"mutineers" poems
So I'll have mine
and you'll have yours?
who could ask
for anything more!
grey beards march
the union jack
build a wall
and send them back!
Grudge, sludge
a sanguine view
****** off
and take the cue
hide, plunge
aristocrat
run the field
like an old tom cat
Narrow pass
and capital flow
falling crude
and currency woe
deep depression,
mutineers
the mastermind
of project fear!
Silver spoon
at Hampton court
madness waits
in Davenport
divisible
and off the grid
**** it up
100 quid
Helen’s horsemen
unified
the springbok club
will never hide
plebiscite
in deep despair
an open scroll
Trafalgar square
Grapple, grovel
sentry shame
along the shore
of river Thames
king of wankers
lord of beat
break the rule
of old elite!
Stone the posse
bullets bare
load the chambers
fists in air
voices, faces
haunted souls…
should i stay
or should i go?
Jan 15, 2017
Jan 15, 2017 at 2:21 PM UTC
I have done many exceptional things in my life.
I have traveled to far-away worlds with effervescent seas.
I have fought alongside rebels and mutineers: against oppressive dukes and deities.
I, so vividly, remember the times I danced on the tops of skyscrapers. Thereafter howling at the moon with my fellow gypsies. But more than that, I remember the gentle laughter of friends.
I remember the soft hands of those I love on mine, while the sunsetted on an entirely unforgettable day.
I find my grandest adventures after the sun has dipped down out of sight, and the moon has risen to illuminate my so out of focus world.
I find them as I’m hunched over in my bed.
I find them as my fingers are trembling over the keys of a laptop; the glow of the screen burning in my eyes.
As I rip post-it notes full of ideas off my walls and mesh them together, I become some sort of enchanter; thus beginning yet another journey.
Although I may have not truly gone on such adventures, the feeling would remain the same if I had. Because, as I’ve come to realize, the truest of grand adventures starts with simply a single blank page and the desire to tell an earth-shattering story.
Apr 2, 2016
Apr 2, 2016 at 10:25 PM UTC
A tavern built on misdeeds and insurrection,
House of rascals, whisky and imperfection
A hideaway for rebels and racketeers,
Where drinks are served to outlaws and mutineers,
Where the pianist plays for pirates and privateers,
Where the wicked and the wayward can be served,
And are respected however undeserved.
It’s a rag-tag bunch of outlaws and anarchists,
A cavalcade of rough revolutionists,
So come on in my dear insurrectionist,
Welcome to our lawless little band,
Welcome to the Tavern of the ******
Come and join our banished battalion,
Join our cause, oh revered rapscallion,
So calling out to nature’s abominations,
We’ve got bourbon, bombshells and indignation,
Come and wait for imminent and sure damnation,
No matter what your deviance may be,
Come and join the drunken reverie.
It’s a monument to lost souls and deviants,
A shrine to every small disobedience,
A riotous, cathartic experience,
Where radicals are safe from reprimand,
Welcome to the Tavern of the ******
Welcome back, my worshipped renegade,
To the place where freedom’s sweet as lemonade,
Where skanks and outlaws, sing so intoxicated,
The anthem of the unkempt and agitated,
The mantra of the evil and of the hated,
Laughing as they sing their merry tune,
Unified by their impending doom.
It’s a testament to chaos and anarchy,
A haven for the worst of humanity,
A house of lawlessness and profanity,
Welcome to our lawless little band,
Welcome to the Tavern of the ******
Aug 19, 2020
Aug 19, 2020 at 6:59 PM UTC
The sky was a smudge-coloured blue up there
When the sailing ship came in,
With full top gallants and spinnaker flared
Full flight from a world of sin,
The mermaid carved on her prow was proud
As she breasted the salt-licked spray,
Her hair a-stream, as the waves she ploughed
And surged to Ascension Bay.
I’d watched her approach from the Sailor’s Rest
That lay way up on the cliff,
‘It isn’t a question of when,’ he’d said,
‘Nor even a question of if!
The ghost of ‘The Falls of Borrowdale’
Comes in with a clear blue sky,
It happens but once a year,’ he’d said
‘On the twenty-fifth of July!’
I’d laughed at him in the ‘Admiral’s Arms’
As he swallowed his seventh ale,
While others listened with frightened eyes
Each face was a shade of pale,
‘You’ll see it best from the Sailor’s Rest,
That ruin, up on the cliff,
But don’t get caught by the devil’s cohort
Swarming up from the ship.’
They’d scaled the cliff to the Sailor’s Rest,
I knew the story of old,
Had slain the crew of the ‘Captain Teck’,
Or so it was always told,
They’d left the ‘Rest’ in a sea of flames
For the sake of an ancient feud,
While ‘The Falls of Borrowdale’ lay wrecked
By the mutineers that crewed.
They’d seized young Molly, the serving girl
Who’d worked at the Sailor’s Rest,
Had pulled her hair and had pinned her down,
Exposed the girl at the breast,
They took their pleasure and dragged her out
To the edge of the cliff, and pale,
Then flung her screaming down to the deck
Of ‘The Falls of Borrowdale’.
And so it was that I lay with the glass
So firmly fixed to my eye,
Up on the cliff by the Sailor’s Rest
On the twenty-fifth of July,
The ghostly ship flew into the shore
Under a mass of sail,
No sign of the crew, no lookout stood
On watch at the forward rail.
The ship ground up on the Daley Rocks
Rose shrieking, up in the air,
Her timbers creaking and groaning with
The mermaid’s look of despair,
The crew poured out of the lower decks
And flung themselves overboard,
These phantoms, straight from the devil’s lair
To put good men to the sword.
I ran some way from the Sailor’s Rest
Lay under a bush, and hid,
I didn’t know what to do for the best
But watched, to see what they did,
They swarmed all over the Sailor’s Rest
Put everyone to the sword,
Then dragged poor Molly out on the grass
And I cried, ‘Please stop them, Lord!’
Then the phantoms stopped as they heard my cry
And they turned, each black as sin,
Molly let out a quivering sigh
And they burst in flames, within,
She stood alone at the edge of the cliff
And she waved, no longer pale,
While the mermaid smiled on the prow of the ship,
‘The Falls of Borrowdale.’
David Lewis Paget
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 12:09 AM UTC
Through all his days
And through all his years
He caused so much pain
And forced so many tears
So no one sheds them for him
Not even his peers
And no one stands with him
As he faces his fears
What was once his mark on the world
Rubs off and smears
He stands alone
In these unknown frontiers
He tells her he loves her
And he knows she hears
But instead of relieving him
She lets him lay on the spears
While he’s crushed by the burden
Of these planetary spheres
With the flame of love
His flesh just sears
While holding up the world
His skin adheres
For all his deeds
His karma arrears
Him and his mind
Love’s racketeers
Him and his mind
The game’s pioneers
His heart and his mind
Now mutineers
As they betray him
He looks up and sneers
She ends his punishment
Because she interferes
She says I love you too
And everything clears
From his shoulders
The world disappears
Scars are left
As souvenirs
They’re reminders
In case who he was
Suddenly reappears
Jun 12, 2010
Jun 12, 2010 at 2:10 AM UTC
In the bottom of the world, where the eye can’t trace,
There is a world. Far from worlds of all kinds, there’s a maze.
It’s slopped down and valleyed to the edge of the earth. From earth it rises
and flashes like an army of ants. Mutinying army ants in hermit clothes praises.
Little huts made of clay. Ants clay-model rants they philosophize the earth. Planet of hearth.
mutineers of hard work, far from working life and politics. Licks the Saturdays to Sunday dirge.
Your sorrow will be gone morrow,
Your silence will be force of horror.
We will help you seek your justice.
All you need to do is now is close your eyes and wait for precipice.
It will bear the name of your Victor. Traitors and victory echoless.
You can rise again, stitch the rashes for Phoenix,
Fluttering to the dewy meadow of blue above. Rise above the sky this time.
Close your eyes and fly this time. Never another time to rise, close and soar but this time.
Apr 6, 2019
Apr 6, 2019 at 5:36 AM UTC
The senses, being irrelevant
And often misleading,
Have led me to answering questions,
You've never bothered asking
When "when" is not a timeframe
So much, as it is a
Time of day, be it
Morning over coffee,
Or a digital dessert, I can't be
Made to let go of the
Gasps I grab for, upon your entrance
Or exit, breath becomes trivial.
You steal jealousy from
My eyes, and quite a jealous
Man can I be. Those same portals
You fill up every day with
Smoke and sensationalism, through which
Stolen intentions, kept quiet,
Are made mutineers
Against their vigilant captains.
The how came from surrender.
Realizing you turn me against
Myself. And as the world falls
Down around me I can't
Get that awful sound of my
Own hypocrisy, crashing down, out
From the canals they've found to call home.
Below broken-hearted-bowls,
And lying over the phone, and a
Cancerous presence on the
Stage of Socialites, you still look
Perfect with a cigarette in your lips.
*I've used "portals" before.
To mean eyes.
And cigarettes before.
To mean freedom.
But you just smoke them... Don't you...?*
There are those who marvel
At the size of her, before taking in
The expansive beauty the moon can speak.
Some are willing to court her,
Others rip the hoop skirt off,
And **** her 'til she bleeds.
Oddly, no one is ever jealous,
Of the time others spend with her.
She's taken for granted, as
The passed-around property
Of the Uncultured Below.
But that's not why I'm sorry...
***Or don't you wonder...
Don't you ever wonder?
Who went wrong?
What's correctly missing?***
It is in how I love,
The ways not withstanding,
And reason, remaining remiss,
That I ask you to forgive me.
You are who you are
Because I love you.
And I am who I am,
Because you are.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 11:47 AM UTC
There are people like snow.
Beautiful but cold.
People full of love,
People spoiled by gold.
There are people-oceans,
People-puddles,
People full of emotions
There are soldiers and captians.
There are people-robots,
People-mutineers.
There are people-moments,
People-years.
There are people-edens,
People-clerics,
There are even
People-relics.
There are people-alters,
People-droplets.
There are people-dollars,
And the wallet owners
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 7:42 AM UTC
This one’s for the quiet ones locked in their bedrooms
Too burnt out to break free from the monsters that loom
To the ones someone told it’s not worth chasing dreams
To the ones sitting still so they don’t burst at the seams
This one’s for the lost ones, the overlooked ones, the dropped ones
For the selective mutes, the broken brutes, the ones playing possum
To the aching tender joints, to the bedrest homies
The inspiration **** I am when they don’t even know me
The invisible struggle that lights a fire inside
The cut locks, broken doors, screaming match courtside
I’ve been there, I’ve seen that, the closing curtain last act
You already know you’re strong so I don’t have to say that
I’m not looking down on you
You know they’re gonna clown on you
I want you to know that it doesn’t have to drown you
If you’re looking for a sign to stay,
My friend, this is it
None of you did anything to deserve this ****
If you’re scared (Don’t give up)
Unprepared (Don’t give up)
If you’re ready to drop outta here (Don’t give up)
If you’re feeling like you’ve disappeared (Don’t give up)
I’ve got your back; I’ve got your spirit by my side
I’ve got that heavy burden, I’ve been that tattered pride
They’re not gonna say thank you, they’re not gonna say please
But we don’t have to earn our lives by begging on our knees
We don’t have to settle for fight, flight or freeze
We’ve got a depth of wisdom they can never seize
To the invisible ones, to the hidden in plain sight
To the hearts hanging heavy dreading going home at night
To the fending for yourselves, to the strategic hustlers
To the lost in other universes, to the panicked jimmy-rustlers
To the ‘how did I get here’s, to the max volume, quiet tears
To the looking for the exit, to the wasted golden years
I see you, I hear you
The truth is, they fear you
Those old ways are dying, We’re new pioneers who
Will call out the liars, we’ll march through the wires
Arm ourselves with truth, we’ll put out those fear fires
So rise up; recognize
That your spirit’s got merit outside of their eyes
Your value’s intrinsic, your dreams are realistic
This fight never ending, our story polyptych
This is a tribute to my mutineers
To the ones who keep fighting, the facers of fears
Straighten up, don’t carry their judgement
All of that hatred just ain’t in the budget
It’s unsustainable, come on, proclaim, we’re all
Building a new road, running down the Rockefellers
Don’t forget
We have a dream
Hold fast
Together we’re unstoppable
Mar 10, 2020
Mar 10, 2020 at 6:42 PM UTC