Captain Rackstraw ~
Log entry 04

To the grave shall I take these letters. The British navy must never find them, if they do all of the legends will crumble and be forgotten as ancient myths. You see the sea monsters are real, I’ve seen them with my own eyes. I have seen the power of the Steipereidur, a massive monster-whale like creature. The cowards that call themselves the “British Navy” would have you believe that it is a merciless beast that leaves no one left alive when it attacks. On the contrary it is the savior of us simple fishermen. The Steipereidur fights for us against other creatures that mean us harm, (this includes of course the British thieves.) That is the main reason the Navy wishes to have people hunt the gentle giant, they fear her.
~Close log

Walk with me if you dare,
keep up with me if you can.

Attributed to Sir Francis Drake.

Disturb us, Lord, when
We are too pleased with ourselves,
When our dreams have come true
Because we dreamed too little,
When we arrived safely
Because we sailed too close to the shore.

Disturb us, Lord, when
with the abundance of things we possess
We have lost our thirst
For the waters of life;
Having fallen in love with life,
We have ceased to dream of eternity
And in our efforts to build a new earth,
We have allowed our vision
Of the new Heaven to dim.

Disturb us, Lord, to dare more boldly,
To venture on wilder seas
Where storms will show Your mastery;
Where losing sight of land,
We shall find the stars.

We ask you to push back
The horizons of our hopes;
And to push back the future
In strength, courage, hope, and love.

This we ask in the name of our Captain,
Who is Jesus Christ.

he’s wrong
he’s done terrible things
any, that you can think of
he’s been behind the old rusted bars
exchanged bullets with a stranger
as if they were having
a casual exchange of words
then ran and ran
and then i asked
do you even know how to shoot a gun?

crystals and the night stars were his friends
seeing them blurred
with the tears that filled his nights
and dreams that filled his thoughts

do someone like you even dream? do you even have a dream
Yes, I did.
no sister, no brother, no mother, no father
hated seeing kids with mothers
kids with fathers
kids with sisters
kids with brothers

having fist fights for lunch
and breaking legs for dinner
like wish bones
and a broken promise of a father
but there was life, lightyears away
because the night stars and crystals
left him bare, naked and jaded

carried a little boy on his arms for the first time
and said
i have a dream, i want this little boy
to have a mother
to have a father
to have a sister and a brother

They call him Captain
because although his old girl
is a row boat
he goes where
he orders himself to go,
and tends to his love
with the same effort
and care
as a full crew of
the descendants
of gods.

They call him Crazy
because he uses the moon
instead of a compass,
and reads poetry
instead of treasure maps.
Though a hermit he is,
he scrapes together
enough money to travel
and dream.
Otherwise he knows
how to survive
on intense, amorous affairs
and treats his women
like queens
using only a quill
and their bodies
for paper.
But he sails alone as if
more loyal to his boat than
a man to his wife.

They call him Spirit
because he comes and he goes,
pulling the high tide with him.
He writes on beaches
where the moon is brightest,
under clear skies and never
after sunrise.
He shrinks with the waves
and is never seen again
by the same individual.

Most often they call him Myth
and on desolate nights
he tells himself
that those who don't know the sea
intimately
lack faith.
Then he paints portraits
of the old, exhausted faces
of the stars
and speaks epic poems
to crustaceans as he boils
them alive
(if he isn't human
then he's cruel just like one).


All who know him forget his name,
and he tells them to
as they wave goodbye
and the sea ***** him
back into her arms,
against her beating breast.
Yet his is not a lonely existence,
not another soul is necessary
to keep him rowing.
It is as satisfying
as it is solitary,

because he calls himself poet,
and a poem is all he needs.

Brooklyn
is LONGING for his warm presence
because this place is cold
without him—
the fallen SOLDIER
who was lost in a sight
of a snow angel
in a battle of FRIGHT CAR

faith
that we never loose
and a pinch
of a never ending hope
awaiting for his HOMECOMING
in a cold Brooklyn
that even with
the heat radiating from a FURNACE
the cold won't melt away

catching
a hold of the SOLDIER
in a mid-frozen way
and in count from ONE—
to NINE
he become a man of no BENIGN
tempted by control
triggered by words of fear
he comply himself as a SOLDIER
of cold blooded missions
and for that cause—
Soviet is harsh

darkness
on a DAYBREAK
was enough to fill harshness
inside parts of him
that are already RUSTED
as the result of
being more a machine
than a man himself

wishing
from the depth of his consciousness
that he could turn back time
to where he was SEVENTEEN
with a hold of a friend
and a smile that was genuine
not a killing
and a destruction machine
that he is now

i'm supposed to
be the captain of this ship
i should be controlling it,
but all it is doing is
slowly sinking and
out here there is no
escape or exit.