scratching a bug bite.
A bug bit him in the rear.
Which was the culprit?
Could it be a mosquito?
He slept butt-naked last night.
It's probably a bed bug!
Submitted for....
A Buggy Tanker Poetry Contest
Sponsored by M. L Kiser
Date written: 09/10/2021
Categories:
tanker, humor, insect,
Form: Tanka
This weathering vessel that casts about
A barge adrift in the river of lies.
My crumbling ship, my hopes all cast in doubt
I navigate past cults of crying eyes.
This rusting old tanker betrays my flame
My boy joy driving fervent flaring glare.
I’m no match for terror by any name
Scant my Ali fist-words striking the air.
This floating worn casket my last cradle
I can’t go while hate burns from the sewers.
And Earth seethes and chokes fumes unnatural
But who breathes once guns fire from hate’s snipers?
I cruise this clumsy tub to open sea
And give my dwindling days to speak freely.
Categories:
tanker, age, america, corruption, courage,
Form: Sonnet
Bosporus
Bosporus 1956, the old tanker where I was a galley boy
had anchored waited for orders to proceed into the black sea.
A rowing boat came alongside they were selling fez
the latest fad among us seamen.
They also sold sweet liqueurs which I drank, got drunk and sick
for the first time in my life; I was 15teen.
In the old days, you had to grow up fast and learn to howl with the dogs.
The winter weather was sunny I was awed by the Byzantine mystic
like a fairytale story. I bought the fez.
The last time I was in Istanbul -30 years later- on a ship where I was a cook.
my fall from officer grade had been painful and political.
in Istanbul going back to the ship I was followed by a back of dogs begging for food raided the galley
they knew I was a generous cook
Categories:
tanker, blessing, cinderella, deep,
Form: Blank verse
by Bob Moore © 2020
(keep the tune of Lilli Marlene in your mind)
I was born in England, 1942.
Dad was in the Army, and learning what to do
if Jerry the German should invade
he’d make them pay
chase them away.
my dad he was a tanker
an 8th Irish Hussar
On that cold winters morning
when I first saw the light
didn’t know the world was
in the middle of a fight
a fight for its freedom
and way of life
a world of fear
of war and strife
but we would go on fighting
until the very end
In ’46 the war was over
and my dad he came home
to be with his family
and never more to roam,
but six years later
he’d gone again
another war
of fear and flame
fighting in Korea
against another foe
He came home and decided
it was time for us to go
to leave the land where we were born
and find another home
so we went to Australia for peace, and sun
and here ten thousand miles from home
we would stop our roaming
our new life had begun.
Categories:
tanker, home,
Form: Rhyme
MP News in Hindi :- LPG Gas Tanker Reversed… Sealed Area for Two Kilometers !!
Lpg gas tanker reflex-
sea. LPG gas tanker overturned last night on Deori road in Sagar district of Madhya Pradesh… It is being told that the tanker crashed due to fog in bad weather. The nozzle opened as the tanker overturned, causing gas to leak. As soon as the incident was known, the administration immediately sealed the Aria….
Team from Bina Refinery-
As soon as the incident was received, the administration has sealed the Aria for two kilometers from the tanker. At the same time the rescue team from Bina Refinery has started operation. People said that due to dew and fog, gas has spread in the field. The tanker is being monitored remotely. No one is being allowed to go near him. The two-kilometer area has been sealed. In the vicinity, profits are being made for not burning matches.
Categories:
tanker, write,
Form: Vogon Poetry
The maiden voyage
My first voyage on a ship was on an old tanker
who took us to Novorossiysk in Russia to load oil for
Iceland (Reykjavik.) It was an arduous voyage
in the Black Sea, we got stuck on the ice for days which was
better than the darksome Novorossiysk where we could
only go to restricted places.
Reykjavik too was a dreary little place but we could
walk about as we wanted and the people were nice
only it had no restaurants to speak of and the cafes
sold ghastly beer.
Then the ship was bound for Curacao, a Dutch island
full of bars and whores, it was on that voyage I wrote
my first poem “The Ship plough on” it was met with
amusement of the type I disliked and did attempt to
write anything for the next 30 years but read hundred
of books.
Categories:
tanker, break up, cute love,
Form: Blank verse
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