I am not a sailor but I’ve come across the seas
Beat the bitter winter in a trembling schooner
Alive is wisdom of ten thousand hands
To put together pieces I’ve held – still remains
Each beating with a magnified flutter
And in each blossoming moment a child began to say:
I want to be your savior, I want to be your slave
Without knowing how the words echoed in the hands
Of ten thousand missionaries
Without knowing how deeply moving the words spoke
Upon the weathered conscience of the aging sailor played
Who cast with two heavy glances a shifting amicable feeling
That led the two together as the rip tide grows
Until at long last they stood erect, like the cenotaph they had created
With tears wetter than any gale
And the sermon echoes true.
Tag: sailor
One Lady (day 2217)
I was a sailor broken down
Two bags of silver from the crown
One Lady yonder missing me
And two days more I’d run from ground
But even with a bag of gold
I called out loud when setting sail
For o’r the breakers I was sure to see
A land I’d not know, adventure to me
And surely a maiden calling out to be
Another Lady missing me.
Seed (day 1862)
Could you hide away with turtles
And spend the day afloat
Sinking with the rising tide
Surfing with the wave.
Could you keep a lonely life
Deep amidst the sea
With octopi and jellyfish
Always there harassing thee.
And if the sailor dragging lines
Came along your closed up shell
Could you navigate away
From their expanding net?
And surely swimming free
You’d represent jubilee,
Swimming amidst the sea
Navigating by your seed.
One Armed Row (day 1684)
Night’s fog had rolled on in
Long voyage to harbour – land ho!
Land at last for this ragged show.
Three fog horns led our fearless captain –
A man too honest for sailor’s gin,
All the way to One Armed Row.
Choicest of ales, where great seamen go,
And also toiled our captain’s sin.
She smiled at all who crossed the hearth:
Fodder for jealous types stuck out in open sea;
Mirth for all at One Armed Row.
Our captain, pure soil of the earth,
Led his men, each as anxious as he
To find what seeds they each could sow.
Dreams in the Key of Darkness (day 1343)
Sometimes dreams don’t leave room for imagination;
Waking with a fright and deep recollection.
Hollering into night cools my lone wolf.
I’m a man of slip-slopping recollection,
I dine with strangers who share my wine.
We beg for answers when we’ve shown no mercy.
We all do.
It’s the cruelest of tortures that bless us rancid
Until our feverish states blow our sails full.
Darker seas then any wind-swept sailor would care to see.
Rupturing up my torn soul
I do continue to howl in my brief waking hours
For my window has closed and my feet become sore
And my alley of sinister has just become cold,
To await my march as darkness in greeting.
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.