"harpoons" poems
She had been at sea for three decades
her first voyage at age eighteen
a week after her marriage
in the year of our Lord 1883
She married a sailing man
captain of his own ship
handsome, bearded and tall
a fine commander of his men
as they searched the sea for whales
She loved life at sea
and could imagine no other
the motion of the ship
the sounds of the rigging and the sails
the quiet companionship
with her husband every evening
She was beloved by her husband’s men
whom she mothered well
having had no sons of her own
but nurtured and healed
patched and sewed
bloodied and broken hearts and men
Often she came out on deck
for she knew when they would find them
and though she was in the stern
and the lookout was high in the crow's nest
she saw many whales they missed
She thrilled each time she saw them
awed by their sheer size
marveling at their strength
humbled by their beauty
careful to hide her feelings
Sometimes she could feel
when a whale would blow
and she would call to the first mate
so the men looked at her
as the whale passed unseen
Most times she silently prayed
willing the lookout to search
the wrong spot of ocean
and felt again the pang
of disloyalty to her husband
for he commanded a whaling ship
But then the lookout's call came
"Thar she blows!"
and the men sprang to action
taking after the whale in longboats
while she escaped below
She had seen before the killing
she would not watch again
too many whales succumbed
to exploding harpoons
and a death horrifyingly cruel
And she wondered
what would happen
if only whales could scream . . .
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 6:49 AM UTC
Hello, whale,
yes, you there wallowing
and swallowing crustaceans
with all your calliousity
and my insatiable curiosity.
What a laugh that calf
of yours was
when it frolicked up
to us diverse divers
wanting to be survivors
of its childlike impetuosity
and eighteen foot
preposterous, gargantuan monstrosity.
When you rose up underneath us
I thought you were going to eat us.
You scared me, whale,
when you flicked us with your tail -
the one you splinter yachts with
when you act as Davey Jones' locksmith.
Of course, I retired then
from my dive-in on leviathan,
happy to survive
your forty-five
tonne introduction.
Then you glided into gloom
and sang your eerie song
about your alien, baleen life
in vast, mysterious,
deep areas of oceans.
Good luck along the whale's road,
you mighty minstrel, you diva of the deep.
This diver hopes all humans and harpoons
will spare you and you can share
your song again.
God speed, whale.
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 1:04 AM UTC
No more the picturebook Eskimo,
the modern Inuit have central heating,
snowmobiles, welfare; they do not need
to fashion harpoons from bone, wait all day
for seal to come to ice hole, drag the body
to a home they have built from snow.
Once they lived with cold
and the creatures of the cold,
fish, seal, and white bear, familiar
if not friends, the snow itself
almost alive in its moods and movements,
falling as flakes, powder, clumps,
floating, flying, dazzling, stinging,
covering, drifting, compacting to ice.
Snow informed their lives;
one word was not enough.
Our life from infancy to grave
is shaped by love, comforting, calming,
thrilling, unsettling, dazzling, stinging,
covering, drifting, compacting to ....
Seventeen words for snow,
How many ways to say I love you?
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 8:48 AM UTC
a qualified transgender,
who could answer better!
the art of being cruel,
spirit crushing human stoning,
well, none can do it better than
the ***** female,
who made me
what I am today,
that made her man,
a woman
thin smile with shining eyes,
as she harpoons you repeatedly,
and dying you is
her midnight snack,
in between eating you
alive three times
daily
so I became a woman
but not like her,
no ***** here
gentle loving tenderness mantra,
so I can resolve this question
men commit cruelty unintentionally,
with no sense of sensibility,
taking, using, with nary a thought
of what they crime committing,
to their unintentional intentions
they are so ******* blind,
it hurts so much worse,
cause they cruel us girls
just for the using,
that a cruelty so unreal
its definition cannot be found
in any dictionary..
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 4:28 AM UTC
Thank you, my friend;
for reaching out
into the night
for seeing me through
into morning's light
a little flash
of my phone light
Thank you, friend
for letting me know I am seen
for letting me know
how much I mean
for communicating,
across the wires
how much I'm dear,
that I'm desired
This means more sometimes,
than one could ever know
especially when your very bed
has become an ice floe
especially when the one
who is supposed to warm you
embrace who you are
and enjoy, not ignore you
who is supposed to ignite you
with kisses
keep your body hot
is next to you, but really not
I can extend my hand
and hope to tease
Instead draw it back,
shocked by the freeze
For the sheets have become icy
arctic winds howl
my cat could be a seal
or polar bear on the prowl
the breath from your snore
rises up as steam
for it is so **** cold
in this iced-over scene
I'm so sick and tired
of this gelid room
So weary of my heart
being pierced by harpoons
I have tried to work my magic
apply balms to the scars
to prevent the ceiling
from growing icicle shards
And my bedroom is shaken
like some chaotic snow globe
moved by invisible hands
that search and probe
for now I am an ice princess warrior
with my map unfurled
researching ways to flee this frozen world
The kayak is ready
as I set my sights
on warmer tundras
as I weave my lightening
and spread
my thunder
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 2:21 PM UTC
Scratching at veneer,
prying pillars
off the tower buried
climbing high.
Endure.
Creating past frames
of doubt, of rationale
on the tower buried
climbing high.
Stain.
Squatting inside
senile mammoths, gnawing mules lie,
strip-mine brilliance
for harpoons
in the tower buried
climbing high.
Besides…
That rope is tied to our waist/waste,
tangled mess.
Heaving barbed streamers
into tight corners
through windows
that maul the sky.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 9:26 PM UTC
Wind torn sails
and old wives tales
both tell a certain truth
like sailors forlorn
'round the cape horn
drowned or frozen to death
The waves and the wind
punish for sins
that frequently go untold
dare to begin that voyage to win
bring in the most liquid gold
Whaling was the name
of this sailors game
learned from my pappy before
when the tall ships call
you'll answer for all
the misgivings that you ever did
Swabbing the decks
like a beer hall *****
sickly from waves and decay
this is the life
for months at a time
from New England
to the ports of Biscay
First sign of a blow
shouts to below
from where the watch sits above
The decks come alive
thar be the prize
the deadly game awaits
Set sails to the wind
and get that boat in
harpoons and crew await
haul on the ropes
or abandon all hopes
the behemoth will get away
Hearts pound like the oars
sending us forth
Oh, how our quarry evades
better keep your eyes peeled
or your fate is sealed
if she comes up underneath
With a mighty hurrah
the striker lets fly
the harpoon sinks deep in the whale
it plunges below
taking us under tow
blood staining the deep blue waves
I cry for this sin
as we haul the whale in
and cut up all it had been
trade a shilling in the purse
for a life long curse
never to sleep again
When I shut my eyes
I can still hear the cry
up from it's blowhole it came
shivers my spine,every time
I bolt upright wide awake
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 9:32 PM UTC
They call the ship 'Burden,'
An indestructible vessel,
Rival to the monsters of the sea.
It's exactly what the people needed,
For you see,
In the depths lurked a beast.
Eighty tentacles, four trade ships tall and wide,
A hundred-thirty teeth when it's smile lied.
They called it, "Kraken."
It was nothing of the likes you've seen,
Emperor of the dark sea.
The Burden could hold fifteen hundred men,
Arming harpoons, cannons, muskets, wit.
The king ordered them to turn the seas red with gore,
Call forth the Kraken,
Strike it dead.
Then to the king,
They would drag back it's head.
So come high-noon,
The ship was in place,
Above the deepest of sea caves.
Letting forth crates of bait,
Staining the waters of the sea,
Until the sailors heard a rumble,
Shake the Burden's iron shell.
Up from the waters came long river's hell,
Tentacles like spires towering well beyond the sails.
But the crew held steady,
"Tighten the ropes, arm our cannons,"
Cried the captain,
"Then fire!"
The seas filled with blood,
The sky filled with gunpowder, fractured shells,
A shriek rang out from the deeps.
The cry of death,
From the Kraken itself.
Tentacles sinking away,
"The head!" Cried the captian,
So Lutenent Lucus dived after the creature.
Tied by a rope,
Pike in hand,
The creature's head,
He began to drag.
Though, glancing over his shoulder,
Through the murk he could see,
The form of a woman swimming away.
Some curse broken, he decided,
A soul freed from grim reality.
Peace.
Jun 11, 2025
Jun 11, 2025 at 10:53 AM UTC
The unsuspecting bow splinters
harpoons leap at qualms
beneath
the
deep
determined to savage the bounty
that
seperate
glory from night
abruptly
Inexplicable
saline
sob limb and lung
A
watery grave
tugged by rope on spear
the creature pall bear It's captors into the dark bellows
of
the cruel sea
stuck to the whale
Hero
of a thousand tales
Oct 23, 2018
Oct 23, 2018 at 10:49 AM UTC
They live as a clan in the stone fortress
Barricading themselves from diversity in humanity,
They accumulate all manner of weaponry for strong reasonlessness,
They primitively accumulate arrows, Swords, simis or pangas,
Machetes, clubs, trunctheons and poisonous harpoons,
In full tribal and ethnic neurosis of amok level hatred,
Their behavioral fibres finely tuned towards killing massively
All those of different clan, blood, names and tribal earlobe tattoos
On their misfortunate happenstance of crossing the land
Of collective paranoia; where all but strangely doubts a visitor,
From inside their tribal cocoon they hate without knowledge
They detest all those of alien confession, they hate and doubt,
In stupid fear they believe that sons of foreign land are jeopardy,
We must **** them ere they step on our ethnic comfort.
Your paranoia makes you blind to natural truth
Barely open in the diversity of fauna and flora
On both land and oceans, air and below the earth,
For the bird extant are all but varied; eagles and kites,
Wild beasts are only a myriad of differences,
The trees in your mother’s woodlot are not homogenous,
Life in the seas and oceans is strange variation,
The variation which makes life worth its worthiness,
Rise above the folly in your collective paranoia
Pedestalled on the neurotic fear of human diversity.
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 7:00 AM UTC
Sometimes I want to shake your head from your shoulders
Try to dislodge the barbed twists of your perverse thinking
And the ideas spearing through your tissues
Like whaling harpoons that hooked their many heads deep
Latching and Leaching
Because you might have ****** your packet of Love Hearts a little too hard
Until it crumbled and fizzed in desperate ecstasy on your tongue
And the rest in the tube read MISS ME
Whenever you asked
But you are not Isolde,
Capulet, Karenina or Earnshaw
And as much as you desire the piercing pity of your broken collar bones
The caress of the lost-souls melody and the razorblades of a ribcage
The bitter corset of an appetite that pays for itself in crocodile tears
And the romance of a noose of flaxen hair
You are not Porphyria
And he is not her lover
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 12:56 PM UTC
My first time at a High School Dance
I went alone.
Me, the new girl at the high school who
Hadn't quite found her sea legs yet
Who slipped behind
Forgotten, as the crew sailed through
Hallways and lunch lines
Always stuck on the outside,
Looking in.
I went alone,
But someone did ask me.
A boy in the Junior class
Who was missing a forearm
Asked me if I'd like to be his date.
I said “yes”
But he warned me he might skip
The dance entirely and
Go to Worlds of Fun instead.
I didn't care,
I was ecstatic someone
Had finally asked me, or
Even noticed me
At all.
At the end of the day
He walked me to the front
Doors where my
Mom was waiting to pick me up. I wasn’t
Sure if he liked me, or if he just was
Being nice. He never did ask me
For my phone number, so I assumed he
Was merely being nice.
The night of the dance came,
And we had not discussed any details
Or even spoken to one another since.
So I assumed he would be riding roller coasters
Rather than slow dancing with me.
I didn't blame him, really. I wasn't hot stuff and
Neither were Christian high school dances.
At the dance, I tried to enjoy myself
But I felt so out of place
Surrounded by people
Who had known each other their entire lives.
I was a sea monster,
Begging to be taken aboard
As they readied their harpoons.
The night dragged on, and the music grew louder
And I sunk lower and lower.
It occurred to me that the pit of pulsating teenagers
Might swallow me
And I'd disappear once and for all
So I pulled off my heels and sat
On the stage at the front of the room.
I could feel the beat of the music
Bounce around the inside of my rib cage.
The room seemed to grow bigger
And I felt smaller.
Like a faint wave lost in
A sea of bodies
Going whichever way the current pulled them.
And while I sat there on the stage by myself
In my fluffy green homecoming dress,
Watching people I didn't really know dance
I realized it was possible
To feel alone in a room flooded with people.
So I shut my eyes,
Watertight portholes to the soul,
And let myself drift off at sea.
May 13, 2018
May 13, 2018 at 4:13 PM UTC
Half asleep feet shuffle in aimlessly;
Water fills the celestial coffeepot.
Chocolate brown grounds by a spoon are allot.
A spoonful spills to the floor! This marks its tragedy.
Another, another, so painfully,
This tragedy would make any distraught.
How can sleep be torn from eyes so bloodshot
Without the black elixir so holy?
The sleepy feet walk through the garage door,
Each brooms' handle is long like cold harpoons.
It sweeps up the wasted dreams on the floor.
"I measured out my life in coffee spoons."1
The tedious toil begins once more,
And so go the morning coffee mistunes.
1 - From "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" by T.S. Eliot
Apr 28, 2021
Apr 28, 2021 at 2:46 PM UTC
The northern lights flicker bright
across the igloos where all is quite
the fires do burn in magical glows
but only women and children
are now left at home
for the seal hunters that learned,
are now on the frozen ice packs
ready for their mammalian attack
With just flaming touches in hands
and harpoons at their command
they peer into the darkness
hoping for the call of the seals
and a reaction of eyes
in this unforgiving cold
this unkind world
of the polar abyss
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 8:14 PM UTC
Once one opens their mind...
So many endless ideas encircle and fly.
These thoughts are vultures in the sky...
Pure lust for poetry and prose...
landing heavy on the nose...
picking on the bones...
of the dead...
'til they're dry...
I dont even have to try.
From the start its been a cartoon.
This...heart's been grazed by afew harpoons.
"Im bleeding" hung in quotations.
These fuckin' words flow so fluently from my foundation.
Reciting these writings that fall from my rib cage...
Almost 40 and still dont know how to act my age.
Frontal lobe speaks animation to the rest of my brain...
Secret whispers to myself.
Open up, say "Mind"...
My many meanings become less tranquil with time.
Times forgotten fortitude forged these strait lines.
This steel structure sunk securely in solid sediment...
This blood blotted into letters is all I represent.
This head of mine, this mind...stays deep in the mines.
Badly broken and bent on this dangerous descent.
Dec 14, 2009
Dec 14, 2009 at 1:49 PM UTC
She says she loves me
But the meaning is artificial
Like a prosthetic leg
To help her walk again
She clears her throat ready to talk again
But the I love you doesn't reach me
I'm to busy shooting harpoons at the moon
Trying to reel it in
With the recycled words she gave me
Fishing for her love
Only to have the bait stolen
By the hate I harbor within
It trickles to the surface
Leaving behind evaporated acid in the air
I wear her I love you
But it cracks easily like cheap leather
Turns brittle in the cold weather
Flacks off and disintegrates before touching the ground
But I still love it when she says I love you
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 12:18 PM UTC
With my dog they called it sleep,
but it was death that came as I held her
with strokes and promises of peace
murmuring through us chest to chest,
her eyes and ears hard and sealed with age.
Only scent remained. Did she smell love?
Betrayal? Did her nose warn of the sudden stab
of the chemical dagger? Did she remember
the hundred harpoons a cornered porcupine launched
when she was a pup or the definite nip
of the woodchuck who stole a piece of snout?
And then her head fell. I killed her.
For sleep brings a different kind of waking.
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 3:12 PM UTC
Don’t see what
You
Ignore,
Don’t do what
You
Mustn’t.
The sea’s full of fish,
And they’re there
For
A reason.
Through Harpoons
And spears,
Arrow
And sin,
Don’t you know
That even
A loser can win?
You can’t hold
The clouds,
You can’t touch
The sun.
Are you willing
To be a coward,
To hide,
To run?
Sep 18, 2025
Sep 18, 2025 at 5:07 AM UTC
I often see you look at
me, your sidelong glances out
from lowered eyelids, as if wondering
where I suddenly
appeared from. Not the girl
you once had a chance of loving, before
she started living her life with
a bang, an explosion
so strong it shattered all
of your expectations, this
is not quite a woman, but you
do not know what she- I
am. You look on, dumbfounded
for only a split second
when hurtful words hurtle
out from my lips, whizzing by your straight back
and stony face, wondering
who put them these. I
am more brilliant and sharp
than you had ever
thought I would be, and you
do not know how
this could be.
Listen to me
when I tell you that this
is all to your credit. My words
are only being said in the style
of the master, she
who taught me to build bombs
of truths, to throw them
at the chinks she taught me to see
in the enemy's armor, to know
unerringly before whom
I stand. My brilliance
was a gift, too, this
is my outer shell, shining
with my blood that I tried
to keep in, but I couldn't, so I painted
myself and called myself
Red. My sharpness
is not originally mine, I
am removing the harpoons
you struck into my flesh, and
throwing them back, casting off the lines
you would hold me with. You see,
mother dearest, I am not truly, originally,
a shining star. I merely
follow the leader.
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 1:01 PM UTC
we crush on hurt skies and eat our own inners alive. we r, yuh know, killing it right now. right?? idk lately i jus don't feel like my me anymore. it's weird. these bones of mine will hafta do i guess, and this alone too. but this tear is torn --- i mean, it tickles my nose and brims but doesn't wanna fall, and i think it's made of scars found at the bottom of the pool. and these knees held to my chest are like two pipe cleaner harpoons, rocking me to sleep when i've clearly already slept too much.. listen, all of this will be spelled out -- but not fer u. they are for her and her word alone. i've heard that if listened to - i mean REALLY listened to - it is able to world forth this one last single curl that i've long been searching for in this dim lit corner of the room, which is a rune, marked, startled, summoned by someone somewhere close by, like a muffled noise upstairs making its way down here to stay.
Dec 27, 2015
Dec 27, 2015 at 5:27 PM UTC
The ancient Pacific
Bellows.
Engenders.
Wind streamed waves.
Liquid Silver.
Whip and sidle.
Time eternal.
Man,
Too,
Bellows.
Engenders...
The Ocean...
Plundered.
Cod to gold.
Brazen and bold.
Pirate treasure.
***** Whale oil.
The best and worst ~
Of wild nature.
Give or Take
Thriving or Surviving.
Life or death.
Which came first?
Strings of Kelp or Nets of String?
Swordfish or Harpoons?
Archipelagos or Man Marooned
Nature or humanity?
The vessel or the sea?
The Humpback or the oil lamp?
Happiness or Sorrow?
Yesterday or Tomorrow?
A Moment in time.
Time eternal.
All of history.
Standing still.
Man and ocean co-exist.
Nessie.
Loch Ness.
Survival of the Fittest.
Paradise.
Revolution.
Theory of Evolution.
Why do Whales sing?
Why do Octopus need ink?
Why do Dolphins Echolocate?
To communicate.
Does the ocean know?
Mass larceny of the Hydroscape.
The ocean *****
Orcas in Captivity.
Global warming.
Pollution.
Sea levels rise.
Why does the deep blue oblige?
Solve the equation.
The mystery of the sea.
The ocean dies.
Like the coelacanth.
To pass extinct.
When I do the math.
In this wise ~
I theorize.
The deep unknown.
Understands.
Thus,
Perhaps.
Waves and tides ~
Do not recede in undertow.
No!
Waves and tides push forth to shore ~
Desperate to escape.
Man's impact on the sea.
To go extinct.
Like the Coelacanth.
To live again.
When
Man succumbs to...
Natural Selection.
Nature's revolution.
Feb 10, 2018
Feb 10, 2018 at 8:33 AM UTC
I remember when time started to matter and I was unaware.
I remember when the stars were further apart.
I cant remember when the earth was flat, but should it matter I didn't roll off.
My belt wrapped tightly around my waist secured to my belt loops.
I've never felt gravity ******* me towards the edge.
However I've watched birds flying in formation beyond the horizon taking a steep dive and then gone
from sight.
Did clouds continue past the shear face of the earth unable to maneuver the ninety degree turn?
I've dreamt I'm flying with arms spread wide, over my house, the neighborhood, the ocean enshrouded within those clouds as we nudged each other towards the abyss.
I've heard the old ones talking in the pubs, brandy in hand, saying that the first ships that sailed did see the edge.
That the whales gently tried to nudge the great ships back away from the edge.
And yet, the harpoons flew through the air piercing sharply, deeply, and deadly into the ****** sides of the whales' dark round flesh.
Their blow holes sounding their last lonely warnings cry,
turn back,
the edge is near,
turn back........
Jan 2, 2017
Jan 2, 2017 at 12:52 PM UTC