"cargoes" poems
An inland blockade from Israel cut off life
giving supplies to the Palastians in Gaza.
This happened around 2010.
Formulated was the "GAZA FREEDOM FLOATILLA".
Their strategy was to dock in Gaza-away from land-and deliver much needed life saving supplies.
However, the flotilla was seized- on the sea -by the Israeli
Navy consisting of one hundred and fifty sailors.
Around ten people from one of the flotilla ships
were killed and brutality reigned supreme. ( a Turkish ship fought back )
Incarcerations from the floatilla to Israel's jails took place.
And so I dedicate this writing to these wonderful people of
conscience and their brave hearts upon the sea...
Days of siege
Days of conscience
Days of hope
Sailing to their destination
Days remembered
Day's compassion
Days remembered these needed cargoes held
Engines turning on paths of caution;
love is carried on sailing symbols
Each ship and boat will shout her name
Will shout in spirit dear Rachel Corrie,dear Rachel Corrie
Will shout in spirit dear Rachel Corrie
Brave hearts you suffered so upon the sea
Brave hearts you fought for truth, hope and dignity
Brave hearts on floating love
Brave hearts you are that peaceful powerful dove
Brave hearts you are our guiding light
Brave hearts you pierced that darkened blackened night
Brave Hearts upon the sea...
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 1:34 AM UTC
580
I gave myself to Him—
And took Himself, for Pay,
The solemn contract of a Life
Was ratified, this way—
The Wealth might disappoint—
Myself a poorer prove
Than this great Purchaser suspect,
The Daily Own—of Love
Depreciate the Vision—
But till the Merchant buy—
Still Fable—in the Isles of Spice—
The subtle Cargoes—lie—
At least—’tis Mutual—Risk—
Some—found it—Mutual Gain—
Sweet Debt of Life—Each Night to owe—
Insolvent—every Noon—
3.2k
I love watching swallows
Gyrating and playfully swirls;
Mingle above over the river
Forming in a malee a ball.
Swiftly riding the thermals
Scooping the swelling water.
They shriek wheeling freely
Like boisterous little girls.
I came to see the lively acrobatics
In graceful motion of symmetry.
See enormous body of water flow
Pour itself into it's wide open mouth.
Slowly eroding shaping contours
And lives living along it's banks.
Constantly foreboding danger
And yet beauty and the mighty
Together in harmonious chemistry.
There I was many hours
In thought. What do I ever get?
At the jetty by the imperious
River where until dark I will be.
Time spent the opportunities
Passing by I have no regrets.
I'm like a ship from harbour
To harbour of a predestined life
With cargoes of worthless experience
Till I rot at the bottom of the sea.
Laboriously river meander and flow
Agile wings twist and turn in the air
With invisible brush of arcs and lines
With a vast sky as an open canvas.
The two characters, elements
Of nature, demonstrate their part;
In the theater of strength and grace.
While I am but a nameless intruder
Grateful of the kindness forever last.
Jun 25, 2018
Jun 25, 2018 at 11:02 PM UTC
If yesterday was an old man,
He would be old by now.
His hair and lashes would
Be full of shining grey hair
And walking with a Kane.
He would probably be frail
And proudly speaking of the
Good old days marred with
Conquests and exploits from
From his youthful adventures.
The intricate details of his flamboyant
Years and youthful antics and shenanigans would bring sparkles
To his old wrinkled face.
There would be tears in his eyes
When lamenting on love and sorrows...
Squinting his eyes and fumbling to
Find faded photographs hidden away
In ancient boxes from dusty shelves.
If yesterday was an old man,
He would speak between bad dentures
With shaky voice of an aging legend.
He would go on and on with tales
Of all the places he has been and
Calling the old names of cities and
People long gone but alive in his
Now on and off and fading memories.
He would talk about voyages taken aboard old vessels packed with ancient
Cargoes and Slaves and whale oil barrels.
He would recount stories of monsters
At sea and great beasts that once roamed the earth when it was young
And green and void of pollution.
About places and people and various
Cultures ,would be captivating stories
That young people would only imagine and listen in absolute awe, almost to a point of envy for his rich stories of a good life once lived in the past.
If yesterday was an old man, he would have a repetoire of ancient skills and knowledge that no one has today.He would talk about locomotives and steamships captained by bearded old sailors with horse drawn couches driven by hardened cowboys and couch men.
If yesterday was an old man, he would talk about world war one and two like it was just yesterday.
If yesterday was an old man, he would know more of yesterday than today.
#IvanBrooksPoetry ©️
4.16.2019
Apr 17, 2019
Apr 17, 2019 at 4:24 PM UTC
HEARTBEAT OF DELTA STATE
The rain has fallen again,
The streets are isolated,
Everyone is filled with sadness.
Houses and shops have been abandoned,
Villages and towns have been inundated.
Bags and cargoes floats unsteadily,
Cars and buses are deeply buried
deep into the water in a hazy manner.
People, animals, all are transported
by little wooden vessels.
With no idea of when
to take over their properties,
With no idea of where else to go.
The cities, their streets,
houses and cars have being flooded,
Properties, expensive
and extra expensive have been left over.
East Delta had been covered
by the unmerciful ocean.
Precious lives were gone
and more were at stake.
Families and close friends- divided.
Farms with large crops- destroyed.
Hunger and thirsty, hugs my people with sadness,
begging for aid.
Sickness and diseases fill people
with sympathizing outcome.
A land of peace is now a land of disaster,
A land of Labor is now a land of turmoil.
May peace always reign,
May ignorance be neglected,
For the dying heartbeat of Delta.
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 3:43 PM UTC
You should practise joy more often,
it becomes you
and the radiance in your eyes
when you receive what others take for granted
is, for me, the greatest gift
and the deepest sorrow.
For you should not have to live on the crumbs
and these small kindnesses are your due,
what you deserve
not what you should have to crave.
I cannot understand how one so giving of her love
has received so little in return.
So, like a beautiful antique bureau that has been moved
too many times by careless owners,
your burnished mahogany heart
has been chipped and scarred and
my cargoes of love often find anchor in
a harbour of doubt.
My words may fall short of your hesitant ear but
perhaps your mouth believes my kisses,
your body believes my arms
and in my eyes can you see how your joy
begets my joy?
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 11:51 PM UTC
*when I turned eighteen
sadness filled my cups,
for carefree was now gone,
laying side by side
with all my companion figurines,
off to rest in a boy's toy chest
in a backyard cemetery hid,
certainty assured
all that I was, so far,
all that I will be,
uncalming coming forevermore,
unwilling borne upon
the newly time redesigned,
heavy load shoulders of adult responsibility
when I turned thirty,
sadder now by the means and meaning of accumulation,
having thrice now measured the length of a stick of life,
denominated as a decade,
wiser now that the children underfoot,
certainty assured,
would have to pay
bills of lading for cargoes,
not of their own choosing,
indeed, selected unwisely,
by men like me, and men before,
all too old or too gone,
to be prosecuted now for the
short sightedness of reckless timidity
when I turned fifty,
the shoulders slightly stooped and gently curved,
my gait and pace slowed by weight,
pockets laden with undesired memories,
unfinished arguments,
dreams that morphed and morted into
failed schemes that with the
certainty assured,
the tallied ache of known losses
will always weigh greater
than the
unknown of opportune
now with seventy,
so near, onrushing to the sounds
of old men and their noisy excuses
of babbling, ironical,
eerie similar to the parental smiling hushing
of a newborn's squeaking,
a youthful brook,
happily to an open sea arushing,
hurrying in the fullness of innocence to
it's demise
the line of sight to the horizon,
far shorter now than ere before,
with greater certainty assured,
that near my god than thee,
my sadness daren't hope to dissipate, nor lift
as once it did,
an early morn mist rising off the river,
freshly sun burnished, then miracle banished,
sacrificing itself as a hopeful oracle of a new born day
recurring haunted words
like rest, best and tried,
the only legacy remaining to gift,
but one thing yet measures a comforts,
a red cross blanket round the shoulders thrown that with
certainty assured,
the marvy joy of life all in,
be our given right to err and learn wisdom at our own pace
so here I freely confess
with wry, sly smile that we
proved ourselves to be
victims of our unintended tendencies,
successful in being*
all too human
Jan 11, 2017
Jan 11, 2017 at 7:35 PM UTC
* * *
Cargoes of thoughts - yell.
A siren, like a storm, - wails.
Desiring you.
(c)kRu, 08.10.2008
Jan 30, 2010
Jan 30, 2010 at 1:13 AM UTC
It still takes me awhilst to Sense your Name
With such Plus-Speeches curry to a Song
Yet ask if I - stopper the Current - same,
I wonder how many Words will last for long
Or Syllables, in your own Hands depend
With Numbered Cycles ask Keys for those Locks
Perhaps we Run - and Combination amend
Or affix those Cargoes left at the Docks
Demand it so, or leave a Martyr's Plaque
Which at Risk shed the Janner's Blood portend
Else dull the Banker; Then add his Funds lack
To decode his Wealth so long been Content.
Merry-be-Jolly, which Virtue discerns
The Olive still Grows; The Student still Learns.
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 3:54 PM UTC
Five pounds a day, pay
five pounds a week B&B; with dinner thrown in for free
and twenty pounds a week for me.
Result,
drunkenness more or less
and carousery down by the sea.
'71 long gone but ships and cargoes linger on in dockyards spent of full employment
and there is no enjoyment to be had by thinking of those bad decisions made.
Ghosts laid to rest
and memories test the patiences of greater men than I.
Where have the stevedores all gone?
Containerised,
and everyone moved on
except for me
I stand beside the open sea
waiting for the ships to come home
to old stevedores like me.
Jul 11, 2013
Jul 11, 2013 at 3:27 PM UTC
Getting off the plane my bags nearly dragging the ground just like my shoulders. I'm not looking for it. Cuz "it" was left behind with the one I thought loved me. Now my only welcome home comes from the pelting rain hitting my face as terminal doors swing open to my reality. Don't care that I'm soaked to the bone, taxis laugh me by and screaming siren slows its tone with the dying rhythm of precious cargoes heartbeat not unlike my own.
Mar 13, 2016
Mar 13, 2016 at 6:49 PM UTC
A ship sails from oceans apart
Alone, unaccompanied, and lonely
Carrying with it cargoes of hope
Heading towards a voyage to success
Determined to bring home containers filled with happiness
The cruise goes as far as it can reach
But the whole journey doesn't remain peaceful
There were also moments when it was on the brink of sinking
Nevertheless, despite the challenges it encounters upon its navigation
The ship continues to battle with bravery on the vast body of blue
Pursuing its errand as firm as a rock
And returning ashore with great pride and honor
t.c.
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 1:11 AM UTC
Horizons shift slowly
where we are, here on deck
with open water all around
carrying our boat
to unknown land
with every wave and
wind that blows
This journey has no end
but ports in a row
bringing cargoes and fixes
after rough and calm seas
All questions posed
by currents and winds
you answer holding
your hand on the helm
steering the bow of the boat
with the flow and then higher
to stay on your course
with time on your side
Eelco van der Waals
4 August 2025
Aug 4, 2025
Aug 4, 2025 at 3:46 PM UTC
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
“My Temple Stands in Ephesus”
-Pericles V.i.241
“My temple stands in Ephesus,” the goddess says
I don’t believe in goddesses, of course,
And stern Saint Paul would cut up rough about them
But we could wish them so, temples and gods
We could board a ship with a seeing eye
A ship of wonderful cargoes safely stowed
And let there be “Lords, Knights, Gentlemen,
Sailors, Pirates, Fishermen, and Messengers”
To speed our stories and our very selves
To where a temple stands in Ephesus
Jan 11, 2021
Jan 11, 2021 at 7:50 AM UTC
You are a flower of many names
Woodbine twisting around bright haws
Irish Vine with blarneyed whispers of sweet scent
Honey bind and Goats leaf
and Faerie Trumpets with a call to reassure
that steadfast in love shall admirers be
I shall welcome you into my humble home
that you might bring gold into my coffers
and into my garden to give protection from evil
In my hair shall I wear a wreath of your florets
that I might of my future true love dream
around my doors to cultivate good fortune
your tendrils I will surely wrap
my children to be shall bite off your flower ends
thirsty as they will be for drops of your honeyed nectar
come, let me bind you into ropes for pack ponies
to carry sweet cargoes of you to colonise
all of the fast fading and forsaken hedgerows
my Father and my Mother forbade me
to bring you into my Garrett bedroom fearing that
your heady perfume might young untested passions ignite
but now I will pluck of your sweetness
and will your honeyed sweetness into my home invite
to make an elixir for the rasped throats of Preachers and such
I will seep you in fragrant oil warm and soothe coldness with you
Now I beg of you to bring all that you own to me
Feb 17, 2022
Feb 17, 2022 at 2:49 PM UTC