On a passing fast-moving train, there was quite a scene.
I smiled and waved with the feel of warmth in my bloodstream.
Two white tankers had words in brown saying, 'Vanilla Flavor'.
They did not realize they were hauling my sweet-tooth savior.
I assure you that I consume other food colors, even green.
But I think I'm getting weaker concerning sugary themes.
It won't take me long to tell you what I mean.
Never have I consumed more ice cream.
I'm wondering if there's a 'sweet scheme',
Because I think it's getting to be extreme.
There's something drawing me subtly, it seems.
Although I wish that it was, this is not a dream.
Could it be the additional taste of the vanilla bean?
I have from childhood been in love with anything dairy.
For sure, it's neither the chocolate nor the strawberries.
And I don't like ice cream mixed with candy, cookies, or cherries.
But I do love vanilla ice cream mixed with black walnuts and pecans.
Perhaps it reminds me of Mama's snow cream when I became her biggest fan.
090723PS
Planet Norway calling
We see a TV program from Norway, a smallish nation bent on becoming green, building windmills on top of mountains and in the sea, filling the landscape with rotating blades that have an annoying sound and does not make the famous landscape more prettier.
You see, to finance this dream of an unsullied nation at ease with itself, it has to sell polluting oil and gas by the tankers full and the more expensive the electric dream becomes, more oil and gas must be sold..
To reason to the leaders of this electric manic disorder, is impossible they act as the have found the final truth and God is no longer in the details
Can anyone explain to the Norwegian government their
country is not a “Planet Norway,” drifting about in the galaxy oblivious of other planet but is a small part of Europe and the rest of the world, that pollution affects us all and that the solution must be based on common sense and together with other nations.
Going home
across the Shard bridge
spanning a rattle-snaked river
that bites into the Irish sea
cold-bloodedly pumping
into Fleetwood's gaping fish-mouth.
Here birthmarks
are branded with icons
like beach lighthouse at Rossall Point
as Northwesterly winds
whistle across the dinosaur ribbed sands.
Yet towers still sentinel
over the dark valley
riveted in iron, rusted russet
like warships wrought from steel,
but aspire
like a winged-spirit
above backstreet's cobbled lanes
that echo with drunken frenzy.
The river's stenched breath
perfumes the breeze with sewage leaks
as passing tankers head north
and farm slurry seeps into pure veins.
Distantly,
Alveley's coalfields fade
whose ashen sides once licked
red ulcers with embered tongues.
Their slag banks were stacked
near St Michael's
whose hidden eddies still swollow
many a beautifully troubled mind.
Now the future skies
spread star-spangled
glowing with fractured light
sparks that guide strangers
embracing Morecambe bay's wide
open seas
I saw a thousand guns
Numbered like the sand of the seashore
Bowing down slowly
To the half of a yellow sun
Staring at them with gestures
That spoke silent words of praise
In an unbelievable future of hope!
(Book 2)
The sunrise spoke to the confederation,
The sunset seemed to sleep in peace
Within the heart of a few future Jews
Who told tales and fables of segmented past
With presentable memories of shredded battlegrounds
To new semen’s slowly turning into men
And begged of them to transfer
This vehicle of priceless messages
To their future kind!
(Book 3)
Tankers of war labeled yellow and black
Painted pictures of a fate fair and dark,
Carried labels of a suspected authoritarianism;
Painted portraits of an undeniable militarianism!
Tankers of war labeled yellow and black
Painted pictures of a race in peace or part,
Carried labels of a suspected treason
Believed to be pinpointed by the south-south region!
a vulgar morning
unveiling the naked fragrance of sun-burnt dog turds.
It came to me,
played tunes on the cords in my nostrils
until my left eye caught them hiding
by the roots of loblolly pines.
The poor trees, their trunks still wet where about two
bladders were emptied at daybreak.
The turds, seared like good scallops, made me think
of Bangor and Lewiston;
I saw a big woman beat two conches to make a salad.
I am no ordinary man;
twenty heads of cows made me think of a fleet of oilers & tankers.
I saw a Jew in a shtreimel,
I thought of Presque Isle where the sun stayed in my hair
except at night when the earth turned away.
I don't feel like a pirate
As I travel along carefree.
My husband navigates
Us through the channels, as boats, ships, and
Tankers, accelerate and decelerate.
He is definitely the captain on this journey.
I don't feel like a pirate
I celebrate
All I see.
My husband navigates
As he operates
Our boat with out any castrophes.
I don't feel like a pirate
Yet, we are sailing the seas
My husband navigates
And trys to educate
With rigidity which destroys my serenity.
Now I feel like a pirate
As my husband navigates.
The Wait
I thirst for liquid gold
Will fall ill to it impure
It’s containments will wipe me clean
Those who steal it do me dirty
Pumping and extracting it from a well
Leaves me with whatever remains
Can’t complain
Can only wait
Illegal hydrants are destroyed
To turn back thieves
We knew of rain
Not of sewage, dirt and debris
Rivers have dried up
The land is barren
Able bodies purchase sweet water,
Bottled with minerals
And tankers fill their pools to capacity
Marckincia Jean
Narrative
06/10/19
[starboard port]
the ocean—an onyx plate predawn—
somnambulant ships preen with a swag of
warning lights
massive hulls: cargo ships, flotillas, tankers,
passenger liners loll; red lights buss
the somber slate of sky—spangled strings of
bawdy bulbs on the riggings—pole dance
beside the quay—ridged, behemoth smokestacks
toy with the flames of gold and white
[cabin’s lav—occupied]
waiting, my mind trundles to funeral pyres
Viking ships, then returns to marvel at
on-coming airport pot lights which
upstage the walled gasps
[very occupied]
the exodus to Singapore crescendos
we land—manned the plane performs
a ritual slide—ash and steam spew from
stacks of the other perpendicular
members
Touch down.
[the door opens]
First Published by Shooter Literary Magazine Spring of 2017
The ocean is vast, large ships traverse its waters
seabirds abound, hunting for fish
distance between continents measure in hundreds
All life is at sea
All manner of vessels is found on the blue water
And even below surface they travel
Tankers and liners, container ships and more
All life is at sea
Marine creatures fills the dark and murky depths
Searching the cold brine for food
Rusting hulks litter the seabed, gone for ever
All life is at sea
Man has tried to conquer this life source without success
The ocean can be hard to those who trespass
History can confirm the facts
The sea controls life
He remembers his grandmother
sitting next to him on the couch during naptime;
his two-year-old body restless and jumpy.
She would yawn a tremendous open, lion’s mouth
yawn and shake her mane of hair that fell around
her shoulders . . . and he would wait for the roar that never
came. Instead, her measured breath would flow out into
the sigh of the breeze through the trees or the swell
of the ocean - the earth’s inhalations, it seemed.
Years later in Iraq and Iran, as missiles whistled
overhead, the roar of tankers and hard-scrabble
footsteps loud in the night, he puts
himself to sleep
with the memory
of her breathing.
I'm sitting along the Bosphorus
watching the russian tankers pass by.
They are big,
so am l.
Nature has gifted humanity with so many wonders to see
One of them striking our attention is the sea
Admire the turquoise waters created for mankind
For it has a soothing effect on the mind
Since ages the sea surrounds the land.
Flowing around the neck like a garland
The splashing of waves,low and high tides
And the production of foam all constitute a feast for the eyes
Lo! appreciate the sun kissing the horizon
It is setting for another mission
An important source of livelihood for fishermen
The sea feeds to a large extent the man
The extraction of corals, pearls and jewels
Allow the villagers to prosper and live well
An ancient and primitive means of transport
Boats, ferries, oil tankers,ships connect different ports
But through it sometimes God manifests His wrath
To remind those like Pharaoh who deviate from the right path
However, many have been engulfed in tsunamis
Which are beyond the control of our destiny.
.
Skyline of rowed houses
Rolls past and
So do the greys of labour,
Conservative and otherwise
Are boarded on the decks of
Oil tankers; hollow
Hulking HMS something
Sleeps in the docks
Of the town once red
Now muddy brown
And sick,
Labour wise and
Reading Caledonia.
Aberdeen 2012 on route to Shetland
From Valhalla’s fortress of spears and shields,
Valkyrie riders make their daily runs…
Crossing Bifrost to Midgard’s battlefields,
Harvesting warriors till Ragnorak comes.
Flying from Valhalla on their war horses,
Thundering hooves beat like old battle drums,
Odin’s blond daughters watching the forces--
Harvesting warriors till Ragnorak comes.
Legionnaires, Pikemen, Hussars and Spartans;
Storm Troopers, Crusaders and Saracens;
Musketeers, Vikings, and Gladiators;
Watusi, Cossacks, and Conquistadors.
As long as men hear the sounds of war drums,
They’ll harvest the best till Ragnorak comes.
Valkyries search for those to stand vanguard,
Recruiting Odin’s Einherjar armies.
Warriors pass Valgrind to live in Asgard--
Honored to be served by the Valkyries.
Hoplites, Commandoes, and Mujahideens;
Samurais, Yeomen, and US Marines;
Guerrilas, Dragoons, and Panzer Tankers;
Grenadiers, Mamelukes, and Bezerkers.
As long as men hear the sounds of war drums,
Valkyries harvest till Ragnorak comes.
On a winters Morn, in a January storm
The sea delivers it's power and might
Not a bucket and spade in sight
Capable of crushing everything in it's path
Respect is due if you want to last
Indiscriminate with our life-I love the sea
Seasons Change, a different place
Children with happiness on their faces
dig and play in that time old way
Children love the beach
The sweetest of swells pounding in
Offshore breezes, surfers with grins
Tankers seeking refuge in the bay
from Galey storms not so far away
Yachts in the distance that barely move
The thronging mass in holiday mood
The constantly changing ocean state
Rise and fall the tide never waits
Sunrise sunset and the passage of time
As arty types feast and dine
The moons translucence illuminates
As intoxicated adults contemplate
in the moonlight feeling rude
consumed with passion in the nude
Ice cream, Ice cream lollipops
When the sun comes out people flock
Often a desolate barren place
The salty sea breeze in your face-I love the sea
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