On the Island that was known as Bermondsey
where the outlaws of the outlaw borough once roamed free and took liberties with the Nobility of the 'Liberty'
The City closed its eyes and didn't want to see the cutthroats and the harlots of old Bermondsey.

(NaPoWriMo Challenge: April 15, 2017)

Like a game of cutthroats
where it’s safe to not win and safe to not lose,
the pillow room of politics, peaceful and nonpartisan,
the middle is not invisible but the only slightly visible,
the waving stalks and straw of the masses, ghostly,
a place where you can pass, where everyone is passing
in order to stay in play.

Like the strong arc of a story
where the middle meanders but the end feels inevitable,
honorable, like a journey among knights, like the harvest,
the long farm days of history, respite before the ******:
the dogs are asleep, children in the fields of alfalfa
and then the trees rustle at the windbreak and you worry
maybe you’re not in the middle anymore.

Sing me a song of a sailor gone wrong and I'll show you a song of the sea, where pirates walk planks with no thanks to the skipper, a crew full of cutthroats, Jack tars, jack the ripper and grog for the boys who sail wild on the main to nail them rich galleons, poor Philip of Spain.

Sing a song to me, sing me terror on the high sea and we'll all fall at Newgate, we'll swing for these crimes but these are the times of our lives.
Sing me a song of a sailor gone wrong and I'll sing you a song about me.

1.

If there is wild moving water
there is a trout in it
waiting for the cast,

the whip of line in air
splashing a weigthless fly
on the mirror surface

luring the rainbow fish
to break the heavy air
for the angler’s fantasia.

                    2.

The Rogue is flowing
with trophy size cutthroats,
chars and steelheads,

yet the angler only feels
the stillness, the endless  casting,
the motionless standing in place

until time is forgotten,
his scheduled life forgotten,
what needs to be done next forgotten

only the emotion is left,
the heart of spirit ferrules,
the casting, the rod

with its wheel seats
made of rosewood,
inscribe calligraphy

in golden ink, shiny agate
guides in bamboo,
its garnet threads and

extra fine brass wire
in a five weight
ideal for trout fishing,

the anglers long boots
planted firmly in the stream,
getting lost in the ineffable moment

until the closing
orange hues of autumn
are reeled in and stowed away.

snake eyes bleed through i can’t lose a ******* thing can’t speak can’t blink can’t breathe can’t sing can’t write
she stops at the edge of the hallway, she pants knowing or not knowing my name
sweat and tile and stage lights are adjacent and malcontent
horribly irritable grass and pavement
but i swear to god, gold silken hair and deep deep sapphire eyes make me forget what i really should’ve remembered

i get stanza and timing and slipping
but for god’s sake i see nothing
like kids drawing on a wall
together we dream dog dreams steak dreams camel dreams travel dreams god knows where the ghosts go


i will never live on a river too low
too flat
no violenece
cutting up rocks and such
i want to **** everything with rocks
beating it to death like a race-horse with a abounded knee
i’ll meet you there on the killing feilds

you are not so outrageous
you are all right here with me
they make our casings
grind our meat
look n’ say
“all that’s ready to dance, dance!”

they drown in it

everyone is van-gogh
some of us are picasso
whoever you want to name

I’m still here scrolling through ancient tomes
she doesn’t want to die just yet
the banshees will always screech.
not yell
can we nurture this,
can we do into our own end

so now at the brink of all existence
i need you to take me up there to show me around
i’ll drop names and cutthroats and push and pull till your pale skinned daughter ***** up the one air in the single person coffin.

The river’s edge
Cutthroats and you
Nails on backbone
It’s nearly two

Eyelashes bristle
I’m spilling my wine
The pathway’s black
I’m wasting my time

You said you’d be good
You called me away
You said that I should
Stop feeling this way

As the river spins gold
My stomach is turning

As my fingers grow cold
The horizon is burning

What does an Alpha
have to do with the sniveling Betas
when one is hued in strength and wisdom like Atlas
and lagging behind are worthless Betas who are putrid haters

No crowns nor wisdom for Betas
all brawn and never in Olympia for nectar
mired in the craven underworld yelling at their betters
the galley slaves in mud splattered tunics as living spectres

Beneath noble feet they crawl
from ignorance they gaggle hemlock
in fear and ******* by centurions they hail and bawl
as Princes in chariots walk on marbles in envy the betas squawk

So What does an Alpha
have to do with the unrated Betas
when one is hued in strength and courage like Atlas
and lagging behind are worthless Betas who are reptiles and gators
noisy rabbles spawns of ******, vandals and cutthroats with cutlass

Elijah tell me,
who will rise and
beckon to me?
and
Elijah calls out
Ahab,
broken, bound by
harpoon trail will indeed
rise without fail
and though we listened
we still set sail
in search of
el dorado

I dreamt last night,
Of rolling  hills and fields oh so green,
A place I've never been,
Of places where my ancestors wandered, foraged, and lived,
The land of faeries, kelpies, and the Bean-nighe.

One side of them were cutthroats, scoundrels, and raiders,
The other descendants from the Pict kings and slayers of bears,
Warriors one and all,
Rebels and criminals too.

Fleeing to a new world,
Given different names,
Settling down in the land of Quakers and holy men,
Where war would call once again,
Spilling blood in a civil war of a different kind.

We all go through the same sort of ****,
and so,
at some point, we all got to walk it,

not that we're pirates or brigands
or looking to score the big 'uns,
we are
just part of the family,

landlubbers, not wanting to walk into the sea.

on the other hand
some are a roguish band of cutthroats and thieves,

Westminster leaves us all standing at the starting post
and the starting post is the plank.