"boatmen" poems
l'm like Venice,
every night ,
full of cheerful lanterns that boatmen carry.
l'm like Venice.
you're like the water that every midnight,
when all the boatmen are asleep,
is awake and talks to me.
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 3:18 AM UTC
Lily pads floating.
Darkness deep; moon veiled this night.
Boatmen dance, geese sleep.
Sep 3, 2010
Sep 3, 2010 at 1:05 AM UTC
On late the by-lanes one night,
unusual spot I green, a bottle
like any, but for words, may be,
on the label printed:
'Old wine. Hamlin. Best before: the future'
Scarred, the mouth, to fire
a rocket used, ringing in a day
when celebrating, a hero,
Goliaths thumped by a David new.
Hope, on the horizon, the word rising.
Threw it away, almost I, when
reversed comes, rolled up a parchment,
by ash burned, from the ******* a part:
a mix strange of clippings and retort.
Marked, astonished, the date, I: was it
from today, even of TV, a listings part;
'...mesmerized by the language of hope';
'Parks fill up as people gather to celebrate';
'Our democracy is alive and how'.
Of proportions messianic, news frothing
how new born, a leader is. Familiar all :
myself now, from one such, returning.
But curious, written, the words indeed:
*'Monuments wear and rivers thin,
as boatmen sing the evening song,
miracle-workers and peddlers of
honey and mead, pipers at the gates
of dawn, not men of mettle and deed'*
Of a piper, suddenly, as in a fantasy
a song, and heard I, helpless, wails
of mothers, a hundred .
Strained, to read, further my eye,
when tore up the piece;
Broke up green, a bottle on the street.
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 2:16 PM UTC
The wind that day
made hairy spray of the horses tails
and drove them along.
By night we were hungry.
On reaching the Inn
was offered a bed of swan's down to
pillow my wearisome day.
And slept like a baby.
While my brothers
went wenching I stayed close by the
Hostelry's turreted home.
Used to being alone.
Next morning I woke
to breakfast off salmon served fresh
in a bowl of old pewter.
Boatmen kept me amused.
From the casement
they looked like cushioned swans all
ready and pilgrim-waiting.
Tied up to their labour.
Ladies and maids ferried
to market left men squatting on boat
bottoms until their return .
All day I went wordless.
Night had fallen when
I heard noisy returns and asked for
the latest Armada news.
But it was refused.
I was so thankful
my lively un-born was not yet ready
to greet times of war.
I fastened my door.
Elizabeth's glory was
not yet to its end for she as our Queen
still ruled the year 1558.
I prayed for long reign.
Fatherless but not
unprotected my baby would savour
her grace.
I knew I was favoured.
The mother-of-storms
had passed when we set on our way
again to the Queen's Court.
Ladies in Waiting never falter.
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 10:12 AM UTC
I see an army of boatmen of bowmen of old men stretching way back into time,
on the Thames and the Rhine a long line of troops.
The Crimea's not here I shout in disgust but my words turn to dust
as I knew that they must.
Recouping some strength and at length, I go searching the files which file past me,for miles I am searching,a lost little urchin looking for Captain John Kyle.
And in some style he appears from somewhere in the rear and lends me his ear for a while,
I complain,
you're at it again and they're going to war,I don't understand,can you tell me what for?
'Orders',says he,'I know not or care why,I joined this army to do or to die'
Then the line carried on until the troops were all gone and somewhere on the Somme another rose smiled.
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 8:35 AM UTC
Howling fowls cease to be
while grey boatmen
chapped on ends
worry about where their women
back on land
choose to lay.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 5:27 PM UTC
Forever basking in eternal light?
If heaven exists, may I find it.
Not in any hurry.
A slow meander ,
Down the stream of life as it flows.
To figure out my direction.
Most extreme pleasure may be found.
One day eh!
Can be sensed in the joints of aching bones.
Of standing upright garden gnomes.
Standing guard over pond life.
Water boatmen skit the film.
They're making a movie.
Winter's subject maybe skating on ice.
Don't see them much in winter time.
Summer's theirs and also mine.
The night is creeping in.
Darkness catching up.
It's cold.
I am too.
The weather is changing.
Been all over the news.
Life on Earth is almost hell.
Throwing coins into a wishing well.
They don't come true.
Just leave me broke.
Fried eggs on toast, too skint for yolk.
Hell yes, I'm cold and tired.
Still writing, trying to joke.
Livvi
Oct 24, 2015
Oct 24, 2015 at 8:51 AM UTC
//||\\
my baby !
( my girl ! )
My love for you outshines the world !!!
:/:
Ambrosial dreams of silken flesh
Pulsating hips
And
Swollen lips
No reality exists
But
YOU
my muse and my mistress
••
For YOU
the tangled web of time
Returns to simple well drawn lines
Of breasted ******* in the mist
Where dragons war upon innocence
But YOU are there
( and YOU are mine ! )
••
The pain YOU cause is better than
Any joy felt by other man !
With their babes ! ( so commonplace ! )
While only I rest neath your gaze !
//
The emerald sea below cerulean sky !
Heroic boatmen sing of YOU
I place Mount Everest at your door
I ride MOBY **** from shore to shore
Just so YOU might be amused
//
God himself has stepped aside
For YOU ( my love )
Are a greater light !
::
YOU
( who has chosen me ! )
Because of my DIVINE modesty
//
So let the world around us die
In their abject misery
YOU alone choose who survives
IN THE NEW GARDEN
THE NEW ADAM AND EVE !
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 3:08 PM UTC
words came as i walked the lane with you,
watched the swallows. thinking i will write
them down back home. leaned on the bridge a while
boatmen dancing.
where have the years gone?
words lost.
radio news .
gaza.
sbm.
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 1:30 AM UTC
the evidence is here.
the water boatmen, long tailed
**** the state of the tide,
other misdemeanors.
i dreamed of japan, woke
assunder, messages
broke.
i made a bottle, then
the witnesses came.
it was quiet day in the studio.
sbm.
May 3, 2013
May 3, 2013 at 9:33 AM UTC
Up to Tennessee, back down to Florida,
The land of bright and free. Shoot through
Alabama. The land that's mine. The land
That's yours. Back to Mississippi, to see the
Bright billed birds. Down then to the ocean
South-new orleans. Where the captains are
The boatmen, and the sailors set you free. A pipe
Of tobacco, a sail down to go. Rolling dice to
Tijuana, down to mexico.
Feb 10, 2016
Feb 10, 2016 at 6:24 PM UTC
water boatmen
skim bright coloured reflections
as the sun sinks
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 12:04 AM UTC
Angry waves stirring up the seas
Ships as boats tossed such as these
The Sea Gods establishing their wrath
The boats have very little time to escape in a raft
The seas in all their fury
A boatmen’s watery grave as a bury
The darken moon only knew
The overcast skies in what would be a slew
A lonely lighthouse turning with every mount
The spotlight being signalized with every count
Boat maneuvering through raging waters
A circular affect being like quarters
The raging storm nothing more than a storm
It’s mainly a message in who controls being the norm.
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 2:51 AM UTC
There upon the foamy waters
boats rock with silent ease
all about reflects the sky
forget me not blue
stretches the miles.
Hushed I watch the majesty
of simple lives
Under the toil of the sun
boatmen sing their nets ashore
shimmering with life
as though the dawn itself were caught
within
a single bell, chimes skylark sweet
keeping time with the rhythm of all.
Calling home calloused hands
to pretty parlours
where rest and the devil take hold.
May 1, 2018
May 1, 2018 at 4:45 AM UTC
(In which good fellowship between Russians and Americans is probably not advanced)
Start the Evinrude – pull!
Grandpa’s Evinrude – pull!
Where is my sunblock? Where!
Over by the sodas – there!
Start the Evinrude – pull!
It won’t start, Dad – %^&*!
Where is my +*^% phone? Where!
There by your fishing hat - There!
Start the Evinrude – pull!
Grandpa’s Evinrude – pull!
Watch those tree stumps! Where?
&%#*ing tree stumps! *@#$!
Start the Evinrude – pull!
Grandpa’s Evinrude – pull!
Drift to that cove, now – there!
Cut the engine, now – shhhh!
Where are them fish, then - $#@%!
They ain’t here, Dad – *&^%!
Start the Evinrude – pull!
Grandpa’s Evinrude – &#%&!
*(Chorus fades as the sun sets over Tovarisch Bubba’s Bait, Beer, ‘n’ Borscht)
Feb 8, 2018
Feb 8, 2018 at 4:10 PM UTC