"blackbeard" poems
Feared on both land and high seas
Many a tale can be told
Of the pillaging of neighborhoods
Daily setting sail these pirates bold
Days spent digging for buried treasure
Leaving no stones unturned
The pirates ***** was out there somewhere
Blackbeard's gold is what they both yearned
After a day of living reckless
The warm waters would call their name
Where they would do battle in their sailing ships
Perfecting this pirate game
Both of them young brothers
Buccaneers through and through
Wise enough to listen to their mother
When she said get in the tub you two
Yes their high seas are warm bath waters
And their cutlass a mighty scrub brush
As legend would have it in their short years
They are pirates of the tub
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 6:57 AM UTC
Out on the path, I wait for her
my friend who’s just for me.
We play and sing and laugh a lot,
though no-one else can see.
You call her imaginary,
but she’s real and best of all,
she’s made a solemn promise
to be here when I call.
My mum says she’s not really there,
though the truth is mum don’t know
the fun me and my friend have had
or the places that we go.
We get lost in the forest
and fly up to the stars,
then sit upon the rooftops
throwing jelly beans at cars.
We’ve dug up buried treasure
and stared Blackbeard in the face.
And we’ve ridden Pegasus
to see the earth from space.
If you think I may be fibbing,
I’ll tell you it’s no lie -
to say we’ve seen most everything,
my secret friend and I.
But now the time is ticking,
she’s never usually late.
But here I am still waiting
sitting by the gate.
I feel the world revolving
as seasons come and go.
I never thought she wouldn’t come,
but perhaps I finally know.
That secret friends are mortal
and don’t last forever,
but I’m quite sure I won’t forget
the times we spent together.
I think I hear the clock indoors
chiming half past four.
The day has almost passed without her,
I’m not so little anymore.
But, just as I turn to go inside,
I hear the squeaking gate
“I’m so sorry,” my friend cries
“I didn’t mean to be this late”!
The world turns again to greet the moon
and my friend and I shall roam,
weaving in and out of dreams
making memories our own.
So, grown-ups if you’re finding,
modern life hard to survive,
wait a while, by the gate
you never know who may arrive.
Though you may not have seen them
for about a hundred years,
secret friends remain with us
and help allay our fears
that we all grow old and crinkly
and forget how to dance and laugh
just have a little patience
and pause there on the path.
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 7:09 PM UTC
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).
Sep 25, 2013
Sep 25, 2013 at 9:36 AM UTC
atheana is working on removing my teeth
you see i went to the dentist this morning
and there was a problem, i was having a stabbing pain
right in my gum and the dentist enlisted athena’s help
in the healing of the infection, he gave me cephalexin
to be taken every 12 hours, till finished and i have been
advised to see a doctor if i feel giddy, they took an x-ray on my teeth
and i need another denture, as the teeth have to be pulled out
when i say athena helps, not in the magical way, no i mean
athena gives dentists and doctors help in healing, and will put
the patient under sedation, so the work can be done, athena will help you
whether you believe it or not, my consulton for the dental work is next tuesday
at 3.30pm, and i enlisted dads help in the cosmos to make sure i will help mum
with the payment, like paying $40 a fortnight, so she isn’t out of pocket, because
i don’t really want to blame dads death on not having help with my dental work done
i hope i get these teeth out as soon as i can, the right way, with athena’s help
it’s interesting to know if the NDIS, could give funding for dental treatment among other things
the coke i have been drinking, has been cosmically putting the gas into my mouth, and gets rid
of evil from my brain, and this infection is apart of the evil, which was in my brain, you see when
i used to smile, i looked like i was giving the evil YEAH, like a few of my school friends
and that is when i was blackbeard the pirate, and i have to have the evil out of me from those days
i will need more dentures, i will help pay for it, with the help of the cosmos,
ATHENA, HELP ME
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 9:51 PM UTC
Slim Dusty sings I love being in the afterlife
I love being in the afterlife
I think it's rather grand
I see people who dead before I was born
Including my great great great gran
You see I went up to her and asked the question
Do you wanna beer, or don'tcha
And she just said to me
I have never heard of beer, oh I know I never have
But I will have one just to try one
And I was happy to give her a taste
I love being in the afterlife
I think it's rather grand
I see people who died before I was born
Like Edward Teach, who was Blackbeard
And I asked him if he'll like a beer or do you want me
To walk the plank, and guess what he said to me
You see, Slim, I would love to have a beer with you
I think we never had beer back then
But even if we did, I don't think it's as nice as this
Thank you Slim, if we had more people like you
When I was on earth, I wouldn't had to be so bad
I love being in the afterlife
I think it's rather grand
I see people who died before I was born
Like the great WG Grace
I asked him, mate you played our game
You deserve a beer
And WG Grace took one look at me
And after that he said, you see back then I loved playing cricket
And I had my fair share of beer
But since you joined the afterlife Slim
A Saturn lager is the best for me
And to my gran and Blackbeard and WG Grace
Thanks for welcoming me here in the afterlife
And I love floating from planet to planet
See ya later
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 12:13 AM UTC
halloween kids
I am a man who loves halloween yes i think it’s cool
you trick or treat through the streets, oh yeah
asking for lollies and bobbing for apples
yeah that sounds so rad to me
you see you sing songs like monster mash
and flying purple people eater and you eat people everywhere
and you hate when dr frankenstein says you are doomed sunshine
and then you played the jaws theme to scare away the dudes
party party party oh yeah, this will be pretty cool
you see hearing the sounds of the ghosts of halloween and
the big fierce dracula
and the monsters do their dash, yeah that sounds so cool
and each adult gives sweets to each kid, yeah mate ****** yeah
you see on the eve of halloween, dr micheals comes around
to say, you are a **** and a monster, yeah, you need a nice cold budweiser beer
then in the middle of the day your kids come in the bar
and show you all the candy they have found
yeah there was a lot
you see good old dracula said back to me
yeah, these kids are devious and cunning
and the great dr frankenstein said kids, we have to party with them
kids, you see we have tom and george and simon and Ben
kids we can’t have this holiday without them oh no we can’t
kids kids kids kids
kids, the party is on for young and old
you see these kids have heard every story ewer told
kids need more, but they don’t except it no
kids kids kids
kids are the reason why we celebrate this day
you see people dress up in consumes all over the USA
kids aren’t happy when the night ends oh no
they just keep the parents being tired and weary oh yeah oh no
kids the day is great for them
kids the adults are trying to break every record that is meant
kids need to explain to these blokes that they are uncool
kids kids kids
you see kids, i see the devil with his fork
kids i see blackbeard the pirate in the body of a dork
kids the wicked witch is the biggest problem child
kids kids kids
kids can the adults steel the kids candy
kids can the adults steal is while singing yankee doodle dandy
kids is it possible that the candy is theres oh yeah
kids kids kids
happy halloween dudes and dudelttes
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 1:08 AM UTC
it's late
and the first thing i hear is the clock's bell
ringing for each hour like a stab wound
smelling like salt and New York Harbor
as if i were a navyman like him
but silence washes over the room in a wave
and in its undertow the sands of my father are left behind
if my father was a poet he'd love all the white space
his room is a short poem, then--
an archipelago, each island
a monolith:
near the navy clock (born from saltwater and teenage dreams)
a dresser that could tell stories of wooden teeth and Blackbeard
then another, even heavier and dripping
with ancient handiwork--Marie Antoinette ate cake off it
a tv crowns it, almost aggressively
simple, burying history under Technicolor
a rug kneels in front of Marie & her crown
geometric paradise in brown and white
emptiness otherwise, just white walls (comfortably clinical)
and no extra space used (except for the bed--
large, a remnant of divorce)
and then, once again, i smell the sea
as the clock strikes something
or maybe something-thirty
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 5:09 PM UTC
.no problem about the Polacks, the Romanians or the Bulgarians... no problem... the Polacks will return to a Clint Eastwood mentality borrowed from Gran Torino... thank god the Polacks are leaving these lands... but... you can always have your Commonwealth rape-gang! so... thumbs up! both parties win!
well, just another turn of
the century dynamics,
what else is / isn't to be expect?
the european provides
the wind,
the african provides
the drums...
****
the asians provide the
underlying bass notes?
that's not going to work...
i can't seem to spot
more colors on the piano
other than black, and white...
biG problem...
slaves? what slaves?
the African saved the Europeans
from violins, cellos,
and entombed themselves
in brass...
horns, saxophones... you name it...
what slaves?
so... if the narrative of
the world history, makes its crucible...
on the focus of the first man,
originating in Africa...
personally? as the last man...
the last in the lineage of Shem
Abel and Cain...
if i am supposed to play
the role of the last man,
and the man...
that's also supposed to become extinct...
i'm not liking it...
i'll just drink my blackbeard shake
of *** & coke...
and...
this is the part where i add:
now scuttle along... like the good
vermin that you are;
just don't touch my fox pet
on the way out...
no one touches Rommel.
Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 7:21 PM UTC
The people need a villain.
Someone to hate, the loathe, to look up to.
A captain hook, a long john silver, a BlackBeard.
The people need a villain.
To justify their own strange existence.
Sitting at their cash registers, in their grocery stores,
wondering if they're doing the right things.
They see the news about the school shootings and feel better because
no one wants to shoot them.
An Eric Harris, A Dylan Klebold, A Jeffrey Weise
The people need a villain.
Someone to tell them stuff they don't believe.
To rally them, **** them, and **** them,
Cause they haven't the nerve to do it themselves.
A Bush, A Cheney, An Obama.
The people need a villain.
Someone to love, to idolize, to fear.
God forbid we take our own chances, and maybe come out a villain,
when all we ever looked for was truth.
A Thompson, A Bukowski, A Kerouac.
Sep 3, 2016
Sep 3, 2016 at 11:19 PM UTC
i don't know why,
in a litre, that's 250ml gone,
on the basis that, working from 40%,
i'm figuring, 40% - x = 37.5%,
add the half and then add the 2...
what do you get? 40%.
anyway...
these "hard" spirits
are perfect for mixers...
you get a perfect mix
of, say, *dark *** & pepsi,
to conjure up a sharpshooter known
as blackbeard; and that really is
a name for the most trivial cocktail.
and when i mean "hard", i do mean "hard".
ever drink habsburg absinthe?
that's nearing the 100% mark...
or what one might call:
the 10,000 indicator for: what wasn't
ran, but was drunk;
zeno's paradoxical centimetre or
inches or miles or kilometres come later,
or at least last...
but this is fascinating... % = double negation
given that kant said, 0 = negation...
it's like a denial divided by denial...
i know the symbol suggests more
omicron representation than a zee-ρ;
never mind... it's the perfect fraction...
like a golden ratio, % = the perfect fraction.
the thing is though...
i'm drinking this 37.5% dark ***
and thinking... if this **** was at 40%...
i'd be worrying about not mixing it
properly...
and this is a "hard" spirit after all...
it's not exactly habsburg absinthe,
or a plum extract that's know by the name
of śliwowica, common in the tatra mountains...
which, like habsburg absinthe, is
nearing the ten thousand mark;
but some strange reason 37.5% is the perfect
partner for a mixer... say... *** & pepsi...
whiskey & pepsi... ***** & pepsi...
at 40% you're thinking... posh whiskey,
drank lukewarm... like a brandy / cognac.
37.5% is a ******* mystery to me...
i actually can perfect the sharpshooter concept
with that balance... mingling 40% with a mixer
is... is... just ****** hard...
sharpshooter? excess of spirit and
a little bit of a mixer... a bit like... a shandy...
beer with a head of lemonade?
no? don't know it?
37.5%, and a litre of it?! and enough pepsi?
i call that a friday night... as a party soloist;
oh i did to the laundry wasted today,
almost anything done drunk is fun as ****
you get all autistic, making patterns out
of the clothes and where they should hang
on the washing-line...
red sock, blue sock... no... red sock red sock...
here! blue sock... tartan pattern blue sock...
no... ah! blue sock blue sock.... dangle here!
well... you know... people have their alternative hobbies.
May 5, 2017
May 5, 2017 at 6:13 PM UTC
today has been a stormy day except the sky is clear
it's my moral compass that's stormy
i feel twisted
i feel like one of those knot bracelets we used to wear
when summers were salt and wind and blackbeard and houses with names
except not as nostalgic
i feel tired, mostly
exhausted
the kind where you wonder how in the hell you're going to do it all again
tomorrow
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 8:54 PM UTC
Where's your pet Sparrow?
Did Edward Teach teach you?
Did you learn sailing from him?
Will you be a Blackbeard too?
Or would you rather not be?
Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 3:39 AM UTC
I didn’t know that I was lost,
But I knew when I was found.
Those heavy chains on my heart
I was no longer bound
The sun is suddenly brighter
The coffee I swear is sweeter
I’d still be in a fog
If I didn’t meet her.
I pinch myself daily
Thankful for the pleasure
I feel like Blackbeard
Finding a buried treasure.
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 4:58 PM UTC
Who do I blame for this feeling I have that I'm going insane?
it's the pain in my brain that was never the same when you went
and when you did,the love we once had is the love that is driving me mad,
it's all inside,
the man I once was just curled up and died,now there's just me,a neanderthal thinking he's climbed up a tree and seen life in the raw,fallen and sore he has climbed up once more and seen life again,
but the pain brings me back to an insanity attack and feeling sore is the door that is locked,I want more than the tree,I want more than I'm able to see,I have touched on God's lips when my sanity slips and transcended some barrier above,I want the love that I can't be and the taste that I don't see
and who do I blame for me not getting this?
****** off with insanity and even more with the profanity that goes hand in glove with this madness I love,
I chill and think about killing off time
but the time is now six and the medicines kick in
I begin to feel sane and the pain starts to begin its slow winding down
and when I look at the time it's a quarter of nine and she loves me again.
'The same every night',I hear the night porter say as his keys swing and jingle within the jangle of the corridor,when the patient who is next door, who swore to me he is Blackbeard which even I think is a little weird,said,
'Goodnight'
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 5:14 PM UTC
The schitzophrenic
You see I am sitting at the mall
I am having dillusions of people teasing me, and I wish this will all stop, oh please, just leave me the f..k alone
And then I hear voices that aren't really being said o hear Jon killed my best friend named Fred, the thing is I have no best friend, oh year
1 2 3 4 do the schitzophrenic
From the first diagnosis till the day you reach 45, you see if i take medication it can be controlled yeah oh yeah
I am schitzophrenic
Then I went to see my psychiatrist and he told me, to try and get a life, I told him I was blackbeard and John F Kennedy, he just threw a smart *** comment my way, I thought that comment was rude and ****** yes it is hard to be liked when you do
1 2 3 4 do the schitzophrenic
Yes it's easy to do, just let me hang out
You see with my medication it can be controlled, ooooh
I am schitzophrenic
You see I get paranoid when I see people around and right wing governments want us locked up
It mighty hard to have this illness and I cab say this
1 2 3 4 do the schitzophrenic
Do it once and you get all hooked and after that you feel like a geek, cause your a schitzophrenic, and also with medication it can be controlled
Oooooh I'm a schitzophrenic
Yes, that's true
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 6:18 AM UTC
I was there, I saw it, Beaufort, North Caroline
A hamlet of sorts, ocean hugged, just sublime,
There’s a house near the water, on its front a sign seared
“Beware all who enter. This was the home of Blackbeard.”
Born 1680, England’s Bristol, Teach or Tack by name,
Fictitious personas, it’s the pirate’s game.
He sailed for the Caribbean as a ****** of the time;
From home port of Jamaica, fighting Annie’s war before turning crime.
Two captains by his side, they plundered merchant ships,
Cargo seized, often vessels, on their pirating trips.
A man with a thick beard, braided black in pigtails;
The ominous harbinger; full wind in his sails.
No captives were harmed, yet many vessels met their graves;
His ferocious reputation could be viewed with some praise.
In 1718, now a commodore, at the height of power,
He blocked the port of Charles Town, no guard ships, no search tower.
For a week; nine vessels stripped, the Crowley’s plutocrats were held,
Passengers questioned, then locked below, then an exchange, unparalleled.
The lives of men for medication, and maybe some trinkets on the sly,
They set sail for home port, run aground, problems intensify.
Once home, Blackbeard was offered a Royal Pardon from the British court
And that’s why the seared sign is on a home in Beaufort.
May 1, 2018
May 1, 2018 at 11:59 AM UTC
*a sudden burst of skleroza, i.e. a sudden burst of short-lived amnesia, primarily because:*
so this night butterfly flies into my room,
the window's open,
the air is cool,
i'm sipping my blackbeard *** & ms. pepsi)
and i've lost my trail of thought...
i swear i wanted to listen to something...
what was the song?
so once the moth settles down on my wall...
i sneak up to it...
bam!
the night butterfly is caught...
now, try catching a butterfly with
your hand... almost impossible...
moths?
you can catch them with
your bear hands...
with a clenched hand, but
acting as a cave, you put your hand against
your ear... that moment where the illusion
of a sea in a sea-shell?
it's almost like holding a pigeon
flustered flapping its wings...
but try catching a butterfly with your
bare hands... impossible...
try asking a lepidopterists, like nabokov...
i guess there's no irony between him
running around with a fish-net on a stick
and having produced ******
nothing ironic about it...
moths you can catch with your bare hands...
butterflies? no chance in hell...
why? butterflies are more fragile...
in comparison? moths have a meaty
torso, and stronger wings;
so they're basically body-builders when
comapring them to butterflies...
and they can withstand the impact your
hand invokes, when catching one...
plus, i'm not that into allowing a pregnant
moth, secreting its tineola bisselliella into
my bed-sheets... which are cotton:
moth larvae... the kinder type of maggot;
moths are the nocturnal cousins of butterflies,
but are also somehow related to generic flies?
fascinating...
oh, the song? enigma's song voyageur?
wait... or was it beyond the invisible?
clearly it's not a song that's a floor-filler
in a night-club...
something to listen to, catching
moths, with your bare hands,
and then releasing them back into the night.
Jun 17, 2017
Jun 17, 2017 at 8:18 PM UTC