"masted" poems
You pace in circles.
I speak in smoke rings,
an occasional finger-snapped heart,
a masted boat if I could.
Away away to ocean
in long-legged strides.
Waves crash against the sides,
left, front, and right,
in ripe blueberries and whitewash.
Come to the cabin,
a tail of breadcrumbs,
keep your socks striped,
pinks and purples.
A David Austin rose, or three.
I'm not cohesive either.
Flaunt the ship's wheel,
solid oak, dark, mesmerizing,
nearly your eyes now.
Let gray skies form clouds,
don't pray for better weather.
The rain grumbles hunger,
veiled moonlight stretches its arms
down to slatted deck,
spraying it in gangtag graffiti.
Stay here, circles more on the floor.
Your hips, footprints up your toes
from a whiskered mouse with dusted nose.
He's escaped and curled up
the nook of your ankle.
Eighteen knots tangle your hair.
Call the winds to come in storms,
they'll surely lead the way.
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 12:47 PM UTC
Found on the corner of sleeping dogs lie
Came to the spotlight with one crooked eye
Painted a portrait in spite of the light
Hoping the canvas was centered and tight
Poured off the foam before going to bed
It’s easy to sleep when you don’t have a head
Dreams are the reason I tend to escape
Picking up pieces that fell off the cake
Coupled with sailors now off on a trip
Some sunken treasure on some sunken ship
Last time the cannons did roar at the sea
Green was the canvas of the canopy
Blown into port with a quart in your bag
Looking quite close at the half masted flag
Wondering who might have swam with the fish
And ended up sinking and getting their wish
The mist in the air hung so thick on the ground
The bell in the lighthouse could broadcast the sound
Ringing that rang as the tide wandered in
As night storms from southern most points did begin
Anchors were dropped to the depths of the deep
Big leaks were fixed but the little ones seeped
Batons were hatched or whatever that means
Opening gaps welded closed at the seams
Swabbing the deck seemed like pure wasted time
As buckets were emptied with rain in the sky
Sails were pulled down, pulled in, put away
While clouds housed a marvelous lightening display
A bottle of *** and a parrot named bill
They drank and they sang until they had their fill
When off now to sleep they did fall with a thud
Tomorrow the war and the spilling of blood
The enemies’ close they could feel in their bones
Because of the bank and some late payment loans
They shuffled us off to some brightly lit rooms
And offered low interest in brand new doubloons
They had us signing here page after page
As if fountain pens were just coming of age
Now put them away this place sure is a mess
Or move them to somebody else’s address
If the dog is not home and the cats on the chair
Licking his tail with the long flowing hair
For after this voyage we look up above
And whisper a poem that doesn’t speak love
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 7:30 AM UTC
fleeing beyond the horizon
a retreating sun sets ablaze
the rigging of aerial galleons
vapor masted and cloudy hulled
running before the wind
with full sail aloft
they press in hot pursuit
their unobtainable quarry
the pale mountainous island of the moon
secure in her fortress
regards the fleet with haughty disdain
as they hurry past
endless blue waters of the sky
deepen towards black
and breakers
on the great reef of the Milky Way
come into view
the fleet softens
losing interest in the hopeless chase
the ships dissolve and stretch out thin
on the last gasp of the failing wind
day sweeps over the edge
of the diurnal shelf
passing from shallows of dusk
to the starlit deeps of night
Jul 17, 2025
Jul 17, 2025 at 11:14 PM UTC
some days i write
rafts and barks,
kayaks and corricles.
some days, a mere log,
set hopefully upon the water.
some days, dories and yachts
pinnaces, sloops, ketches and tugboats
on rare occassions,
great two and three masted ships,
schooners and galleons
filled with treasure..
more often scows, punts
and barges,
work man like and useful,
but not alway pretty
all painstakingly,
crafted...
with planks of words
nailed together with punctuation...
and caulked, with my soul...
sanded down by thought
polished, oiled and varnished,
with love...
then i set my sails,
my inspiration,
to the mast of poetry
and push off....
into the great white yonder....
hoping my xebec...my catarmaran, my dinghy...
my log...
will find a fellow waterman....
sailing, on this...
the ocean of words.
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 2:57 PM UTC
Go in Circles until you can’t anymore then go Straight
You head left Seven times then right Eight
If you see a Gate go back you have gone North for too long
Drive until you run out of gas and then walk until you Drop
When you wake there will be a Star 30’ to the West follow that until even your bones ache
You will at last hit a River with Six Six Masted Boats with Six Crew Men each
Take the Third one and give the Master all that you have
They will then take you into a Fog so deep you do not even know if you are above Water or not
Jump from the Boat when you can Swim in the Air
Swim until you are not sure that it is an Island or a Monster you are going towards
On the shore, there is a Hut and a Path
Take the Path
Leave as much Distance between you and the Hut as possible
Walk for 12 minutes exactly or you will lose your way
Close your eyes and turn until you hear Music then go towards it
You will then walk into a Clearing with a Group of People in it
A Man Playing the Fiddle
A Boy Playing the Drum
A Woman Playing the Flute
A Girl Playing the Tamborine
When the Last One turns to you ask if you may Join
If you have followed my Instructions exactly They will Yes
And when you do Join them in the Clearing something inside you will Settle
And you Will be Free at Last
Mar 19, 2021
Mar 19, 2021 at 12:11 PM UTC
To face the world, a runt,
With such brunt and abasement,
Is to know ones place in the scheme,
Standing in the stream of frivolous
Happenings, this is the dance,
To be danced, this is the play,
Yet, he has the ears of a king,
To jest with such fire is to be
Ferocious, not feeble, his mocks
Are mostly mirrors for the blind,
For madness is a known methodology,
How he revels round the sad theatres
Of the high born absurd, how he speaks
In tongues and with bold proclamations
Only taut whispers of wind would know?
He is certain that the spindle fates are real
And that lightening strikes purposefully,
Kingdoms will fall, as the sun will rise,
As the noble trees ring with ideologies,
Without travails, he is always arriving,
To sleep out of doors, this is his way,
The path, the masted ship of fools.
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 10:19 PM UTC
In the sands now,
The castles crumble,
You are salted, breaded
Of eternity and old song how
Under the mute whine of stars
Sings a lost melody all shall
Soon enough join in corals,
The dive into the stretches
Beyond strands and untoward
What light there surely may come,
Beckon, like recurring dreams
Of fathoms yet to be discovered,
The rivers of time have slipped
You by, here riding now in tides
And driftwood under stars, sails
Moving by masted spars' rowing,
Your rude cross, commemorating,
All that was dearest, too soon lost,
The ferried bones to sea from sky.
Oct 9, 2015
Oct 9, 2015 at 7:07 PM UTC
a tall masted sailboat plods its way
across the picture window, under power, moving slow, 5 minute mile,
seagulls trail behind, periodically dive bombing the roiled wake, thinking, surely, men’s finding machinery may better than their own,
we,
taking anything to make the new days poems & troubles easier
so it goes, the interplay between man and a natural world,
so it goes, finding fish, our sustenances, a dance perpetual,
so it goes, divining spirits sensing a vision, bring me music,
a spiritual so apropos that who can doubt God’s existence?
**”With the water
Sweet water, wash me down
Come on, water
Sweet water, wash me down**
**Tried my hand at the Bible
Tried my hand at prayer
But now, nothing but the water
Is gonna bring my soul to bear”^**
so the birth-day begins, sunrise poems & troubles sure to follow,
in serenity commences, perhaps a sunset bookend to match,
but in between, surely poems & troubles, all of life’s stuffing,
signs and guides, surely, at least, the day’s poem is completed...
—————————————-
^ Nothing But the Water (II)
Grace Potter and the Nocturnals
Sep 11, 2020
Sep 11, 2020 at 8:05 AM UTC
Your face is lit up from the light on the screen
As you type on the only place you're ever seen
Press the control keys, make yourself jump
20 years crouching over gave your back a ****
You're following that woman with long flowing hair
High cheekbones, long ears, and she's going somewhere
You're led to a boat, though you've never been trained
To sail a three-masted beaut, it has been ingrained
For instructions are soon to pop before your eyes
With large flashing arrows hanging in the skies
You grasp at the rope and hoist up the anchor
And you turn to the woman to possibly thank her
She's there for a moment, but gone when you cough
The words in the air spell out: She logged off
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 9:34 AM UTC
.
To face the world, a runt,
With such brunt and abasement,
Is to know ones place in the scheme,
Standing in the stream of frivolous
Happenings, this is the dance,
To be danced, this is the play,
Yet, he has the ears of a king,
To jest with such fire is to be
Ferocious, not feeble, his mocks
Are mostly mirrors for the blind,
For madness is a known methodology,
How he revels round the sad theatres
Of the high born absurd, how he speaks
In tongues and with bold proclamations
Only taut whispers of wind would know?
He is certain that the spindle fates are real
And that lightening strikes purposefully,
Kingdoms will fall, as the sun will rise,
As the noble trees ring with ideologies,
Without travails, he is always arriving,
To sleep out of doors, this is his way,
The path, the masted ship of fools.
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 9:27 PM UTC
When I try my hardest
I can still love you the most
And it's not hard
it's just not the same as it used to be
But our dreams are still parallel
Like the world that exists
In some turquoise tangerine place
where we managed to keep it sacred
And if I think about it long enough
I remember how sad it was at the end
Seeking relief
When we only found solace in naked
And if I reach out to touch the stars
It brings your skin back to my flesh while it burns our history back into the harbor of forgotten ships
That never masted
Sewing words together to make them
Out of moments that never lasted
This is what time felt like
When we weren't able to forget mistakes and tribulations
We could have but didnt outlast and
(I had a lovely time.)
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 12:58 AM UTC
.
To face the world, a runt,
With such brunt and abasement,
Is to know ones place in the scheme,
Standing in the stream of frivolous
Happenings, this is the dance,
To be danced, this is the play,
Yet, he has the ears of a king,
To jest with such fire is to be
Ferocious, not feeble, his mocks
Are mostly mirrors for the blind,
For madness is a known methodology,
How he revels round the sad theatres
Of the high born absurd, how he speaks
In tongues and with bold proclamations
Only taut whispers of wind would know?
He is certain that the spindle fates are real
And that lightening strikes purposefully,
Kingdoms will fall, as the sun will rise,
As the noble trees ring with ideologies,
Without travails, he is always arriving,
To sleep out of doors, this is his way,
The path, the masted ship of fools.
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 2:03 PM UTC
In the sands now,
The castles crumble,
You are salted, breaded
Of eternity and old song how
Under the mute whine of stars
Sings a lost melody all shall
Soon enough join in corals,
The dive into the stretches
Beyond strands and untoward
What light there surely may come,
Beckon, like recurring dreams
Of fathoms yet to be discovered,
The rivers of time have slipped
You by, here riding now in tides
And driftwood under stars, sails
Moving by masted spars' rowing,
Your rude cross, commemorating,
All that was dearest, too soon lost,
The ferried bones to sea from sky.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 9:23 PM UTC
Hail silent ships sailing out to stormy waters
Hail frozen nights and your silent winds
Hail sleep so silent and powerful
Steady dreams born on masted vessels
Dreadful thoughts carried on the winds wings
Hail graves with graces in the light
Hail smoking fires guiding my night
Hail wind blown trees with golden leaves
Your steady hand holds my heart
The stance you form with feet apart
Hail silver wings that slice thin air
Hail crude whispers barely there
Hail you beings that walk this earth
Follow your call from humble berth
Travel sodden roads to find your worth
Oh silent days with much to remember
Oh willful force with rope to sever
Your eyes they watch my every move
With a heart strong to prove
Lets wings of fortune light my path
Lest I stand behind broken mast
I will hold on to this feeling
Even when the waves are reeling
Grip your strength
And find your courage
Hail to brave of heart
I trusted you from the start
Hail to you brave of heart
Play your part
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 7:39 PM UTC
To face the world, a runt,
With such brunt and abasement,
Is to know ones place in the scheme,
Standing in the stream of frivolous
Happenings, this is the dance,
To be danced, this is the play,
Yet, he has the ears of a king,
To jest with such fire is to be
Ferocious, not feeble, his mocks
Are mostly mirrors for the blind,
For madness is a known methodology,
How he revels round the sad theatres
Of the high born absurd, how he speaks
In tongues and with bold proclamations
Only taut whispers of wind would know?
He is certain that the spindle fates are real
And that lightening strikes purposefully,
Kingdoms will fall, as the sun will rise,
As the noble trees ring with ideologies,
Without travails, he is always arriving,
To sleep out of doors, this is his way,
The path, the masted ship of fools.
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 1:48 PM UTC
When I try my hardest
I can still love you the most
And it's not hard
it's just not the same as it used to be
But our dreams are still parallel
Like the world that exists
In some turquoise tangerine place
where we managed to keep it sacred
And if I think about it long enough
I remember how sad it was at the end
Seeking relief
When we only found solace in naked
And if I reach out to touch the stars
It brings your skin back to my flesh while it burns our history back into the harbor of forgotten ships
That never masted
Sewing words together to make them
Out of moments that never lasted
This is what time felt like
When we weren't able to forget mistakes and tribulations
We could have but didnt outlast and
(I had a lovely time.)
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 12:30 AM UTC
In the sands now,
The castles crumble,
You are salted, breaded
Of eternity and old song how
Under the mute whine of stars
Sings a lost melody all shall
Soon enough join in corals,
The dive into the stretches
Beyond strands and untoward
What light there surely may come,
Beckon, like recurring dreams
Of fathoms yet to be discovered,
The rivers of time have slipped
You by, here riding now in tides
And driftwood under stars, sails
Moving by masted spars' rowing,
Your rude cross, commemorating,
All that was dearest, too soon lost,
The ferried bones to sea from sky.
Dec 31, 2015
Dec 31, 2015 at 2:50 PM UTC
Never knowing just what you have, love
It should've been us... or maybe that was just me
But we'll see through tide and shore,
When we sail in with sheets shoal-masted
Even the EITC cant prove anyone still rides with me.
To recognize our shared demise...
Am I living bitter expectation?
Are they better than you?
Are they any better than me?
They... need (songs to keep the weary alert at sea)
They need to be better than we.
In all my songs
I told stories how "she" might end with me
Or probably end me
But are
These just dreams
That still
Let her hurt me
Do
I will let her hurt me
But no
Whisper you're safe
You own your memr'y, and I hope forgetting me cost your faith
Mystical and whimsy
Whose my enemy?
"We" or just "me"
Time is a convenient tragedy
And I play witness to this evening's misery
My inconvenient, always complicit, omnipresent company.
We were never meant to be
We,
Me.
You.
I... half drunk, half hallucinating, half angry - Who can I blame for not being me?
All the same but I maybe somebody.
We were never meant to be recognizable
never meant to be anybody you can acclaim
on the most current, convenient, complicity capitulated captivation of cognitive, but captured and categorized component of your human experience... filed away.
Now I'm
Someone you cant recognize
Me
But now I'm
Almost 40
And its always just been me.
(My father died at 41
who should I have become)
And what do I have to show
a body left too long in the undertow
This decomposing
This wreckage left of me
They... need (songs to keep the weary alert at sea)
They need to be better than we.
If in the last breaths I breathe
My history comes haunting me
There are 8 women I thought could love me
Yet today I can still recall the first
Her name like silver dripping onto silk
How her voice burned in through memories
And she's still here with me
I rode my bike by your house
And the second after, like every second ever after
I painted you inside my head
In characters and costumes that weren't quite your size
But it's my lie
The rest of this story, and I am sorry will drive you into a never ending loop of pity and tragedy and only one of us gets out alive...
We'll see if you can find any reference of me in three years.
This wreckage left of me
Maybe I'm somebody.
But no
Whisper you're safe
You own your memr'y, you own forgetting me
Mystical and whimsy
Or are "we" my enemy
Maybe just "me"
And what do I have to show
a body left too long in the undertow
This decomposing
This wreckage left of me
Aug 16, 2023
Aug 16, 2023 at 6:07 AM UTC
.
In the sands now,
The castles crumble,
You are salted, breaded
Of eternity and old song how
Under the mute whine of stars
Sings a lost melody all shall
Soon enough join in corals,
The dive into the stretches
Beyond strands and untoward
What light there surely may come,
Beckon, like recurring dreams
Of fathoms yet to be discovered,
The rivers of time have slipped
You by, here riding now in tides
And driftwood under stars, sails
Moving by masted spars' rowing,
Your rude cross, commemorating,
All that was dearest, too soon lost,
The ferried bones to sea from sky.
.
May 19, 2018
May 19, 2018 at 12:15 AM UTC
His Lordship forgot, siren’s slave-ship become, flighting.
Delusion, until fog horn let out it’s truthful blast. Lightning.
Caused rocky shores to be shown, even absent lighting.
Confusion lifted, anchors tossed, perhaps not all’s lost.
Hull pierced, as if cannon foddered, deck arrested, splintered, shuddered.
Sharper sharper, mast the sharpest, shard upwards, sail white masted.
Surrendered, will rendered, I lay, with strength hindered, fasted.
Waking, after night spent with foamed water taking.
Waiting, ocean water like a ballast, weighting.
Humility, as fatal shores show in after storm tranquility.
Oh, amazing grace, how sweet the sound!
For its’ warning blast, the siren’s call was drowned.
Tide lowered, ship on reef rock towered,
Mercy’s trophy, castled once, now bowered.
Humility, raised like the sun from blue depths, lucidity.
Such pleasant places walled ship from sin,
Reef boundaries, like a garden, hedged in.
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 2:54 AM UTC