There isn’t much of golden rays, on cold and blustery winter days,

And one is never certain when, the sun will show his face again,

And when a blanket, soft and white, is laid across the ground at night,

Unbroken, save by little hints, of creatures leaving tiny prints,

It’s almost worth the bitter cold, and days that shorten by the hour, when you answer nature’s call to pour on her that *******,

And scribe upon the snowy sheet a warm and friendly “Hello”, that’s written in a single line of bright, unbroken yellow...

So, on the morning of his sixteenth birthday, Doby Greenhorn prepared to leave. He packed some provisions; a compass, a large box of matches, some rope, a leather bottle full of water, a little money, a sturdy walking stick and some other odds and ends his mother threw at him. And, as the poem goes…


“As I set out, in early morn, the whole world for to see,
These are the things my blessed mother, came and said to me.”

“Beware the fettered Giant, In the valley down below! Restrained by iron ringlets, near the well where lovers go…

Beware the flaxen Ferry, if you see him down the lane, he’ll offer you the world and more, but only bring you pain…

Be not dismayed by goblins if they’re out during the day, just teach them a new riddle and they’ll let you on your way.

A blackened cat upon the road will bring bad luck it’s said, unless you chase it down at once, and beat it till it’s dead!

But most important, is that song, which lures all men near… The sound like golden honey being spooned into your ear! A song which sparks that deepest longing, a sense of warmth and cheer!

The song of evil Sirens is the thing which most I fear…

So put thy hand across thy breast and make a solemn pledge, to never follow lilting tunes up to the waters edge!

And if you do, and see a maiden bathing in the sun, more beautiful then any queen that ever had been won! With eyes as green as sun bleached moss and face pleasant and fun, Who’s magic makes it quite impossible for you to run!

Then draw thy dagger from thy waist and place it to thy beating heart, and plunge that steel with all thy strength, to lay thy noble breast apart!

Far better be, to take thy life and keep thy soul embowered, then ever kiss those bitter lips and have thy flesh devoured!

For Sirens never eat the dead, and though thy blood runs ruby red, thy honor rests upon thy head, and follows thee to life after…”

”I made the pledge, and kissed her face, and off I went my path to chase! With dagger hanging from my waist… That dagger dangling at my waist… “

Oh sweet nectar of the morn, in simmering ***, thy bitter savor born,
From depths of slumber I am drawn, to bold aromas, dark and rich.

Pulled up, outside of sleeps embrace, not quickly, at a gentle pace,
And brought along till fully woken, with that single word so sweetly spoken…

““Coffee…”

Awake, but in that pleasant daze, that warm, relaxing, dream like phase,
When bed is softer than a cloud, the house so quiet, it’s almost loud.

Pause for effect…

And then a knock on oaken door, a    gentle rap, moments before,
The **** is turned, and with a whine, the door glides open, just in time!
For she has brought me coffee…

A sip is like a gentle kiss, the warmest, realist, sweetest bliss,
Spread through my soul, and lifts me higher, pulled up by some cosmic wire,
Far above the highest spire, past our stars tormented fire,
Far beyond basic desire, serounded by angelic quire, Strumming harp and plucking lyre!

Little excessive…

To all who have something to say…

Don’t talk to me! Don’t talk to me!
I’m busy, can’t you understand?
Just go away and let me be,
Some peace and quiet would be grand!

Leave me alone, I must have peace, you think this poem will write itself?
If that’s the case, then why is it not  printed, bound and on my shelf?

Leave me alone, for goodness sake! My genius is seldom enacted,
Though my mind is brilliant! It is easily distracted…

Stop that racket! With all that noise, it’s impossible to think!
For my mind is like a battleship, the slightest sound will sink!

I heard that! Do you think I’m dumb? I’m sitting just right over there!
I’m making some world changing art, doesn’t anybody care?!

Now all is still, at last there’s peace, so good of them to try it,
But I’m still stuck, I wonder why? It must be too **** Quiet‼

We wander, we wander,
By moonlight, I ponder,
Whilst sailing my ship towards that shimmering star!
How we who are pirates, so willingly wander, both hither and yonder, no matter how far…

Methinks to myself, “Not a bad life to lead, no longer a slave to the land like before…
The wind at my back, so utterly freed, to seek out adventures, on any fair shore!”

“Why do it?” Methinks, as I stand on the prou, the breeze on my face, lightly tossing my locks,
For any a man would be called crazy now, for braving the sharks, and starvation, and pox!

Is it the gold, that calls me to sea? Where hurricanes howl, and sturdy  sails rend!
Or is it the freedom that calls out to me, and gold is not more than a means to an end?

For me, ti’s the freedom, to do what I love, to sail by the light of the stars up above, And stand on my deck, under moonlight, to ponder, how we are those pirates who willingly wander…


My ship, a fine lady, a handsome thing too, a good set of guns with a competent crew, her holds full of treasures, and finest apperal, and row upon row of *** by the barrel!

So drink in the morning, and drink in the evening, and I would be lying if I didn’t say, We guzzle the *** from dusk until dawn, and me-thinks I’ll be sipping it all through the day!

Then we dance on the deck, for the music is playin, the chilly night breeze has our ship gently swayin,

And off once again, for we willingly wander, “But why?”  Says I, as by moonlight I ponder…

Wouldn’t we like to at some place belong? Would dropping our anchor for ever be wrong?

Perhaps there’s a place with a temperate climate, and someone to care for a salty old pirate?

But till that day comes, I shal willingly wander, and whilst I’m the captain, by moonlight I’ll ponder…

Sometimes it’s hard to end a day, of heavy work, for little pay, then go to sleep, not much to say, and dream of nothing, as I lay, but work, work, work…