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Coop Lee Jun 2014
to the young privateer.
the captain kidd & his bought n’ taut gang of holy bluffs.
they bribe and imbibe and swoon on the dock-way looking for a quest or two or three
to dream and bury their doubloons in island guts like little mysteries. little sundowns
over a rixdollar indian ocean.
let them take a turn.
destined to mutate from private to pirate, the kidd, like blackened rotten wood.
******* frigates.

the ship:
with her bob and sway. she is, the adventure.
& her song is calling out for a rapturous few,
for men ready to die on the highwater mark by glory or fire or dead glorious sun.
so they put her brass and bough to seafaring days,
the sweet galleon, barely wet, yet
completely riffed to voyage.
she is
from the shores of london. built. designed to kick 14 knots under a full sail blast.
& she will bite.

she’s in calm waters.
the kidd savvy toothed and butterscotched, he awaits the big show,
engorged to set forth the play like wily ocean dervish &
they do.
they do proceed with benefactors coined and crunched on postulations of pirate death &
pirate gold. reclaimed honor as they say. the hunt for pirate teeth.

& with official pass and parchment, high-throne approved,
king ***** III stamp & sealed,
this voyage is.
this voyage is and forever was, hereby charted, to recover said stolen goods.
to reclaim thy warrior vanity &/or vengeance.
to noble this **** with pinched loaf, like now.
set sail. now.
1696.

“**** them navy yachts at greenwich, the thames be ours, boys.”
slap *** and flick thumb toward those armada sons,
& as tribute
smoke balsam herbs on the starboard side for the mother she and the father be.
but for this slight,
this dishonorable silly ****,
one third of adventure’s men are pressed into service of the crown.

[continue.]

the adventuresome few, petty crew and crows.
steal the heart and mother-meat of a french ship. steal everything onboard.
steal the ship itself.
& on her way to new york, new boon, pure and entered into the new world.  
there are new men bought in the american port,
good men and odd men of long criminal legacy.
a small black vicious quartermaster. he’ll do.
a murderous preacher gripped by stars and celestial patterns. he speaks spanish. he’ll do.
another type of holy man and a wild drinker too, embattled by demons on the port side. sure.
plus the dock-boys destined to **** for fruits of exploration.
this is the way of the son of a gun.

the boatmen jockeyed. she is
the adventure
prancing the vertebrae of atlantic and beyond. cape of good hope, she
breathes easy out here on the wide tide and float.
out here on the vast blue this. she
evolves
out here. loves out here.

pirates.
the hunt for pirates or the lack thereof. she leaks.
she rasps into the years on. and on.
the kaleidoscope hallucinations of sun and moon, sun and moon, and moon and sun
forever.
the strait of bab-el-mandeb.
& there
she plunges into darkness, into the stars seen from and through a periscope formed
by ancient hominid lineage.
seen but untouched,
in dreams. the kidd, reluctantly lime, admits to his madness.
madagascar.

malaria and cholera and hell break the boat by the throat.
& thrash.
to be organic is to be ruled by a shadow, or entropy.
the mouth of a red sea.
one third of the men will die here.
simply as insects crushed and brushed off deck and into to her great spate of agua,
the mother gush.
her earth.
body.
father,
hear his whispers in the mirage.
the ancient mariner, the ancient holy ghost riming down there.

in destitution.
in a rough and soggy life squeezed and making men weird or violent or both be ******.
the kidd goes cold to hot sweating noxious.
turns pirate himself
out of sheer hunger.
out of sheer need to eat.
sets the boys like dogs upon a frigate of east india company men,
or french *****. either/or/or/either/or.
he & the boys are in a madness swirl of sun and heavy guts.
cuts to spill blood
or gold. this tender bit.
lip bit
& tested.

captain kidd fractures the skull of a deckhand named moore,
for bad attitude and giggles. moore gets death.
chisel on the deck.
& to think we are all troubled by some primal trauma.
some dumb thing called death, that is.
men starving, men dying, men falling in the vast black that is that eternal void.
dream of women and riches in the meantime.
fortunes.
1698.

savage kidd, cool kidd, cool spit
off the edge. to think of the once soulful idea of these paradise days
& trip.
savage to cool.
the two divine modes of a survived man.
a ghoul man, or aging man.
& to keep control of his crew kidd sets them upon the quedagh merchant;
a 400 ton armenian hulk chalk full of gold, silver, satins, and muslin. ‘tis *****.
renames her: the adventure prize.

madness quenched for now.
charmed for now
& on the horizon are fragrant times. blissful distance.
but robert culliford,
with his mocha frigate. this man, this suave pirate lord, his vengeance act.
he had stolen kidd’s ship years back, &
the captain opts to cut his throat.
take the mocha.
keep calm & carry on.
to paradise.
to dream of her cool warm beaches and fruit forever, peacefully thinking.
so that night they two drink together in good health, and in the morning
most of the men defect to this other man, this other ship, culliford.
other dream,
other captain of true buccaneer effect.
act 3:

13 remain in the galley firm.
this is the house adventure.
& she is burnt alive three days later for rot and ill repair.
but she was fun,
& a *****.
a stitch of old woodwork given-in
& crackling with the eyes of her crew seen in fire.

kidd steps the pond to caribbean times with the adventure prize, toad toxins
& high on the jungled shore.
he trades that colossus, flips her for a sloop and seven little chests of gold.
little bellies.
the island-gut doubloons to bury.
dream, remember?

but the men-of-war are after him now. the privateers & hunters & devil’s dogs.
the men he once was.
men of marked death.
& he is now some pirate, some forthright bandit
settled to **** or be killed.
some sad kid.

first: buries that treasure up the coast of america.
oak island rig.
cherry rocks of the maine bank and *****-trapped pit.
the hunted.
they catch him on an inlet ****, and sail back
to london to be tried for crimes against the crown.
the high court of admirality.
1701.

they hoist and gibbet his body with worn chains above the river.
not for piracy, but for ******.
the ****** of that strange deckhand moore and his giggle.
kidd’s bones
suspended there for three or more years at the mouth of the thames,
as warning
to the perverse travails of a criminal lifestyle on the highwater pond.
Zeeb Jul 2018
Tool of desperate confrontation
Object of pride for a grateful nation
In Baton Rouge on the mighty river
Kidd rests proudly
376' length overall,  Fletcher Class destroyer
Like every ship, of oil she does smell
When I boarded her, she had something to tell

I was with a scoutmaster, my son and the boys
Concerned with their fun, and the making of noise
But late in the night, as quiet set in
Kidd started whispering, to my within

She spoke of the men who gave up their lives
Their children, their girls, the tears of their wives
Thirty-eight men, in fiery fuel
Hell's agony touched, a death so cruel
Fifty-five more, burned badly that day
Defending our country, our homage we pay
Visiting sailors will stand at attention
… and for a young Kamikaze, scarcely a mention

The big war was over, Kidd passed her test
Now to San Diego, for a permanent rest
But as men will prescribe, it didn’t last long
Kidd went back into action, near Korea’s Kaesong

When in Baton Rouge, you can visit the Kidd
If you’re bold, listen carefully, just as I did
You'll get half of the story, the rest we don't know
The men who have fallen, to Kidd's mighty blow

Let's set a new tone and have us some fun
The Kidd's crew were pirates but they didn't run ***

Those flat-tops were fancy, their flyers elite
In the galley was ice-cream, their reward and their treat
When a pilot was downed, Kidd quickly steamed
Then radioed the skipper, "your man for  ice-cream"
Robert Graves  Oct 2010
Babylon
The child alone a poet is:
Spring and Fairyland are his.
Truth and Reason show but dim,
And all’s poetry with him.
Rhyme and music flow in plenty
For the lad of one-and-twenty,
But Spring for him is no more now
Than daisies to a munching cow;
Just a cheery pleasant season,
Daisy buds to live at ease on.
He’s forgotten how he smiled
And shrieked at snowdrops when a child,
Or wept one evening secretly
For April’s glorious misery.
Wisdom made him old and wary
Banishing the Lords of Faery.
Wisdom made a breach and battered
Babylon to bits: she scattered
To the hedges and ditches
All our nursery gnomes and witches.
Lob and Puck, poor frantic elves,
Drag their treasures from the shelves.
Jack the Giant-killer’s gone,
Mother Goose and Oberon,
Bluebeard and King Solomon.
Robin, and Red Riding Hood
Take together to the wood,
And Sir Galahad lies hid
In a cave with Captain Kidd.
None of all the magic hosts,
None remain but a few ghosts
Of timorous heart, to linger on
Weeping for lost Babylon.
555

Trust in the Unexpected—
By this—was William Kidd
Persuaded of the Buried Gold—
As One had testified—

Through this—the old Philosopher—
His Talismanic Stone
Discernéd—still withholden
To effort undivine—

’Twas this—allured Columbus—
When Genoa—withdrew
Before an Apparition
Baptized America—

The Same—afflicted Thomas—
When Deity assured
’Twas better—the perceiving not—
Provided it believed—
11

I never told the buried gold
Upon the hill—that lies—
I saw the sun—his plunder done
Crouch low to guard his prize.

He stood as near
As stood you here—
A pace had been between—
Did but a snake bisect the brake
My life had forfeit been.

That was a wondrous *****—
I hope ’twas honest gained.
Those were the fairest ingots
That ever kissed the *****!

Whether to keep the secret—
Whether to reveal—
Whether as I ponder
Kidd will sudden sail—

Could a shrewd advise me
We might e’en divide—
Should a shrewd betray me—
Atropos decide!
judy smith Feb 2017
It is the only platform for designers of men’s clothes on the continent that does not have to share the spotlight with the more traditional women’s fashion scene, organizers of the South Africa Menswear Week (SAMW) say.

In its 5th edition this year, SAMW showed African designers challenging the imagination of menswear style and standing up to be counted alongside some of the world’s top fashion creators.

Mzuksi Mbane – an accounting graduate with no formal design training, used his brand ‘Imprint’ to stay true to African influences, with a range of distinct prints on soft but structured pieces and inspired by style beyond the designer’s home base, South Africa.

“For me I always play around with the story of a traveler, so it’s not just a person focused in SA, it’s an African man from all over Africa because if you look at my collection that I did for Winter, it was focused a lot from Morocco so it was Africa from South Africa, it carried stories from Morocco and then I had pieces there that I took from Ghana, so there is always that mix because it is supposed to unify a, it is supposed to focus on roots that we share as Africans. So yes I take a lot from Africa as a whole,” said the designer.

“Imprint’s style is quite contemporary and the details, oh my gosh! It’s fantastic and the mixture of the colours, it’s not every day you see a designer that can combine such kind of basic colours together and come up with such details,” said Evans Johns, a guest at the show.

UK-born Nigerian designer, Tokyo James’ urban street-wear chic went beyond the African print staple for looks he said are meant to cater to the tastes of men anywhere in the world.

“I draw inspiration from Nigeria but I design for a global audience. I strongly believe Africa is part of the world so I tend not to like to just limit myself to just to the Africa aesthetic. Africa is part of the world so when I am designing I am designing for the man in general, so it could be a European man, it could be the Asian man, it could be the African man. I am designing for the man, basically just as long as you are a man you can wear Tokyo James,” he said.

Sponsored by carmaker Lexus, the event was held at The Palms in Woodstock, Cape Town – an airy space that organizers said was classy yet simple enough not to compete with the spirit of SAMW, which aims to take men’s fashion more seriously.

“There are hundreds of fashion weeks on the continent, the problem is they are mostly driven by entertainment or other effects. What we have done to separate ourselves from everybody else is to focus on the clothes. We have only the best designers that get curated and the whole process to curate, to get the best clothing on to our runway and that is why everyone comes here to look at this point where the clothes is, because if they wont to see what are the new trends, what is happening in African fashion, this is where they come to find it because we have got the best people on our platform on our ramp,” said Ryan Beswick, executive director of SAMW.

SAMW takes place twice a year and is modeled around the London Fashion Week Men’s.

It also provides opportunities for African designers to eventually show their work in London – one of the world’s top fashion capitals.

This year, some critics challenged African designers to take it to the next level and make a bigger mark on the global scene by setting a new standard of quality.

“We take the style as it is and we know how to interpret the African traditions and the style and you know… the ethnicity and what happens is that the rest of the world takes that style and adapts it and kind of, sometimes improves on it, so we need to learn to refine our own style ourselves and make it top notch that when the world sees it they are like wow! You know? And they stand back and they look and they think, there is nothing you can actually improve on,” said Boitumelo Pooe, from the South Africa Fashion Council.

South Africa has one of the continent’s most successful fashion industries and was worth more than 200 billion rand ($15 billion) at the end of 2014.

Other designers who took part in the event were Nao Serati, Nguni Shades Kidd Hunta and Craig Jacobs as well as Jenevieve Lyons and Kim Gush.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/black-formal-dresses
mark john junor Sep 2013
all the poster perfect girls like her
are out in the field chasing firefly's
old men from the town look on with awe
they pause in collecting
all the eyes upon them in mason jars
to resell on the boardwalk by the seaside
to the tourists so they will only glimpse what they
will want to sightsee

you tell them that you had borrowed
your buick and a rose colored jacket
from a ribald singer from the ancient city
and her beard confused you into believing
that her favors are something rare and fine
like bone china from from Florida south coast
but its just semi-naked co-ed selling cookies
under the guise of a better world
one donation at a time
she sings softly to you
please mister lean in a little closer and make
all the world a better place

all the world is watching or so it feels like
and your step is light and full of imagined stars and sparkles
as the couple in the next room violently kiss
they are into the world and to them
the world is into them
laugh as hard as you can
laugh till you cry
the world takes no notice
she sings softly to you
please mister lean in a little closer
and comfort thouse who need it

the night is full of people
out strolling and laughing under summer stars
and a penny whistle player keeps the tune going
while she sings a ballad she heard in the far west
and dont it seem like nights like this are so perfect that
you could wrap em up and send em out for Christmas

the poster perfect girls all fall asleep
in a soft warm pile benith the moon
and you unload your burdens and lay there too
in the beautiful company
as the penny whistle player turns to a stronger tune
that gives you dreams of the sea
of the time you spent nailing Captain Kidd to the floor
and now hes one of your best friends
this life is a dream
and while its not always what we'd want
it never gets dull
she sings softly to you
please mister lean in a little closer
and make the dream true

— The End —