He was a seafaring man

Set sail on a morn when

the sea         was

its wettest,

‘her’ locket he wore ’round

his               neck,

the shore wears 

the tide.

 

Strong headwinds kept the

tall               ship

along the coast,

in her bow,

a

fragment of wood from

a shipwreck.

 

Clouds, a storm from nowhere,

grabbed the  keel

grabbed her

sails with

barnacled     hands.

 

The sea gave him and his

ship a           frothy

look as mad dogs in

a cobblestone

alley,

put them on a thin line

before

pronouncing sentence.

 

Brusk, bitter and insulting

waves           washed

over her deck and

crew…

were kept mortal prisoners,

in rusted       chains

of the sea life.

 

Shadows lay before her skeletal

remains,       much

as open windows on

the sand,

closed by his sole

survivor         fingers

to silence

the screams.

 

The ship tilted, creaked, a tomb

for the          dead

on a barren beach,

its bell struck eight times,

over and       over

by the wind pulling

on the rope.

 

The sailors roots to the sea pulled

out               where

fallen tress lie in

shipyards…

he walks along the shore with a

fragment of    wood,

a mutinous cane,

looking for a

new ship.

 

Copyright © 05/20/2014 Ð Ṝ Ƣ Ñeedle & Ŧhread®

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replica

she smiled,
 
her face had
the texture
the shape
the color.
 
cradled my love in her breath,
in the palms
of her 
hands.
 
she was distinctly alive
 
had honey colored skin
auburn hair
 
instantly evoked my
feelings
 
spoke two languages,
english
 
and something else.
 
echoed all that i gave
had a humbling
 
resemblance
 
to who i was,
 
wrote about her beauty on
poetic paper
 
i could taste her aroma,
her love liquid
 
looking at her, she was the
mountains,
 
the blue morning dawn.
 
she was a heroine to my wants,
my needs
 
spent many hours in the bedchamber
under satin sheets,
 
heat of her body through the thread,
through the fabric.
 
then, one day, watched her casket
lowered into the earth
 
trees swayed under a cold,
winter wind
 
leaves moved to other
small towns
 
but, she stayed with me
 
her replica
her soul
her life.
 
 
Copyright © 05/15/2013  Ðark Ṝoasted Ƣoetry®
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storm upon the dunes

the storm wings across 

the dunes

 

thunder is its’ voice to 

be dreaded

 

the wind braces up–then finds 

itself accelerating

 

opens the gaits–galloping ghosts of lightning in 

the offing

 

behaves with un-gratuitous folly as it bests the 

ocean’s roar

 

the rain rides the wind–the skies 

are riven

 

and bursts as a wave from the clouds

that impend

 

then climbs down on stormy ladders–one rung at 

a time

 

the tempest’s onslaught charges the 

stormy skies

 

lightning strikes the highest points as the thunder claps 

for more

 

the wind delegates the ocean waves to lash the 

affrighted shore

 

as swift as a darkened shadow, as long as a 

dreadful dream–

 

the rain begins to carve its’ name with 

slanting lines

 

its’ signature most illegible, but 

most assured

 

ever expanding, the storm enlarges its’ field 

of view

 

and sets its’ sight upon 

the dunes

 

where grains of sand one by one are 

quickly deluged

 

its’ spirits bruised by the storm’s 

fierce intensity

 

and footprints are washed away like the remains of 

the day

 

as are the echoes of 

conquering children

 

their fate is the common fate of all, into each life some rain 

must fall

 

just as the sand-dunes, heaped one 

upon another

 

hide each the first, so in life are 

the former

 

deeds are quickly hidden by those that 

follow after

 

but still dreaming like the 

sand-dunes

 

taking shape–not fearing the hand 

of fate

 

not hearing lonely winds 

great wail

 

that grasps the sand-

dune’s grass–

 

fastening itself–seeking to rout its’ 

very spirit

 

but soon tires and 

is spurned–

 

making it as momentary as 

a sound

 

for the wind itself has blown away 

the storm

 

and a bright new day 

always follows

 

so quick bright good things come 

to warm.

 

Copyright © 05/13/2103 Ðark Ṝoasted Ƣoetry®

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sing the electric flame

it seeks the current charge like ghosts
seek a house wire thought
 
it seeks the storm, seeks no time watch,
slides down on clouded ladders
 
shifts air wind movement like white
shirted workers shift 
 
delinquent paper stacks;
 
the sky opens
the sky braces
 
itself against imaginary boundaries
 
roll of the weather dice,
 
electric flame light with black clouds in the
offing
 
just like looking in a rear view in a 
tunnel dark;
 
portal night riot of colors
prisons landscapes,
 
incarcerates swaying trees,
shackles those afraid;
 
loud clapping of thunder
crack of bright lightning
 
spreads its fingers apart
grabs emotions, they fold
 
up like cheap card tables,
 
tastes fear, knows its safe in its mouth,
 
the rain weeps, walks down on 
clouded steps
 
in anguish, smites gardens,
smites dry, abandoned
 
streets,
 
homeless man freezing on a park bench,
 
a poet in isolation, climbed up
attic steps
 
dented pots catch water here and there
 
he writes, ‘sing the electric flame…’
 
 
Copyright © 04/30/2013 Ðark Ṝoasted Ƣoetry®
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whaler’s lament

the sun has set upon my watery grave,
a blue sea and its waves know me
and i have parted
 
indications are strong that i will never return,
there is a whisper in the sea wind 
of promises unspoken;
 
the sea heaved-up, hung loaded o’er our 
whaling ship New Bedford,
 
the waves broke there and buried me with 
its tumultuous strength
 
for a debt was owed to those who went 
before me, i was willing to lay down 
 
all my joys in this life, 
 
just under the surface, i will now be an 
orphan living in silence;
 
i can no longer see the distant light, nor hear 
our children’s laughter all surrounding,
 
it shattered the silence that was so heavy to bear
for it lifted my soul into the night
 
and filled my heart with undying love abounding;
 
memories of those blissful moments come creeping 
o’er me like the sea
 
and i am most gratified to God and to you my 
dear Maggie that i was able to 
enjoy them, 
 
even for a fleeting moment, my love for you and 
our children is deathless;
 
yet my love of whaling creeps o’er me like vapors 
from a squall
 
that pushed and pulled me irresistibly on, 
like rusted chains to the sea-life,
 
held strongly together at first, now separated 
as it cast me adrift,
 
you my dear, are my mourning widow, whaling my adulteress;
 
i now have misgivings about the cause to which 
i was engaged
 
Maggie, forgive my faults and the pains that i now 
cause you, how thoughtless and foolish 
i had oft times been
 
and now divine providence has whispered to me 
a wafted prayer, 
 
i return to you and our children all my love unharmed;
 
if the dead can come back to earth and flit unseen 
on the happiest of days and the darkest,
 
always i will blow a soft gentle breeze upon 
your cheeks, memories, as you sit in 
 
widows’ weeds, with naked feet over my empty coffin;
 
’tis time for the icy waters to abate, for your 
mourning to cease, i no longer face 
a sea of darkness,
 
for you have brought me peace, Maggie, 
never forget how much i love you.
 
 
Copyright © 04/22/2013 Ðark Ṝoasted Ƣoetry®
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