She’s Death (day 2529)

She’s got magic in her hands
And death between her lips
She sings every night a song
That makes me miss my ship
I don’t think I’ll ever send away
The blanket I had specially made
For every day as I sit here
I wish I’d found another lover
Who’d play to me sad sad songs
I could write down to remember
And out I’d go, apart from death
Reaching madly for sunlight.

Those Trees (day 2524)

What trees came out of here?
What harm has been done before
How could we have ever saved you
Ten thousand miles away?
Chainsaws and axes thrown
Into your hearts of gold
Good soil twisted off again
Broken away and shipped beyond
Pretending another way.

Darkness returns in your future’s growth
Overstory large and bark
Grabbing at a curious mind
Peaks and valleys roughening
Softening along the floor
Moss returns again.

Legion’s Strain (day 2338)

So at last our North Sea Queen
Had her legions taught and adept,
Lamenting heard from shore
Where the abandonned had gathered
Bow of the vessel was pointed – of course – due north
To icy depths the legion were bound.
Back and forth the North Sea Queen strolled
Eyeing her crew to weed out the weak
As if it were still needed
To strike fear into her warriors.
They had been trained and hardened
Against the coldest of stones
Heartless and dedicated and ruthless and cruel
And each one full willing to bend at request.
She dressed in pure blackness
A sign of her coldness
Around her neck was wrapped ten strands of silk
That had come from the deadly
In an act of submission,
Her boots were thigh high
Of dear Spanish leather
Stained by the hands of those who’d defied her,
Her coat long and dark that swept to the floor
Beneath she wore – dramatically expected –
A gown of black lace.
So it was the ship creaked and groaned
Under the weight of a legion’s strain
Bound by blood to following orders
With the North Sea blowing with fury
Home again, home again, row row row.

North Sea Queen VIII by Doreen Broers
North Sea Queen VIII by Doreen Broers (ig)

No More Trees, Money’s For Me (day 2064)

It’s ok that we cut down these trees for warmth
Let’s not get upset about our mountain
Turned crater, shipped to the moon,
Our water is a good memory, a clean memory
A clean memory for my dry lips
Afraid of this purple water
Maybe my dinosaur bones will take me home
To a land full of ten year old trees
Where water flushes the land clean
No more dirty top soil: eroded,
Home where the magical golden clouds
Hover just above the skyline, stinking
And water is just slightly brown
Mycelia? No, my bill fold needs more dinosaur bones
To sink into these fresh water lakes
Chopsticks, chopsticks, chopsticks trees
Get these poles off to the mill
Down that road of rubber and oil
More dinosaur bones and I’m ready to kill
Floating at 70 miles an hour
In plastic rocket ships, towing plastic bricks
And you there, strange looking person
How many toes do you have? You’re not one of us
Your skin is funny and your smell’s different
Let me see your papers that say many things
I don’t believe you can grow your beans here
See, my dead trees and stretched metal rings
Say: ‘NO TRESPASSING’
Get out, leave us alone
You’re filling us with lies
Unless you’ve got tits, beers, football, and guns
Money’s for me, and less of you.

Captain Black Gun (day 1371)

Never alone he traveled the Seven seas
In sound and perfect harmony
Like wisdom is a memory
Clear blue days were sanctimony.

For our strong Captain whose sea was his own,
We fought together – bonded right strong,
Aligned was his order at once to every cause,
Slave to the Master, Master of us all.

Lost in distances were clear mountain peaks
Of a land no longer home that we’d set off from,
Wives and lovers we’d taken on who
Intently listened for our great song carrying on.

With strength of a thousand men strong
Our ship broke mooring, the voyage was on.
All hands on deck looked forward, ho!
Minds focused intently on journey begun.

Land became imagination that coo’d our souls
Quietly to sleep, rocking to and fro.
To every morning, as we woke to clear day,
Cheap sailors rations to make us row.

Night to day and dark to dawn,
Feign attempts at moving on.
A sailors dream but lasts two days,
Quickly blown and torn away.

It’s here where brotherhood arises,
Amidst thick fog and setting horizons;
A common quest, through all disguises,
Men! Heave-ho! Booty and prizes!

Aye! To think the lot a mere bunch of sailors?
Ruddy men dancing with nightly fancies!
Whence stopped at port, may the best man win!
Captain Black Gun and his notorious escort.

Tis’ not all easy for the roughest of men
Amidst all deceit lives honesty then,
A Pirate’s code delivered in blood
Rests all accused deep below their judgment plank.

And as time comes for setting on,
Morning awaits, mooring long gone,
For silently creaking we steal away
Locked in our treaty of the great Pirate code.

Off again then, land locked lovers lament,
Open sea and sweet smelling air.
All becomes lost, save the fresh smell
Of a clear sunny day and wind in our hair.

So whenever you hear tell of a sailor’s ship
Sailing through the Seven seas at a magnificent clip,
Think to yourself of Captain Black Gun
And the legend that carries the Pirate code strong.

 

Georgia-Straight-Ned-Tobin

A Fair Maidens Sailor (day 1083)

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.

General Beefy the Lionheart of the Red-Yellow Jackets (day 674)

You see my sons, my father, and his fathers before all bore the mark of the clan. It sits upon the backs of our ears like the proud lot we are. Our roar is most feared in the seven kingdoms around, and the ones beyond that do fear us as well.

I heard the legend when I was quite young, just about your age now that I think about it. I had three brothers, and two sisters at that time. I had lost my eldest brother the summer before as he tried to break free from the clan and get his own pack, but he lost that battle as much as it hurt my father to do.

This is what I shall tell you today, the legend of how we, Clan of the Red-Yellow Jackets came to be.

My seventh great grandfather before me, so all your ninth, named Sir Wilfred Carding Henry of the Red-Yellow Jackets came to this land on a great ship sailing for the land of the Yellow Jackets. They were a proud bunch, the Yellow Jackets were, but never did like us Red-Yellow lot, even though we had fought with them in the six great battles before that.

The ship was wrecked, upon the land we now call our own, in a storm that still has those who have heard tales of it shiver with the thought. This land of big suns and tall grass, this land of high peaks and never snow, this land of wild animals and big elephants and long necked giraffes and leopards and cheetahs and.. well, you get my point.

You see, when the land guardians of the lighthouse parole found my seventh great grandfather Sir Wilfred Carding Henry of the Red-Yellow Jackets washed up on that shore, the only other survivor of the nighty-nine members on board that great ship was Lady Freckle Heaven, Sir Wilfred Carding Henry’s third cousin, twice removed. The two of them, the only survivors, their red-yellow jackets all damp and cold from the seven days and seven nights spent floating in the darkest sea you could ever imagine, the two of them knew that the future of their people rested solely with them.

The two of them bore what was to become the starting of one of the greatest dynasties ever seen since the seven brothers and seven sisters of the Lord of the Jackets, a dynasty that was started in a time long before Sir Wilfred Carding Henry of the Red-Yellow Jackets was born that lasted for two houndred and seventy six years, and long before your ninth great grandfather and grandmother before embarked on a journey that would change their lives and the future of this land forever.

This is how all of you little Red-Yellow Jackets are here today, this is how you have come to be, and this is why today you will all remember for the rest of your lives, as you repeat this story to your own grandchildren when the time comes for them to receive the mark of the Red-Yellow Jackets, a mark that has been carried down for nine generations, three houndred and fifty one years and counting. Now tell me children, who will be bravest of all and get the first mark upon their ear?

aLion

General Beefy can be purchased here.

No Girls (day 99)

The kids play lazily as the captain he takes aim
The daughter of the third mate, she takes upon his love

The game it begins
And two men grin

The daughter she’ll only take one

Long lasting memories of two voyages previously
Makes the captain and his men

~

Good plans
But a lady on board

To all of their horror
Will prove this ships demise

In the daughters disguise

In all of our eyes
Take heed in the rule of no girls