"disembarked" poems
I saw an Ulila
Whilst riding a Jeepney
Half-Shoed,
Half-Footed,
Saying, "BAYAD!"
An Endearment for Pay
Yet my Eyes affixed
On his One-Footed Shoe
But due to the Wear
Of a Day's Sweaty Trod
Begging for his Family Dinner
Hoping he could have a Full Meal
And Smiles
For him and his family
And still waiting
For his Final Stop
And still scraping
His Hard-Worn Scar
Thus the Ulila
Handsome to Beg
Despite his Birth-Marked Nose
Which was actually blood
From a flavourful fist-fight
And Soil,
Paints his Tender Body.
Thus the Ulila,
Swollen in his Eyes,
Suddenly remembered
He had nothing to Beg
For since his Time,
Was centred on Smiles
Greeting people,
Wishing them the
Best of Cheers and Holidays
And his Reward,
Sheltered and Soft,
Reaching the end of his Bay,
Cried, "PARA!"
An Endearment for Stop
And disembarked
Full of Flavours and Joy,
Wondering,
If he could Share such with his Family.
Then the Ulila,
Felt a Weight,
And Jingles in his Body.
Thinking of his Thursday's Stones,
He took some out
And all he found,
Were just some Worthless Pesos,
Given secretly,
By the Passengers he Entertained
In the busy Jeepney.
Thus Smiled the Ulila - The Selfless Urchin-Boy.
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 9:11 AM UTC
~
*When Pharaoh
checked out at the Red Sea,
odd circumstance made a grab for his vacant scepter,
and kingdom collided
with plague to paint a mural
on the palace wall (or maybe, it was the hotel lobby),
of a dreamer's garden,
his wife in veils, her dance a cordial
invitation to a great many unmentionable things,
the feral sky had blown
itself out, and in muted candle
nightshade, the mistress of war disembarked,
and so somewhere
in those upper rooms, ruler
and consort, hearing the sound of running water,
mystified their carnal
senses by infusing themselves
with a little vigorous morphine of the soul*
~
Jul 26, 2021
Jul 26, 2021 at 2:45 PM UTC
A young man, twenty eight years old, on a vessel from Tenos,
Emes arrived at this Syrian harbor
with the intention of learning the perfume trade.
But during the voyage he was taken ill. And as soon
as he disembarked, he died. His burial, the poorest,
took place here. A few hours before he died,
he whispered something about "home," about "very old parents."
But who these were nobody knew,
nor which his homeland in the vast panhellenic world.
Better so. For thus, although
he lies dead in this harbor,
his parents will always hope he is alive.
2.7k
This is the song of the handsome people
bleached white bones
dark red flesh
with wrinkles deep and old
as the desert.
Their arrows having disembarked
have faded into the
molten clay of the
mean-spirited earth.
Their heritage having been
habitually crushed with cause
for hatred has been
enveloped in peace and pride
and is cloaked in
dry hides.
Feathered in cold trails of tears
to match trails of aging
they have covered up their
misfortunes with song
and smoke.
Their rainbow carried by the wind
to some far-off pasture
rides on the backs of deer
and dead bison
to be consumed in smoke
and black flame.
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 3:21 PM UTC
A bell tolled
through the fog at dusk
to summon passage
across the roiling waters.
Through the mist
a ferry appeared
but not the same as called -
afoul with death and sorrow.
With dread our forefathers
boarded ship and listened through
that storm filled crossing
to howling wind sung requiems
echoing from distant fields at
Manassus - Shiloh - Gettysburg.
When the gales had spent their fury
they disembarked in a new land
with both far less and more
than they left on the opposite shore.
March, 2008
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 11:40 PM UTC
Achilles does not sleep.
Instead, he seeks the lover’s embrace and curved lips alongside which he went to war;
Those same that he did not find,
Once the dark mist had come swirling down over his eyes
And his soul went winging down to the House of Death,
with a soldier’s sigh of relief.
He had whispered in Charon’s ear, “Take me to him.”
Charon had rowed on, but held his silence.
By way of greeting, a thousand faces turned away,
And no trace of his beloved’s sweet smile as he disembarked, no warm hand to take his own.
“Patroklus,” he cries,
And goes unheard.
Thus; Achilles does not sleep.
He is Achilles; he does not wait.
He is Achilles; instead, he aches.
He is Achilles; instead, he searches.
Over the horizon, he chases Patroklus’ laugh and the turn of his wrist.
He lingers in all the shadowed corners of eternity,
Leafs through the pages of unforgiving, unyielding posterity,
Whispers “Patroklus, best of the Myrmidons” and sends his name through the winds.
The headstrong runner does not drag his feet as he scours the world,
As he chases ghosts across the face of the earth.
Restless, he is never still,
Knows that each step must carry him closer,
Knows that each ragged cry may be the one
That is finally answered,
Each rendition the wound to be finally salved.
He haunts, and is haunted.
‘I did not feel it,’ he thinks. 'It should have been as though Hektor’s pierced my side, in turn. Did they not say we were one?’
As if what he felt, when they told him, had not been enough.
(Scamander would disagree).
One day, smiling among the cypress, he will cease.
One day, the thousand faces turned away will melt to the one alone that within itself holds his heart.
One day, his greeting will be that sweet smile that he found only in the dawn.
One day, a warm hand will take his own, and the word with which his beloved left him will be the same as that which retrieves him:
'Ἀχιλλέυς.’
Until the day when his heart pours out golden,
Achilles will not sleep.
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 10:17 AM UTC
Jack Cornwell was a Boy, First Class
On the Chester’s forward gun,
There to relay the settings with
A pair of headphones on,
He’d turned sixteen just months before
Was trained for his chosen task,
And hoped for a life of adventure as
He sailed, before the mast.
The Chester sailed to join the Fleet
That had left from Scapa Flow,
The Grand Fleet with its battleships
Sailed under Jellicoe,
They’d intercepted the German codes
And knew that they’d put to sea,
Hoping to split the British Fleet
And gain a victory.
The Chester turned to meet the flash
Of gunfire, far away,
The light was poor before the dawn
And the mist was thick that day,
Three funnels of a German ship
Came gliding through the mist,
And the Chester turned to starboard
Ready to show the British fist.
But the German ship was not alone
And the shells began to rain,
From the following battle cruisers
Shattering decks, in blood and pain,
Jack Cornwell stood at his post while all
His gun crew lay there dead,
Ready to take his orders, though
The Chester turned, and fled.
The medics found him with shrapnel wounds
Steel splinters in his chest,
He wouldn’t desert his post, he was
As brave as all the rest,
The Chester sailed for Immingham
Disembarked the wounded crew,
Put Jack in Grimsby Hospital,
There was nothing they could do.
He died just two days afterwards
Before his mother came,
She’d hurried on up from London
Where she’d caught the fastest train,
They buried Jack in a communal grave
So many men had died,
Fighting for King and country
Steeped in duty, worth and pride.
His name was honoured from lip to lip
How he’d stood beside his gun,
Determined to fight the German ships
‘Til the Chester turned to run,
Such courage born of England
Where it was tempered at the forge,
Was so inspiring in one so young
Said the Navy, to King George.
‘For shame,’ then cried the ‘Daily Sketch’
When they heard of the communal grave,
‘Is this how we treat our heroes,
Jack deserves the nation’s praise!’
The coffin was shortly disinterred
And draped with the Union Jack,
Drawn on an open gun carriage
With the Navy at its back.
His name went down in the history books
As the boy who stuck to his post,
In the midst of dead and dying men
As they made their way to the coast,
King George conferred the highest award
That there was, for bravery,
Awarded him the Victoria Cross,
Jack Cornwell, Boy, V.C.
David Lewis Paget
Aug 17, 2013
Aug 17, 2013 at 3:16 AM UTC
There are no tribes in America
after reading about some tribal warfare in a far away land,
I wrote this true story down....
~~~~~~~~~
one July 4th,
many years ago
walking the streets,
of the city of Nice, situe
on the Cote D'azur of France,
on the Mediterranean Sea,
where ships of navies
may safely park,
sailors ashore
leavened to
disembark^
how I came to be there is a
poem for another time
walking the streets,
of the palm tree resort
along Le Promenade Des Anglais,
coming at me,
Three Sailors,
unmistakably
American
One white,
One black,
One from California,
which I believe,
is still part of the USA
how we fell upon each other
in warm embrace,
smiling, bestowing
blessings of grace
not as strangers,
but as fellow signatories
on the Declaration of Independence
brothers,
long lost, reunited
as if it had been many years,
since we had our arms entwined,
one family from one far away united place
dialectical differences ignored,
even the wide-eyed 'Bama boy,
totally comprehensible,
for on that say,
we spoke a language that
encompassed a single brotherhood,
a common history,
all on that
holy day
no tribes in America, no colors,
no religions,
only brothers-in-arms
I need not choose to believe
that should it happen again
ten years hence,
perhaps with their grandsons,
my embrace will exactly
the same be,
for I know it true,
for there are
no tribes
in an
American heart.
^disembarked to be leavened....either works
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 10:18 AM UTC
Round and round in circles
Trapped within our vibe
Never knowing what is real
I need to unsubscribe
But … how to go about it?
De-tangle from our mess
Eradicate The Cavalier … swamped in our sweet caress?
I don’t think that that’s the answer
I want the onus just on me
Otherwise …
I won’t progress … to a functional degree
That old fickle finger of fate
Ensnared me in its womb
Life passed by
Clipped wings did sigh
I never stopped to question
“WHY?”
Now my pain is open wide
I need to lay me down to die
*Softly
Softly
Softly*
Teeth clench around our cord
Extraction of my sanity
Will be my just reward
And
As I watch you whither
Stumble
Blinded in the dark
I’ll know the futures rosy
Because …
**I stepped up
I
Disembarked**
Feb 13, 2011
Feb 13, 2011 at 1:12 AM UTC
Can we please have a moment of silence? shhh! That is for shame
The consciousness of impropriety and dishonour, a soul eating emotion, an inner burning flame.
Disembarked and render anaemic by a queen dark and evil, for with her, shame is non-existence
Blame her not, her wicked soul is the caprice of affinity with being an outcast and unlove
For before her heart became embroiled with dark powers and all the ingenious gore that accompany an unrepentant soul,
She had the lassitude of the perfect woman, a languid ease, the obeisance, lovable heart and knew nothing foul
But deep inside her aching heart, all that she suffered silently, she could enlighten no one, from her devastated childhood,
the sheer indescribable horror of neglect, unreturned love, the treachery, the villainy, melancholy motherhood
And castigation made her seek power even into the maelstrom of the blackest tempest of the darkest part of hell.
Her hunger for power and macabre mode of it acquisition, renders the thought of her been shameful, lilliputian
As she journeyed towards the castle, her conscience wasn't pricked by volatile outbursts of her sins from the angry crowd
she knew what she wanted, she sold her soul for this, she knew this was what she has to go through to get it.
A rite of passage stolen by lucifer from the Saviour of the world
Let them strip, beat, and mock you.Let them make you walk through there crowd disgraced,
but be rest assured that when all is done, you'll be the ruler of all
For too many a time, the story has been told,
be you good or evil, fortune only favours the bold.
The castle was her own Golgotha, the throne was her own cross
beyond that castle wall lies all that she needs to rule and have dominion
for there in that castle live the old man and others waiting to make her there queen
I was swift to condemn her for all, but after a retrospective thinking, my judgement became ambivalent.
wasn't it judgements and condemnations that made her felt sequestered, separated, segregated and all other equivalent?
To be continued......
Sep 24, 2016
Sep 24, 2016 at 3:11 PM UTC
Left a nasty mark
Left side of my face.
Sparked inner disgrace
Embarked upon a new place
Where defaced faces are not remarked.
But in the dark, I got displaced.
This space was dead quieted.
No lark sung here, but hark!
A lone bark cried out. And then another and another.
Braced myself, as stark fear crept inside.
Out of the dark, the pack show their faces
And the race began - They chased me through the park
Traced me deeper in the woods. No hiding place seen
Lack of light, pitch black, trees attack, narrowly missing me.
Can't hack this, graceless at racing.
Face grazed by twigs, looked back at the pack, closing in
Quickened paced and - smack. I found the ground embracing me
Ending the chase as they arced around me
Surrounding me in the dark
My eyes glaced over, sparking more than fear
To enter my brain, all them interlacing together
Death's intamacy marked the end.
I prayed for a coup de grace
Just in case skies aren't empty
Jaws opened and crashed down on me.
Biting, chewing, tearing through me.
Eating raw meat, sweat as nector for them.
Brittle bones break and snap.
They drain my marrow leaving hollow bones.
I laughed.
I laughed louder and louder.
The unearthly sound echoed in the night.
The biting became more frantic, more panicked
Couldn't understand the drastic change.
My fears displaced into the dark of ether
I got up and shooked myself free.
They couldn't defaced me anymore than I am
Frightened by the bite though it's no harsher than the bark
And being frightened, I gave them power over me
Power to tightened my very being.
Misplaced my own proper power prove to be a mistake.
But now I know those shadows do not mark my end
The gallows can wait.
I disembarked from this dark park, leaving behind the barks.
Face still defaced, but with an ace up my sleeve.
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 8:38 AM UTC
We've sailed cerulean seas to pastel shores,
Known only to the glorious few,
We have disembarked, ready to explore,
As our lone ship waits slumbering in view
of the glorious bay. Light paints daybreak
across the sky. We see the rising sun
through imagined jungle—and hesitate:
The image lingers, but it must be done,
Eyes close. Toward the interior we turn
remembering, and hoping to return.
Oct 13, 2020
Oct 13, 2020 at 6:22 PM UTC
Jupiter is a dead fist. But i am lately disembarked in your parlor. loving farce.
you are twinkling in the chamber *** you pay rent.
but i am hately, loving instruments of accidental art.
This poison is the only one that loves you.
a superman, afraid of how brittle
your Memory Lane.
Feb 22, 2013
Feb 22, 2013 at 5:10 PM UTC
Jupiter is a dead fist. But i am lately disembarked in your parlor. loving farce.
you are twinkling in the chamber *** you pay rent.
but i am hately, loving instruments of accidental art.
This poison is the only one that loves you.
a superman, afraid of how brittle
your Memory Lane.
Oct 22, 2011
Oct 22, 2011 at 1:23 AM UTC
they were riders
on the iron horse
acting as though
it were a 30 minute
hitch to the next town
no one disembarked
there were no stops
some shared stories
some sat around
the man stood tall
dark wavy hair
tattered flannel shirt
words and symbols
as scars on chest and back
the woman was flattering
she had a musical laugh
vision fully impaired
yet grazed the mans skin
and read her epitaph
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 12:09 AM UTC
Exhausted by death, we took the car and drove
Away, past gut-torn children and the like -
The stricken hospital, top-heavy despots, dust.
Someone cried, and for a while the earth stood still.
Then on we rushed as sand got in our eyes,
Through states with something rotten at the heart
And effigies that stared with wrinkled lips,
And women crying over families spent,
And gunned-through houses, doors and windows, gone.
And once a grimed-up pick up cut us up,
Tore past in clouds - Land Cruiser tyres churned -
And at the wheel a man's split-second face,
A turban and a beard, fanatic stare,
Long gone in dirt, but at that time,
We knew him to be mad. Then on we drove
To pastures new and sand dunes stretching miles.
At noon, a woman offered food, her children
Clustered round her, shut-up face. We left
Her scratching yet more dust, and sped into
The only sun, into a slap-up village where
The kids in rags kept up their pestering cries
Of hunger, sickness, want, disease, and pain
That stretched back years. They clawed the car,
Tore strands of air between their teeth and we
Were heart-struck at their noise. By dusk
We headed out again – the clamour died -
Catching the western sun before it sank,
We disembarked and tucked it up in bed,
Knowing ourselves at home, and finally
Slept at last where it was warm and dark.
Jun 5, 2011
Jun 5, 2011 at 9:19 AM UTC
There are no tribes in America. This is my annual reposting of my July 4th poem, written years ago. After reading about some tribal warfare in a far away land, I wrote this true story down....
~~~~~~~~~
one July 4th,
many years ago
walking the streets,
of the city of Nice, situe
on the Cote D'azur of France,
on the Mediterranean Sea,
where ships of navies
may safely park,
sailors ashore
leavened to
disembark^
how I came to be there is a
poem for another time
walking the streets,
of the palm tree resort
along Le Promenade Des Anglais,
coming at me,
Three Sailors,
unmistakably
American
One white,
One black,
One from California,
which I believe,
is still part of the USA
how we fell upon each other
in warm embrace,
smiling, bestowing
blessings of grace
not as strangers,
but as fellow signatories
on the Declaration of Independence
brothers,
long lost, reunited
as if it had been many years,
since we had our arms entwined,
one family from one far away united place
dialectical differences ignored,
even the wide-eyed 'Bama boy,
totally comprehensible,
for on that say,
we spoke a language that
encompassed a single brotherhood,
a common history,
all on that
holy day
no tribes in America, no colors,
no religions,
only brothers-in-arms
I need not choose to believe
that should it happen again
twenty years hence,
perhaps with their sons,
my embrace will exactly
the same be,
for I know it true,
for there are
no tribes
in an
American heart.
^disembarked to be leavened....either works
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 2:45 PM UTC
I remember the first time I saw him
If I'd only knew then how he'd leave me feeling so grim
But I fell for his good looks and how he acted proper and prim
I thought he loved me just as much as I loved him
But he left me drowning when I thought we were going to swim
Left me alone in the dark
Took all of life's spark
When he told me he was leaving and I had no remark
And watched his back as he disembarked
on another journey with another girl
Leaving no part of me unmarked
No part of my heart unscared
Him
I'll always remember him
He was my first crush
He was my first love
Andhe was the one who rendered
me useless to the world
But he has moved on
And so must I
With Him
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 8:28 PM UTC
a
crystal
|| ship
||
upon the sea • fractured
light to port and lee • the
wind it howls and makes
its pass • thru the rigging
made of glass • rainbow
colors splash the waves
who'd know this boat put
||
men in graves • though
they were both brave
~~~~~~~~ and bold • they ~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~ disembarked ~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~ ~~~~~~~~ on the ~~~~~~~~ ~~~
Jan 18, 2017
Jan 18, 2017 at 10:02 PM UTC
for some reason,
unnown yet
i am sitting here
hot coffee in hand
transfixed by the
memory of a day
lifetimes ago.....
when i took a wrong turn
seeking a small town... and
a cobbler of soft leather shoes...
instead i found myself
on a bush track, far too
narrow to turn my combi
van around
forced to travel on...
getting further and further
along
until, abruptly the track widened
and the most gorgeous vista
appeared
green grass, sedges and spinfex in waves,
led down to a billabong, eucalypt gums,
ghost and red,
large in size and old in years
dotted the irregular,
ameboic shape
and the water,
so clear, so clear, so clear
reflecting the cloud dusted sky,
to one side the face of a gorge, ochre red rusted
crazed weith black cracks
and green whiskery growths,
on which rock wallabies fed.
unafraid of the big lemoned
wedged combi, who sat
monolithically in their environs.
as i disembarked,
up from the grass thicket, one thousand and one (i counted) budgerigars alight and took to the wing,
in a swirling mass of
god's whimsical glory.
the sound, a deafening
chirk-chatter and whoosh
as they, in sychron,
wheeled and turned flew over my head and back into the bush.
needless to say, i never bothered to buy those soft
leather shoes.....
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 7:03 PM UTC
(intro)
In the world I know much is a choice
I choice to live with it
The path of have walked has brought me to this moment
Every turn dark corner, and every well light line
has disembarked me hear in this time
I would rather be disemboweled then go back !
........
I go with the motion when the world turns
..........
If there be a solitary thing I remember from what I have learned
My heart burns with passion. Passion fueled by your fire
I did try to select the girl with the most beautiful face
just as I didn’t need to pick a girl with lips of a goddess
I figure I can deal without a perfect figure
I don’t need my loves eyes to have all the beauty of the world
All the beauty of a cool still autumn night
A vivid colorful mind, and radiant personality
personaly I can live without many things
I can live without a woman with lushes flowing hair
I have you
I have you and I don’t need these things
You think there is harshness in the words I say
The things not needed but giving anyway
I have it all when you lay your love next to me
No words poems sonnets nor songs can describe this love for you
No action or expression may ever show you how I love you
It’s a constant fire of my heart and soul burning in the flames
I can only hope that your heart and soul burn the same
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 4:39 AM UTC
I slept in a red cot
On the SS Columbia.
In the middle of the cabin,
Brothers and sisters
Bunked vertically
On either side.
Seven in all.
We disembarked at Montreal,
Where my sister
Unclenched my white-knuckled hold
On the mahogany rails.
That moment was synapsed
And impermeable.
My third love
Taught me everything about love.
Miss DeGurse, Grade One.
She was taken by the dimples
And the brogue, but smart me,
I passed, we parted;
She to her farmer fiance,
Me to Grade Two
And Sister Hildegarde.
I learned valuable lessons,
But love was already learned
For a life-time outside family.
The soutane didn't fit anymore,
And the incense left me distracted.
The flickering shadows over the folds
Of Joseph's and Mary's statues
Have fewer outlines
Under the light of less candles.
Books replaced Church,
Then illuminated religion
In gold-leafed pages.
Women went well with books
And still enrich my every day.
Loss is all around.
No eulogies or memorials, please.
But remember me
When you splash in July,
Observe nature prepare for winter,
Blink flakes off your lashes,
Or bloom up and down your street;
Then gather,
Read something I wrote,
And Remember
I used to notice such things.
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 8:53 AM UTC
Missing you; it came as a shock.
I was knocked onto the sofa, out of the
Conversation, down with the drops of confetti,
Stepped over and under before the screams started.
But I should have seen this coming.
Before, it had always been you
Letting me down, standing me up,
Calling me closer, beckoning with your
Finger by your lips and then
Shoving my head down right where you wanted it.
This time, it was me.
I told myself that there was a chance.
I knocked myself from the world.
Expectations had wound themselves inside of
My pockets and I couldn’t shake them off,
And there was no friendly boy with eyes glued to mine
That could come slip them out of my jeans.
I was alone and unprepared, without adequate supplies,
Without the veracity to watch myself unwind.
And so I was the one that lit the match,
Unbeknownst to even my own mind, wanting to
Rekindle our past, but only burning
Down and down; - I tried to drown it out,
Until the alcohol added fight to the flame.
Water was not on my radar and I was
Lonely and lost, fenced off from a savior.
I disembarked. I was the captain that does not
Sink with the ship. I left myself in a pile of ashes
And was briefly resurrected on a blank kitchen tile.
This is my fault, and I will not be rescued.
This was my fault, and I am the only one who can go back
To salvage the pieces of my shoulder, liver, aortas,
That I left behind. I will stitch myself unto myself
And I will leave you out
(This time)
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 3:39 PM UTC