Trade Wind Poems

Journey

The to and fro 
From pillar to post 
The immortal forget the reason of the journey 
Who will tell others the view of the journey?
All have eyes and ears 
And later know road to life 
All forget and pursuit the trade wind of vanity 
Who can measure the number of life?
Some weigh it as on and off of breaths 
Is not a race but a journey 
Everyone is a traveler on a cosmic journey 
Acting in stardust and dancing in the eddies of vanity 
Everyone is here to pack and carry his luggage 
We only have a stop-over to encounter 
Each other and one another to love and share feelings 
Be careful, life is a glimpse 
That determines all destinations

Weather Or No

Forecast
raise mast

Air mass
eat grass

Storm front 
bear brunt 

Blue skies
time flies 

Dark clouds 
dull  crowds

Wet spell
from hell

Sunshine 
divine 

Strong gust 
disgust 

Gale force 
morose 

Lightning 
blighting

Thunder
blunder  

Spring tide 
I cried 

Rainbow 
eye glow

Wide trough
chest cough 

Red heat 
conceit 

Warm haze 
delays 

Halos 
moon rose

Black ice 
not nice 

Snowdrift 
I’m miffed

Dewdrops
on copse 

Trade wind 
rescind 

Cyclone 
Chills bone 

Blind fog 
Agog

Grey mist
delist 

Deep freeze
disease 

Fresh spring 
in thing 

Summer
Hummer 

Autumn’s
doldrums 

Winter’s
Cinders

Sharp frost
fuel cost 

Hailstones 
bleak groans

Ground sleet
at feet

Graupel 
rural

Rainfall
please stall 

Greenhouse 
must douse

My Weathered Deck

My Weathered Deck


          At this time through which I am the lead
            With days flowing out from behind myself
              I am using a much slower life speed
                And see my history books lined up on my shelf
                  As the things of the past I no longer need

                  A trade wind blows across my weathered deck
                  I see pictures scatter through my over filled head
               This year I’ve been apt to stop often to reflect          
            How my steps have used a lot of life tread
          Now I’m worn on the edges, an earthly project

         The stage is set to leave without much trace
            Years click away faster than my memories can
              I notice how I resemble someone else’s’ face
               Designed by lucky fate or a unique master plan
                  With twilight comes a slower spool with my grace

written 5-15-2020
Brian's Choice J-  1st place
Thank you Brian...:D
Your best poem 2020 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John Hamilton  N/A

Sail To a Deal

Britain sets sail to find a deal.
A lengthy voyage now starts.
The captain plots the way ahead
with complex EU charts
from the Maritime Directive
in all its ninety parts.

Oh what a frightful sea to sail
to reach the land called Brexit Deal.

They cast off in a steady breeze;
the crew are well rehearsed.
But soon a storm is getting up
and brings a mighty gust.
The mainsail now has been ripped free
and flaps around the mast.

Oh what a frightful sea to sail
to reach the land called Brexit Deal.

And then with further buffeting 
the rudder starts to fail.
A calm follows; they do repairs.
Now fixed they can set sail.
The ship and crew ready to go
but now stuck in a lull.

Oh what a frightful sea to sail
to reach the land called Brexit Deal.

Next day there comes a steady breeze
which clears them from doldrums.
And now they start to speed along
as then a trade wind comes.
With these changes the captain must
recalculate the sums. 

Oh what a frightful sea to sail
to reach the land called Brexit Deal.

Voodoo Stick

Behold the flageolet wizard wand — 
at each windpipe end,
it toe tag taps the same dirge sound

Abominable Gomorrah black buries
to the left
Vile Yeti blinking Babel blue buries
to the right

This voodoo mint stick
shows you the same Al Jolson face,
no matter which dark side
of the hex coin you flip

Deep indigo Far West hue 
is gonna bullet mark your forehead
with a transactional tattoo

Shallow turquoise shade rear East tint
will sunset your hope
with burning crosses double helix bent

Wooden voodoo baton
carved with pagan imagery
On each side of the prod stick,
cattle cull call
is tased with ballot trickery

Some pridefully pip
they be canary pawns of the right wing
Others proudly chirp
they be pigeon fawns of the left honking
And the independent night owl souls
sniff how the trade wind blows,
to decide on which way they gonna lean

Pogo patsies on a voodoo stick
bouncing to-and-fro billow mindlessly
Drowning their fears
in patriotic waves of I-pod conformity

They do the death dance,
head bobbing self-sacrificially so
Voodoo chicken tenders
turning on the fiery pit spit slow

In 100 Years

In 100 Years

In 2118 will there still be love
as we ride in driverless cars?
We will have used the Earth all up
for real estate on Mars.

In 2118 will there still be war
when all cancer can be cured,
medical miracles not known before
with a longer life assured.

In 2118 will McDonald’s still be
a familiar face to the world,
or will the new trade wind economy
make the American Dream unfurl.
 
In 100 years will the land be here?
Clean water will cost a lot.
Can we then relax and live in less fear?
Maybe so and maybe not.

6/7/18

Hurricane Haikus

Ocean depression
Clouds pulled in by low pressure
Suck inside moisture.

Hurricane is born
Eye follows the track blindly
The trade wind decides.

Distant shore attracts
Hurricane rushes lands hard
With windstorm and rains.

High waves surge inland
Storm flattens things on the way
Rains flood the lowland.

Homeless people stand
On gloom and devastation
Future uncertain.

Trail of hurricane
Furrows through the battered lives
Nature does its job.

Depression in life
Turmoil lands as hurricane
The mind does its job.

September 8, 2017.

The Schooners

With billowed sails the Schooner glides across the open sea
The crew secures the rigging as they’ve done through history
Port side there’s a Humpback coming up to take a look
They watch in pure amazement its like a picture from a book.

The Skipper takes the Helm and guides the vessel on its path
 The crew they scramble round the deck to fight mother natures wrath
Everyone has got their job the Main Trimmer, Mast and Pit
The Secondary Trim the Foredeck and the Main Trim/Tactics

As the Schooner fights the rugged waves The Skipper steers the wheel
It brings on such excitement that it can not be concealed
With puffy trade-wind clouds above waves of blue below
If one gets the chance to sail, the Schooners the way to go

Golden Streams

Golden streams of fresh sunshine flush the day
bringing esoteric  galleons to bay
filled from a pointed hull to shapely stern 
exulting teas and spices badly yearned 

Subdued by scents of affection afloat
passions spill in quills admiration wrote
embracing the union of sun and moon
and of breathless visions erupting soon

Hints of the night tap the bow gripped tight
divinity's song flitters through last light
starlit heavens guiding a tinted view
holding senses close as the trade wind blew

Drift onto yonder shores beneath skies so bold 
life's treasures lie faithfully in stories told

Guardian of Air

As tangy waft  careens into my mind
To softly rouse a glittering twilight,
I frolic with the northern breeze, refined 
On imprints of an ever- threading night. 

And copper-like, my senses mildly clothed
with fibrils tracing ripples on warm flesh;
this zephyr cool guides evensong hollowed
by a mystique startling birds’ tunes, afresh.

Until the trade-wind fades before new morn
oh guardian of air will bid me still; 
my breath feeding the hours with time reborn 
till dewy waft on skyline claims goodwill.

That I, a child of moon, shall testify
as witness to the gentle billow’s sigh.



My Favourite Forms - Haibun or Sonnet
Contest of Heather Ober
9/17/2015

Harmattan

Chalk-white faces, chapped lips and infected footsoles,
Harmattan, she has come again, announcing her 
presence like a proud royalty's entourage.

Mothers clad their infants in thick clothes 
like north pole elves,
motorcyclists cruise around town with watery eyes 
mourning the chill of the early morning continental 
trade wind. 

Dry tree leaves dance to the rhythm of the wind,
the dance of death, as they fall to the ground
amid rising dust, dry air and hazy skies,
gathering mist sits atop the mountain like a crown
on a King's head.

The local tea shop owner beams with a toothless 
smile envisaging high patronage, and from the 
eastern horizon a seemingly shy
thermal source rises slowly

Crossing Dreamscapes Barriers As Time

Scripted be these endless visions the faithful child; candy-striped....
Sugar coated vertical horizons ? Romanesque, their arches round'about
Obsidian's encircling glass and dark her ages skipping squares your, pyramids
Agamemnon's, subservient generations far from unique their trojan horse, wars ?
Sir Lancelot with her Guinevere's jigzaw puzzle Arabian Knights Salome lights samurai
Swords cataclysm's Pollux ? Argus chasing carpet baggers about these northern lights; Polaris..
Rising from Cassiopeia's sea beyound mere myths your, iconoclastic carrion, ideologies ? Imminent
Jupiter exploding imploding time's trade wind trickery Capricorn's, bugle boy theologies; Love's, kryptonite.

Surfing Poseidon

I saw you riding the wild waves
cool trade-wind breezes blowing,
through your long dark curly hair; 
dropping off the lip in adrenaline rush
through spectacular silver liquid tubes
as you obsessed glassy spiral perfection
so wantonly barrel dragging your hand 
caressing her curves, so seductively
the ultimate liquid thrill 
then soul cruising a long ride in…….
I, infatuated with your form
Seduced by perfection

I just knew in fathom depths 
of my heart inside,out 
I fell in love with you, 
forever on that day....

Your soulful sultry brown eyes,
red- brown tanned smooth silk skin
strong muscular frame, power built
broad chest to rest my weary head upon....
the body of steel pleasure

I can’t lie or deny that 
I want all of your delicious kisses,
and your strong warm caring arms
wrapped around me
with the same passion 
that you caress her curves.

you know that I can’t 
get enough of you...
my surfing Poseidon

Sweet Cannibals Mine

Death! A lifeboat adrift on a sea 
with sailors who are mates of mine. 
Thirst and hunger we all shall be 

it is hard to think of a tougher time. 
As a hot sun burns so as we drift 
water now would taste as wine. 

With my sacrifice I hope to give, 
a gift of life to leave behind. 
My soul, from my body to sieve. 

To my brethren, a gift of a kind 
life in my blood, to quench a thirst, 
strength in my meat I pray they find. 

A drink of brine; so as to die first, 
a meal for all - I pray they cry 
and hope they feast until they burst. 

This, only this we've left to try 
pick your teeth with my shattered bones 
hoist you a sail of my tough hide, 

mumble a prayer once I am gone. 
Say a wave took me over the side. 
I pray a trade wind will steer ye home 

and bluster my sprite to beg God Divine 
exoneration for - sweet cannibals mine.

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