"hatches" poems
We embarked upon a titanic voyage to a new world.
It’s said that behind every great man there's a great woman; But a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle.
7 bells rang late that night, as our ship stuck fast; between the devil and the deep blue sea.
Fingers frantic! tapping code…—-…
Sailors quickly battened down the hatches and stowed away the Riff-raff, for they knew fine words would butter no parsnips, Better here than there in third class.
Some fiddlers on the deck played “Nearer My God to Thee", As the bubbles rose from beneath the sea, come buckle down boys for the devils to pay, come hell or high water he’ll have his pay.
Mothers row, land lubbers row, it's time to leave this god forsaken place. pulling hard for freedom.
Ten steel decks split and snap, as they join the ***** and hundreds either shriek or pray; as La dolce vita slowly ebbed away.
Mercifully the cacophony descends ever silent, as fifteen hundred souls become neither fish nor flesh, rotting from the head down.
Save our souls •••- - - •••. … — …
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 4:15 PM UTC
i kept my hatches battened but that
didn't stop your love from barreling toward me
like a runaway freight train with faulty breaks.
and god almighty, did we crash.
you came to a screeching halt at my doorstep
and i didn't know what else to do but let you in.
you looked so cold. we did not start with a spark but a full-on fire.
i told myself i wouldn't fall, instead i jumped.
our sinking frames somehow morphed into life preservers,
and we managed to keep each other's heads above the waves.
we had seemingly saved one another.
you tossed your pills, i flushed my razors, and for a while that was enough.
but we learned the hard way that even the deepest love
can only keep the storm clouds in your mind at bay for so long.
eventually our cracks began to show.
missed calls and silent hours built houses of cards
that were blown down by too many miles.
we hardly ever smiled anymore.
my hands were sieves and yours were sand.
i want to break the hands of the clock
that cursed us with this bad timing.
i have mourned all the hours i won't ever have with you.
i have felt the thunder that rumbles in my lungs
when i reminisce about the memories we'll never make.
the moment i realized i would never wake up beside you
an atom bomb went off in the center of my chest.
but the radiation is what's killing me.
the life is being drained from me here in the wake,
in the ache of your absence. but i won't beg.
i will live out the remainder of my days
tormented by wondering if maybe in another world
our love is perfect and neither of us bleed.
- m.f.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 3:27 AM UTC
This candlelight has been witness to both hatred and love
To shouts of anger born from throats reddened raw
Smashed mugs and smashed china and half-mended smashed hearts
But to passion, forgiveness, old flames both rekindled and small.
Candlelight lit from matches or flint
Such lovely low light supplied to romantic nothings
(“Does it really matter which?” you’d asked me then, eyes to the sky.
And I’d nodded, because it did.)
And I remember the first time I saw you by candlelight.
Shattered bulbs had left us with nothing but flames under stars
And I’m glad I first found you by such unforgettable light
Not lackluster memory that passed me by
Because now, alone beneath imaginary hatches
You light up the room by candle wax and boxed matches.
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 7:26 PM UTC
A ship in a bottle is a useless thing,
encapsulated, isolated.
It is meant to be crewed.
We are each holographic captains
seeking first mates
and yeomen to climb the riggings
and guide us through the storms.
Floating colonies needing founding,
battened hatches guarding dwindling
stores and shielding superstitious
sailors galore.
We must learn to trust our
crews and captains alike to
brave the rough seas and
coral reefs of life and
nature's faith.
Sometimes ships run aground,
the founding of the colony,
and then sandcastles reign supreme.
We must learn to trust our
crews and captains alike to
learn from their faith in nature.
We must build upon the dunes,
carrying buckets of water and
trust from the sea to inland
shores. The castle, like the ship,
will one day be reclaimed by the
sea, despite our efforts.
We build them anyway out of hope,
fearing faith, learning trust, while
wishing we were safe in a bottle.
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 8:23 AM UTC
Battle scars, of where I've been.
How do you fix a childhood, this frightening?
A first lust that gave you breath, a reason to sing,
So you found another, a first true lover, and you picked up the pen.
An emotionally abusive mother, who has terrified all of your friends.
One that's massacred all your brothers heads.
And many screws are loose in my head.
How can I tighten them?
Batten down the hatches?
Open up to the wind and the masses?
Hoping someone could understand,
Maybe they'll have a proper screwdriver on hand.
But such is rare.
With not many hands on hand
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 2:04 AM UTC
Retail-hunter gatherers pick
clean processed bones, digging graves
with their shiny teeth, studious in
their reveries as they drone
past worlds dumped in the thresher;
the trucked-in fields of film-wrapped
gore splayed lustily before the managers
wound tight in Machiavellian design.
A shepherd herds his flock of
wreathed iron back to its pen, its
skeletal tangle lit in riotous gold by
swords flung from lambent eyes of
pre-dawn’s shunting chariots
Cages shunt and bobble like tugboats
chugging stoic up swimming pool lanes
of nondescript tile, cheered on by shouting
colours to float through archipelagos of
paper towel and chocolate blocks past
the vegemite diaspora, and the arctic
wastelands cased in sliding glass fields of
perfect steady storms as wraiths baked in halogen
ask silent questions of the silverbeet, while
Lana Del Ray’s voice falls like
nightshade—slutty and serene—coating
shelf stackers in a Piaf sadness as the
shelves reach their arms out for more.
The check out chick hatches
a sense of déjà vu as carrots
and biscuits drone towards her
mind berEFT of any twitching
sense of POSsibility that wised
up and flew this leering coop and
deep in her catalogue of grey folds
something stillborn and waxen is
perched on gleaming steel, reeling
out her guts like cassette tape with jerky
nightmare arms and laughing like a
banker watching ***** films, mornings
dull cerise an invocation through
auto-jaws as she bursts out to warble
with magpies in car park’s climbing fire.
Jul 25, 2013
Jul 25, 2013 at 9:23 PM UTC
Crisp, the fallen leaves now pile,
the times are changing, Autumn-style,
breezes rake the tippy-tops of trees,
bare branches rattle like skeleton keys.
Subtle September has come once again,
tipping its hat to the Summer's end,
makes clear and crisp the evening air,
the harvest season now sidles near,
grass and weeds will wither dry,
scythes and sickles swing low and high,
gourds of pumpkins soon will burst in patches,
fat apples drop down cider-press hatches,
so soon those sugary coats of frost shall rise,
and sharp, chilly winds will sting teary eyes,
fruit pies will bake, brown nuts will roast,
glasses of wine shall arise in toasts,
to the approach of yet another Fall,
before the stark-white of Winter blankets all.
Sep 11, 2010
Sep 11, 2010 at 6:25 AM UTC
Tao nebula...
I finally have some leave time..
Its been a long time since I have been here..
I fly on through and head for the pod lookout in my ship..
I already have my bed and lunch ready there..
I open the sun hatches and there it is..
Tao is a nebula that matches your thought waves and patterns..
As I look out the nebula creates my thoughts into pictures..
Its alot like watching your dreams on a screen played back to you..
The nebula paints my thoughts among the stars..
I dream while im awake..
Its so amazing and beautiful...
Anything I think of is acting out before me..
The Tao nebula, where a dream is never far away..
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 6:29 PM UTC
"Don't forget,
We're in the business
Of giving debt,
Not forgiveness,
So hurry up
And get to
Paying us back
With interest,
Get fat from
Processed snacks
And a lack
Of fitness,
Get trapped in
Our system of
Inflicted sickness."
Fast food passes
For sustenance
When nutrition's offered
Based on status,
And corporate
Influence
Decides who to
Feed in
Massive batches.
Every time
A fascist
Plan hatches
A new law passes,
The steadfast
Campaign
To make our
Brains cabbage,
Our bodies
Ravaged,
Our spirits
Shattered,
A nation
So savage
And battered
We no longer
Care that
A handful
Of vultures
Are driving
The carriage.
Don't be a fool,
These puppets
Don't care
About guns
Or gay marriage,
It's just a show,
A transparent
Distraction
In the form
Debate between
Imaginary factions.
Money rules the world,
It's not just a saying
That it makes
This **** twirl,
It spins us around
And inspires
The slaying
Of entire towns,
It leads these liars
In the game
They are playing,
Telling us up
Is really down.
Well if down is
The new up
I guess I
Should stop
Laying in dirt,
And get myself
A job
Making other
People hurt,
And make a ton
Of money
And pretend
I have worth.
Catch you on the
Flipside,
From the flipside.
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 7:17 PM UTC
There's two eyes of the Hurricane
both blue
flecked with grey.
Incalculable
forecasting the direction.
Ominous hunch
it is heading
my way.
The stability of shelter
is a lottery
of hope;
defenseless
if caught in its
path.
I'd be squashed
like a paper cup.
At a glance,
she can obliterate you
just like that. (click)
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 7:36 PM UTC
The clouds hid the red sky that day
Amid the wind and rain
No red sky meant no sailors warning
The waves broke high and hard
They passed the breakers and the kegs
They missed the red sky morning
The ships out on the water
From the shore to the Grand Banks
Were helpless in the coming storm
No choice to turn and run
The best bet was stay put
There was no port to get warm
The skies were filled with nothingness
the clouds like a sharks eye
Shades of black were all they saw
The icy waves of winter
Broke the calm of the early morn
For red sky in the morning is an unwritten sailors law
The Captain closed the bar down
On the Digby ferry crossing
The doors were being opened by each wave
They couldn't see the white caps
Only sky and see was all
And the souls he had to save
There were fifteen boats in transit
When the storm came bearing down
Most were halfway home or so
Now they all were stranded
In the journey between heaven and hell
Which direction they were headed only God would know
Turn sideways and you'd flip it
Just sit still and you were dead
You had to ride the water hellish ride
Hatches all were battened
Windows sealed and doors shut tight
Sailors tried to stay inside
Water spouts were forming
Off the stern and then the port
Navigate the safest spot and keep low
The door to Davy Jones' locker
Was opened and ready to accept
Any boat who made the choice to venture down below
On shore the coast guard were all scrambled
Planes were sent out just in case
More to recover than to save
Families awaited word by radio
The lines from all the ships were down
Some lost to a watery grave
Each year the ocean opens up
Mother Nature takes some back
It's just the circle of life at sea
Prayers are said at the Mariners Hall
Bells are rung for the dead
The sailors soul belongs to the water and it never can be free
Are you one that lives on water?
You know one day your luck will end
You knew this fact from the start
Sailors know the sea's a minefield
It's a war with God each day
You have to fight with all your heart
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 8:44 PM UTC
Clouds are forming layers
The sky is turning gray
Wind is dancing happily
The trees begin to sway
Creatures crawl inside
Fires stoked up to heat
Hatches battened down
Prayers said for the wheat
The ditches might flood
Roofing will be torn apart
But Idaho storms are lovely
Like a beautiful work of art.
Dec 5, 2010
Dec 5, 2010 at 3:50 PM UTC
white wisps
of bird
linger leisurely
before me,
until they're shot
by the fan
out the window.
there is no curtain rod
but a pillow case
thumbtacked
in place.
the window opens upwards,
held ajar by a jar
of dehydrated
algae.
we spin around the center
and the center spins back.
everything
revolving
round
everything.
another bird is born
and floats gingerly
around with
newborn
curiosity,
riding
the fan wind
round the world.
if an egg hatches
under a lampshade
a volcano is born.
Apr 12, 2010
Apr 12, 2010 at 5:18 AM UTC
I'll be dreaming tonight..
Yes I'll be dreamin' tonight
Of a Trico hatch that's goes off like a New England snow storm
A Loaded five weight by my side, with plenty of backing to spare.
I'll be dreaming tonight
Of a Montana highway leading me back home,
Home to the Firehole bridge, a purple sky ablaze
Salmo Trutta, my brother from below
I'll be dreaming of Casting tight loops below Kilpatrick Pond,
I catch a glimpse of Ernest smiling on the bank
The Hemingway legacy lives on at Silver Creek
As we wait for the green drake hatches to fill the air!
I'll be dreaming tonight of days gone by,
When a young boy caught his first German brown.
Neversink, you beckon me to the days long ago
I feel the force of the river pull me from a deep sleep.
And I awaken to the thought of......Tight Lines!
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 12:57 AM UTC
There was a time when we were strangers;
ships that passed in the cover of night.
We sailed parallel those lonely waters
not knowing that soon we'd be in sight.
There was a time when we were friends;
you wished only to reach the shore,
but my compass was spinning, our journey just beginning
and so I took you aboard.
There was a time when we were lovers,
but our ship soon started to leak.
We battened the hatches, bailing her out,
but hopes were battered and meek.
An unspoken pact and a final kiss,
letting you drift from my fingertips.
I readied the very last lifeboat,
but the captain goes down with the ship.
Strangers become lovers and lovers become strangers
through sailing the seas of time,
but this mariners tragedy's worth the memories
of when I called you mine.
Jul 3, 2017
Jul 3, 2017 at 11:10 PM UTC
If I decided to peal paint off the upside-down radiator
for eternity,
I wonder if you would sit beside me
reading Wallace Stevens.
If I decided to nurse the convent garden bursts of peonies
for eternity,
I wonder if you would smuggle me some
David Bowie tracks.
If I decided to eat only fudge brownies and cherry Starbursts
for eternity,
I wonder if you would google gourmet
recipes for me.
If I decided to paint my own Walden in the Washington wild
for eternity,
I wonder if you would build a nightclub
next to my cabin.
If I decided to leap out airplane hatches and steal rodeo saddles and read my poetry out-loud
for eternity,
I wonder if you would be happily
married in Norway.
Jun 24, 2012
Jun 24, 2012 at 6:52 PM UTC
At eight weeks old, she was our newly rescued mixed beagle pup.
Noah named her Daisy. Not a name I would have chosen, but certainly as sweet as
memories of Grandma's homemade molasses
bubbling in the old iron kettle brought out from the smokehouse for only one day each year on a crisp fall morning.
By sixteen weeks it was evident that all involved in the rescue didn't know squat about Beagles. After a frantic thirty seconds on Google, our mistake was quite clear in the form of about five hundred red and black and tan photographs. We were the proud but red-faced and slightly shocked owners of a **** Dog". Yep. And Daisy was her name-o.
Two years and seventy pounds down the road, I sat in my morning solitude spot this day with a good mug and a good book watching the nut hatches, house finch, and Black-capped/Carolina Chickadees tearing that special blend seed up as Daisy patrolled the yard for squirrels with one eye and her nose to the sky watching for the lone and clever Rock Pigeon scout that always precedes the flurry of flying rodents raiding my feeder. I can't help but to smile as Daisy glances at me through the deck door glass to see if I am admiring her skill and diligence. I am.
This being a Sunday before the dreaded M word day, I tend to lounge lazily around the house in my worn Clapton pj bottoms and hol(e)y Langley T-shirt. My shadow follows me from comfort to comfort spot knowing that I leave a trail of odd snacks from my kitchen perch to living room couch to study to lazy bed, and back again. She is showing a bit of winter fat.
To be continued....
r ~ 9Feb14
Feb 9, 2014
Feb 9, 2014 at 1:34 PM UTC
There’s stormy seas ahead they say
The clouds grow like mould in the sky
Batten down the hatches, mayday!
The curtains start to fly
Close the windows against the applauding rains
Lock the door, get buckets ready
But the dread won’t reach my veins
I am strong, I am steady
I have a life raft, small and warm
One bed, one bath, one key
It keeps me safe from any storm
And even the entire sea
Sep 5, 2023
Sep 5, 2023 at 5:12 AM UTC
your eyes are like a beacon
i'm being drawn toward
& even though i know
death rests on that shore
i still batten the hatches
& slice through the surf
& no matter what happens
i will reach that dirt
so there are rocks there
& they will **** my ship
& i will live in despair
because my vessel had missed
but i headed toward the light
it just wasn't your eyes
just a hidden deception guise
you had kept inside despite
utterance from subtle lips
of some love that was infinite
well darlin that dont exist
& thank you for proving it
& i still carry this love
but i will bury it now
i'll cover it in sand & blood
just under this lighthouse
i.miss.you.
Feb 7, 2010
Feb 7, 2010 at 5:42 PM UTC
The sky grew dark
and the wind full voiced
so I furled my single sail.
I battened down the hatches
fearful of the coming gale
the clouds were low and threatening
They oft are this time of year.
They made me wish I could be somewhere,
anywhere, but here.
Random bolts of lightening streaked
across the sullen sky.
Waves took and shook my little boat.
I thought that I might die.
A tingle of anxiety
I felt it in my gut
Imagine how relieved I felt
when the director hollered "Cut!"
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 10:39 PM UTC
It's not debatable
We are meant to be
Indestructible
Talking you and me
Two peas in our pod
Grooving home alone
No, no, no don't you touch that telephone
After nuzzling comes the cuddling
I like you next to me
So glad you like the dark chocolate
Here's the milk with honey
Let's binge watch our new fave
You're all the company I could ever want
Thanks for loving me
We've battened up the hatches
The rain ain't coming in
We're in this for the long haul
Three day weekends are just right,
To hang out with my baby doll
Morning, noon and night.
Oct 14, 2016
Oct 14, 2016 at 1:37 PM UTC
i wasn't lying
the weeping and wailing started weeks ago
what i didn't predict was the writhing
literal kicks of frustration
i've never been more serious
more foolish
more desperate
more liquid
what have you unleashed, you madman?
clearly, it's all your fault for starting this
nudging me right out
of ******* rotation with the sun
i didn't know this other **** was out here!
it's dark...and deep...and consuming
and i want to
f
a
l
l
you come and
obliterate
useless, dead cells from my brain
you return
and
electrify
stealing my oxygen
warping my perception
leaving me breathless
and high as a ******* kite
and again you come
prowling like a lion
growling
biting
dominating
sweet mother of god
and again
and again
you son of a *****
leaving me with these memories...
most others i let escape
but these...
i have posted guards
i have reinforced with steel
and song
and repetition
these WILL stay
i'm sure i was but a fly
buzzing around
i can see you swatting
irritated
already forgotten
well, my friend
that was not nice...
to knock me out of rotation
pull me into new space
then pick me up
and firmly plant me back
into the boring old stupid rotation
like nothing ever happened
because of you
i have to forcibly regulate my heartbeat
multiple times a day
these words, for christ's sake
they will not stop
the moment i let them go
i feel others loosely forming
i see glimpses
but there is no respite from this madness
why have you cast a spell on me?
for the love of the light, why do you move like you do?
you know **** well nothing else will suffice
you unleashed a wildness
that will not be contained
i guess i better just
batten down the hatches
with my pen and paper
it's gonna be a long night.
May 20, 2013
May 20, 2013 at 10:20 PM UTC
In my trench and freezing cold,
saw a guy get his helmet shot when he stood up a bit feeling bold,
still alive but has a wound,
I should be back in hometown with mum and pop,
eating turkey,
but instead I get this slop,
My adrenaline has been going for two weeks and its starting to wear,
but sleep I do not dare,
no man's land is all I will see,
and my dead friends welcoming me,
I start to nod into sleeping fright,
but again I fight,
I start to hear singing from across the field,
delusions I yield,
but again I hear,
and every now and then a cheer,
all drained of fear,
I pop my head up and see the Germans singing,
Christmas carols ringing?
A mate next to me starts to sing the same tunes,
so I pick it up and more do,
we must be loons,
but the singing together goes all through the night,
British and Germans, ever the hard ***** are singing too,
in the morning a brave chap gets out of the trench,
walks across the field that has the death stench,
no fire comes upon him nor gas,
but a man from the otherside gets up and rushes to meet him fast,
I dont see what they are saying but they exchange cigarettes and matches,
then the peace hatches,
we all get up on both sides and go talk with our enemies from yesterday,
we only smile because there is nothing to say,
except today is Christmas and we both want to go home,
but tomorrow we will both be firing at each other alone,
a football game break out and our commanders are even smiling,
no order to pour into filing,
just smoking pipes and waiting for it to end,
we show each other pictures of our girls and what they send,
no longer two side,
but two humans that needed someone in to confide,
we shake hands and go back to our trenches,
sit on our poorly built benches,
and wait till tomorrow when we are no longer a son,
but enemies trying to **** each one.
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 4:25 PM UTC
I awoke from this dream in the rubble of my mind. Lost alone in there among the falling Sands of Time. Stricken by the knots that are tied with in my sheets. No more sickness mama please no more grief. All my screws are loose there's too much confusion. Let me fall onto myself into that dreamy illusion. I took the needle from my arm but it's still planted in my head. I've got that feeling I can't take and it's filling me with Dread. I want to slide on down where the muddy water creeps. Where the ****** river flows who's filled with sweet relief. I want to climb into my mind find Oblivion far away from the feelings of the body I live in. Take me to that place that we all want to go. Suspected fugitive lost out on that Lonesome Road. Your constant conversations have me twiddling my thumbs. She was a torturous deceiver with her hand upon my gun. The wind swelled with a gust and I woke from this dream lost all along the lonely streets looking like a fein. I stepped into a paradise searching for my mind. A gonner with a periscope see me from behind. I'm gaining on my final breath aiming for the moon. Sewing up my only close with a needle and a spoon. Drowning in the desperation brewing in my grief. Searching like a street cop lost along his beat. Awaken to the circus that same old God **** show. A sing-along of corpses hitchhiking down the road. The Badlands and sands of time it's the gritty kind of life. Batten down the hatches so to not let in the light. When dependency is slavery there is no kind of thrill. ****** piece of **** just a feeling kinda ill.
Dec 8, 2020
Dec 8, 2020 at 10:49 PM UTC