The river is polluted
The skies are grey in falling night
The stars are hidden from our sight
Constellations convoluted

Bilge water and bile
Corrupted hearts so vile
Defile of a sacred form
This is not divine
Only desecration

The river is polluted
The seeds we plant do not survive
And even life is doomed to die
The trees are all uprooted

          We want the leaves
          We want the flowers
          We want the scent of the forest

The river is polluted
Our dismay is all man-made
Unwholesome branch that holds no shade
Our hope for shelter all eluted

Brackish is the water
Swim if you care to drown
We take giant gulps
Deluded with hope
And still we die of thirst

I caught a tremendous fish
and held him beside the boat
half out of water, with my hook
fast in a corner of his mouth.
He didn't fight.
He hadn't fought at all.
He hung a grunting weight,
battered and venerable
and homely.  Here and there
his brown skin hung in strips
like ancient wallpaper,
and its pattern of darker brown
was like wallpaper:
shapes like full-blown roses
stained and lost through age.
He was speckled with barnacles,
fine rosettes of lime,
and infested
with tiny white sea-lice,
and underneath two or three
rags of green **** hung down.
While his gills were breathing in
the terrible oxygen
--the frightening gills,
fresh and crisp with blood,
that can cut so badly--
I thought of the coarse white flesh
packed in like feathers,
the big bones and the little bones,
the dramatic reds and blacks
of his shiny entrails,
and the pink swim-bladder
like a big peony.
I looked into his eyes
which were far larger than mine
but shallower, and yellowed,
the irises backed and packed
with tarnished tinfoil
seen through the lenses
of old scratched isinglass.
They shifted a little, but not
to return my stare.
--It was more like the tipping
of an object toward the light.
I admired his sullen face,
the mechanism of his jaw,
and then I saw
that from his lower lip
--if you could call it a lip
grim, wet, and weaponlike,
hung five old pieces of fish-line,
or four and a wire leader
with the swivel still attached,
with all their five big hooks
grown firmly in his mouth.
A green line, frayed at the end
where he broke it, two heavier lines,
and a fine black thread
still crimped from the strain and snap
when it broke and he got away.
Like medals with their ribbons
frayed and wavering,
a five-haired beard of wisdom
trailing from his aching jaw.
I stared and stared
and victory filled up
the little rented boat,
from the pool of bilge
where oil had spread a rainbow
around the rusted engine
to the bailer rusted orange,
the sun-cracked thwarts,
the oarlocks on their strings,
the gunnels--until everything
was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow!
And I let the fish go.

Your lips hang,
pulled by the murk, the grime,
smothering your face.
Separated from your kind, your kin.
Have you haunted these putrid waters,
patient for your time?
Or do you plot, terrible dreams of revenge,
to take the light?

Here
Is a timely
Noun to consider
From the Merriam-Webster page.

"Trumpery."

Note (at bottom) the list of near-antonyms;
what is the opposite of trumpery?

[Popularity: Bottom 40% of words]

trumpery
noun trum·pery \ˈtrəm-p(ə-)rē\

Definition of trumpery

1
a : worthless nonsense b : trivial or useless articles : junk <a wagon loaded with household trumpery — Washington Irving>

2
archaic : ****** finery

Origin of trumpery

Middle English (Scots) trompery deceit, from Middle French, from tromper to deceive

First Known Use: 15th century

Examples of trumpery

<claims for weight-loss products that are based much more on Madison-Avenue trumpery than on bariatric science>

Related to trumpery

Synonyms
applesauce [slang], balderdash, baloney (also boloney), beans, bilge, blah (also blah-blah), blarney, blather, blatherskite, blither, bosh, bull [slang], bunk, bunkum (or *******), claptrap, codswallop [British], crapola [slang], crock, drivel, drool, fiddle, fiddle-faddle, fiddlesticks, flannel [British], flapdoodle, folderol (also falderal), folly, foolishness, fudge, garbage, guff, hogwash, hokeypokey, hokum, hoodoo, hooey, horsefeathers [slang], humbug, humbuggery, jazz, malarkey (also malarky), moonshine, muck, nerts [slang], nuts, piffle, poppycock, punk, rot, *******, senselessness, silliness, slush, stupidity, taradiddle (or tarradiddle), tommyrot, tosh, trash, nonsense, twaddle

Related Words
absurdity, asininity, fatuity, foolery, idiocy, imbecility, inaneness, inanity, insanity, kookiness, lunacy; absurdness, craziness, madness, senselessness, witlessness; hoity-toity, monkey business, monkeyshine(s), shenanigan(s), tomfoolery; gas, hot air, rigmarole (also rigamarole); double-talk, greek, hocus-pocus

Near Antonyms
levelheadedness, rationality, reasonability, reasonableness, sensibleness; common sense, horse sense, sense; discernment, judgment (or judgement), wisdom
By: Robinson Bolkum

Ben Sanders sat in his final days
By his cottage, up on the bluff,
He’d spent his life as a rover, and
He said, ‘I can’t get enough!
The sea, the sea, the lure of the sea,
It whispers at my front door,
And calls to me, here up on the bluff,
‘Come down, come down to the shore!’’

‘But I can’t go down and I won’t go down
For I daren’t go down, you see,
Not since I was caught in the maelstrom
When the seabed beckoned to me,
My mate had clung to the mast, while I
Had lashed myself to the rail,
And he went down to the stony ground
Along with the yards and sail.’

‘I hear the sound in my ears still
The roar of the whirling pool,
I’d cried, ‘Let go of the iron chest,
But he’d not let go, the fool.
It was filled with gold and pieces of eight,
Dubloons and precious stones,
It carried him down to an awful fate
Is spread, all over his bones.’

‘But I clung on ‘til the turn of the tide
I could almost touch the ground,
My head was spinning, deep in the pool
As the ship whirled round and round,
But then the tide began to subside
And I said goodbye to Bjork,
For then the ship rose up to the lip
And popped right up like a cork.’

‘We’d sailed forever the Spanish Main
The ship, Bjork and me,
And searched the atolls of rocks and sand
Of the Caribbean sea,
We found the treasure that Blackbeard hid
In a shaft, six fathoms deep,
Then Bjork had pined for Norwegian lands,
Said, ‘What we’ve got, we’ll keep!’

‘The further north that we sailed, the sea
Grew surly in its ride,
The waves crashed over the foredeck and
They tossed us, side to side,
The squalls came in and the rain came down
And we had to reef the sail,
The water rose in the bilge, until
I thought we’d have to bail.’

‘But then one night it was flat and calm
And the water lapped below,
I heard the voice of a siren then
That whispered, sweet and low:
‘Come down,’ she said, ‘you can rest your head
And give up your earthly seat,
But lie instead on a seaweed bed
With a mermaid at your feet.’’

‘I think of Bjork on the ocean bed
Though I don’t know where he lies,
His bones are covered with precious stones
With two dubloons for his eyes,
I’ve never been back to the sea since then
For I fear it, more and more,
As still it whispers on moonlit nights
‘Come down, come down to the shore!’’

Ben Sanders sat in his final days
By his cottage, facing the sea,
He seemed remote, but a final note
That he wrote was left for me.
‘My days of watching the sea are done,
I think that I’ve had enough!’
And then he strode as the tide arose
And walked, right over the bluff.

David Lewis Paget

(Inspired by E. A. Poe’s ‘A Descent into the Maelstrom).

Where my heart should be, there is an ache or a pain,
Yes that physical geography, I shrug with vague disdain,
I thought that had turned to stone oh so long ago.

My eyes well with tears, I feel emotions and I am glad,
But it is my fears, that want to stop the drumbeat so bad,
I had hoped for longer to get it right, or left, of centre.

Years became months and they turned to weeks, then days,
For excitement a walk amongst the freaks but the mundane won't go away,
Finally realizing I was the main attraction, the reason they showed up.

Busking my talent, to take risks, to make it rich, to feel alive,
What they threw was pennies, and insults, I barely survived,
But no one threw the one thing I needed most, something real.

An honest healthy heart, that beats a steady sound,
That is strong and fair and built to sincerely care, pound-pound,
Wires are getting crossed, on emotional waves I am tossed.

A short circuit in a bilge pump, thump sputter thump,
Water instead of blood finds a way through my rooted stump,
of a body full of remorse for the course my life has run.

There is no race for which I am fit, I plead no contest,
I would not pass any test, if I was allowed to write my best,
Down so low, found in the bottom of a heel print in the snow.

Yet, I have hope, I have a yearning to throw words down, and
with my voice lift their sounds to echo 'round, breathing air,
forcing sound to get my blood to break past clogs.

Yet, I will write, and live to write another day,
Whether it is by resuscitation, or heart-healthy habits stay
the course, spew the filth, to find a measure of peaceful treasure.

Writing in the moment.


©DWE022013

Acorn, maize and hawthorn
baby we were all born from light
beaten broken shattered
maybe we won't matter
if matter is all that we like
so its come to this
an abyss of crazy ****
****** out torn from fright
hazy from a kiss
crossed out promises
we got boxes of it
dreams of sailing the night

Linking the spotlight into the dark score
Rutting out the jagged envelopes that
Refuse to be opened, clinging onto their
Sticky tape with a passion;  Don't ask me for
Release, I'm shuttered up, swathes of emotive
Blankets worn out from their duty to keep me
Warm; to blot out the morning light from
Penetrating my skull.  Shame.....sorry self
Introduced to the firing line.  BANG....the snaked
Tongued 'Medusa' who entangles her mind
With vipers, serpents dishing out their forked
Shots of maggot infection, generating wormy
Warriors burrowing into the ruby red warmth
Chewing and bubbling neuron to neuron
Exploding at boiling point into a vast mix up
A collision on course, snapped in two, vibrating
With sheer panic, wrapped in destruction.......

Utter bilge.......built this bridge
So I'll knock it down..............
                                              ­    to start anew
And so I smile.......

The Journey

In our journey down the long road of life
we have weather some storms some trouble and strife
we have travelled down some sunlit plains
some awesome places to hard to explain

Then a fork in the road appeared in sight
you went to the left, I took the right
but the landscape was changing as we travelled our ways
from lush tranquil plains to a dark barren day

Our paths came together on the banks of a river
we stood there together and looked out at the vista
the splendour over there was somewhat a dream
the sun was shinning the earth was so peaceful and green
but the river was running deep and wide
how was it possible to get to the other side

Then magic occurred and a ferry appeared
a tall dark man at the helm with a long flowing beard
“To get us to the other side I asked what would be the fare”
“It is what you shall pay” came the answer so clear
“A deposit will be paid before you may board
the balance will come before we reach the other shore”

The dues I paid with pain emotion and fear
then I boarded the ferry and departure was near
the river was ruff with wind and tide
but calmness could be seen on the other side
as the ferry departed I looked back to see
you were standing on the bank, you were looking at me

So i’m crossing this river all on my lone
and so far in the journey I feel I have grown
I am feeling  and learning as much as I can
changing my ways to be a better man

When finally I reach the other shore
the splendour and peace I shall embrace and adore
but wait I shall with emotion love and bliss
for you to make the journey I pray you do not miss

I turn to look if you were there for me to see
my eyes can’t believe that you are waving at me
I turn to the ferryman “you must stop this vessel hence
we must return to the side we have just left
my girl has decided she will take this ride
so we can land together when we reach the other side”

We return to the shore you leap in my arms
the ferry departs I melt in your charms
“but her dues are in debt for she has not paid”
“what sum is required she has already made”

It might take some time for this voyage to complete
the learning thats to come in its self will be a feat
we don’t have to worry about the outcome
the ferryman’s been paid the job has been done

In our journey  to the other side
we  battle fierce wind and very strong tide
our ferry has taken water the pumps I have manned
the cables have strained beyond their command

At times our ferry seemed to have wings
flying along at the speed of the wind
that distant shore was truly in site
I was sure we would make it I was willing to fight

A storm now comes bigger than before
my hopes are now fading of reaching that far shore
the waves start to surge the cables do strain
hull planks are cracking and here comes the rain

The ferries cables are now parting its the end of the ride
when the ferry brakes free we’ll be at the mercy of tide
we will drift with the stream and land were we may
regardless of the site its were we will stay

But fight I will so we can survive
I will splice that cable and keep us alive
I will pump that bilge and mend broken wood
keep this ferry afloat like I promised I would

My heart is bleeding with the strain of the toil
you come to my aid with river in boil
you help with the splice and repairs to be done
the team is back we surely have won

The sun brakes through the waves do abate
the air starts to clear and not to late
we feel a bump and concerned Ive become
but its the shore we have reached the journey is done

We open our eyes to a vision so sweet
we step from the ferry pure sand at our feet
the landscape is lush filled with sweet peace and love
birds sing in harmony from trees high above

I turn to the ferryman “thank your my friend”
a smile returns and a shake of the head
“The journeys is over and you both saved my ship
let karma be with you and thanks for the tip”

GOOD HOUSEKEEPING

Not stated
( though it’s understood )

she will not say a word

like dust
swept under a rug.

Good
Housekeeping.

His anger
ripens

into the bruise
she wears upon her skin

a jewellery
of fear

written upon pale flesh
his hieroglyph of hatred.

Love’s lustre
tarnished from the first

the tattoo
of boot and fist.

Holds her hand
under the grill

until her eyes bulge
gulls screaming overhead.

The bilge
of his vile

vomiting insults
upon her scared face.

“****...****...****”
his screams in a rut

matching each word
to each rising fist

a blow by blow
account.

He the liturgist
in the nightly rites

of violence
uglier than can be imagined.

Lilies cower
in a vase.

He the high priest
of her despair.

An ugly bruise
upon her soul.

Her eyes now
null and void

slit wrists
upon polished table tops

in a room
now sunlit...now unlit.