Don’t open the book
To that page
Its letters were written
On old paper
With a pen
That’s known many names
Crossed out many lines
And sunk boats.
Try this book.
Blame not the recharge
Left slowly puddling into a dark corner
Of this uneven hardwood floor,
Nor should holy boats
Hold these oars tightly so.
Thee witness’ callused palm
Scrapes dry a soiled seat,
And a martyr hangs listlessly
As townsfolk carry on.
Mild wind blows a crooked sign
Making rust set within,
Harder then an open wound
Stronger then the sun.
I wouldn’t have been mad if you would have come to me, if you would have taken me with little regard for my impatience and discussions.
Alone was a word I never liked to admit. Like a figured dancer eying me up, I was always open for business and I knew – just like my salacious friend did – that business was good. I had markets that twisted and turned at mere sight of me, with anticipation gripping at their tongues for the ride.
It was merely a park bench, peacefully perched and calling my name. It wasn’t an alert beacon. It wasn’t a silent sentence. It was slightly weathered and modestly epitaphed like a sea faring ship that’s seen more ports than a pin-legged sailor.
From here – ahead – was a paved path, a hand railing painted green with two levels by design. Beyond was my view. A marvelous vista when the hour was right, when west was like glue to the sinking horizon’s glow. Out past the railing fell straight down to the harbour’s edge. Large placed stones from some time ago that showed signs of the high water level, green signs that turned to slime. Docks stuck out from the coastline like a fine tooth comb, each held about 15 ‘small yachts’ I liked to call them. From this view, I only saw the smaller boats. The bigger boats were at the high class end of the docks.
Beyond the docks: a jetty cut across my view. A small but meaningful light was perched about the tip of that jetty like a lonesome maiden waiting for her sunken sailor to return home. I had watched him as he went.
I watched the little sailors swing left and right as they traversed the open ocean beyond the jetty. Like clockwork they’d know it was time to get back to harbour, awaiting darkness.
I had always dreamed of being a sailor. Of learning to know winds like the mighty albatross so high. I dreamed I’d look out, squint eyed and wearing my navy blue pea coat, knowing and listening. I’d always wonder at what I’d be wondering. I knew the weather would be on my mind like a fair maidens stockings dangling ’bout her ankles.
I dreamed you’d be that fair maiden, wavy blonde curls about the edges of your shoulder. I watched your smile as you listened and responded. I watched you nervously bend your ankle sideways and think of a plan, unconsciously grabbing at a curl. I watched your footsteps, perhaps as you watched me, playing with little things to distract your mind.
I waved goodbye, but you didn’t see. I wasn’t mad. It was the way of the sea. I had learned this much in my years, and was already in deep conversation with myself about the speed of ol’ number 3 breaking waves heading out into the horizon.
And I the wild wonderer
In peace’s embrace
Sharing splendid solitude
With sunset’s hues
Tickling my toes
With warm lapping water
Pants then be rolled up
To half mast thy knee
And off in the distance
Summer night noises ring out
Young men of mischief
Swamp frogs lament
Bat fluttering hither
Mosquitoes racing thither
And across the calm lake
In desperate moments of light
The last mooring boat
Settles in for the night
Campfire left smouldering
In the wake of many (hot)dogs
And I, toes now dripping
Make my way to slumbers edge
En isolato the clock ticks forward
Tick & tock it directs me onward
Pulling at societies: always awkward
Grasping hold of moments with lard
To fill the soul and clear the mind
Enjoying a well laid, plentiful dine
Did you reserve the right to dance
Alone along the south of France
I parked my boat and let it float
About the bay beyond the moat
Where mysteries remain
Amongst flowers and wild dames
I pull a cloak about my shoulders
Wrapped around my full mane
But can not moonlight keep me sane
When wild animals fight their bane
Surely I have myself some tame
Innocence that allows me to remain
And up and up and up we go
Falling down like flakes of snow
It’s letting go that pulls me up
Where rapid breath removes my glow