"oarsmen" poems
The stink of fish on earthen streets
A hot wind blows from ochre hills
Black faces shine with brilliant teeth
Street market ***** doth cure all ills.
Redness in her plaited hair
Rhythm in her steady tread
A harmony of balance, she carries
Water jars on her head.
A market girl is singing
As she sits among bananas
The drama in her music
Is as dusty as the street,
It fills the air with magic
As it lilts above street chatter
In the atmosphere of Africa
Where new and ancient meet.
The goat boy herds his docile flock
Through camel trains and bales
The steamer tethered at the dock
Announces that she sails
With billowed steam and mournful wail
It echoes through the town
And the planter and his agent
Bargain with a harried frown.
The bleating of the goat herd
And the stench of fish and dung
Is as ordinary as Africa
In the searing mid day sun.
Zanzibar is spices, Zanzibar is Stone.
Club Zanzibar is whiskey on the rocks
Consumed alone
Or shared upon the balcony
In the shadow of a palm
With the turquoise Indian ocean
Reaching out beyond the arm.
Do you see the dhows are sailing?
Do you see the fishing nets?
Do you hear the oarsmen chanting?
Did you see black muscle flex?
Have you watched the dripping sweat
Cascade on alabaster brow?
Have you inhaled the scent of Africa
And allowed it to allow?
Colobus monkeys in the treetops
Narrow lanes in the bazaar
Dull white walls adorn stone buildings
And the rupee is by far
The favorite tenure of the Island
Since the days when slaves were sold
By Arab camel caravaners
Who traded coin for young black gold.
East and west collide in concert
Africa and Asia blend
The Sultan's mix of race and spice
In Zanzibar, beyond lands end.
Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
3rd June 2008
Oct 13, 2009
Oct 13, 2009 at 11:06 PM UTC
bayou baby
She comes from the swamplands
Back in the mangrove
Back where the stories say
Magic runs wild
The devil plays host
And all who visit must stay
Witches and Zombies
Together by night
Gators and Snakes there as well
The river, it changes
Cut you off in a flash
And then you end up in hell
Hair as black as Kentucky Coal
And eyes green as the sea
She's the witch queen of the swamp to most
But, she's a Bayou Baby to me
Born out of the magic's world
Where the mystic world runs free
She's the witch queen of the swamp to most
But, she's a Bayou Baby to me
She comes to town
to get supplies
That's where I saw her first
I followed close
Back to the swamp
And saw her do her worst
A simple boat
A single lamp
An oarsmen, long, long dead
A different route
Through water black
To a place where most folks dread
Hair as black as Kentucky Coal
And eyes green as the sea
She's the witch queen of the swamp to most
But, she's a Bayou Baby to me
Born out of the magic's world
Where the mystic world runs free
She's the witch queen of the swamp to most
But, she's a Bayou Baby to me
She saw me
And I looked back
She knew that I would follow
She slowed down
Her travel home
And she trapped me in the hollow
I never told
Another soul
Of who I go to see
I travel out
At night alone
My Bayou Baby waits for me
Hair as black as Kentucky Coal
And eyes green as the sea
She's the witch queen of the swamp to most
But, she's a Bayou Baby to me
Born out of the magic's world
Where the mystic world runs free
She's the witch queen of the swamp to most
But, she's a Bayou Baby to me
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 9:31 PM UTC
They sailed out of Miami
Aboard the Southern Light
Headed for Sunset Island at
A place called Key West Bight
When suddenly a mist appeared
Filling a cloudless sky
The sea began to churn and boil
The compass spun awry
Their hearts began to flutter as
Their minds were filled with fear
There seemed no explanation for
For the thing that would appear
The lightning flashed; the moon turned dark
Then came an evil sight
Out of the sky a ghost ship sailed
That cast an eerie light
Unlike a craft that men might build
With neither rig nor tower
No sound of grinding engines
No oarsmen to give power
She silently hung in the air
Moved With no observed force
She followed without error every
Time they changed their course
And like the Ghost that haunted them
There still seemed to persist
The cloud that now surrounded them
That evil yellow mist
There are no words that can describe
The chilling taste of fear
The kind of fear that robs men’s souls
Of all that they hold dear
But I can tell you plainly how
Five sailors weighed with fright
Lost all their nerve that fateful day
Aboard the Southern Light
With the radio not working
And the compass failing too
The southern Light was lost at sea
Along with her whole crew
But then the ghost ship disappeared
And sky returned to norm
It seemed three hours of troubled sea
Had left the men forlorn
But when the crew was safe on shore
To tell their tales of their dangers
Twelve years had passed since they’d left home
Their families now were strangers
Aug 1, 2011
Aug 1, 2011 at 12:58 PM UTC
Through a petite shimmer
that unravels large
as a blackened rainbow
in this whitened mirage
I glimpsed the thespians
of nature, afar
the romances of whom
always fell apart
Through a petite shimmer
that unravels large
I glimpsed the kiss
of twilight and dawn
the betrothed pair
betrayed at last
by the shadows born
from the womb of fall
Through a petite shimmer
that unravels large
I glimpsed the awaiting
mote of sand
for the single kiss
of a drop of sea
the wetness of which
an embrace to be
The drop was alas!
wrenched away
by the vicious ocean
oarsmen as waves
As the mote of sand
looked on and on
strangled was the drop
by the murderers around
leaving the mote
awaiting in vain
for the single kiss
that will never remain
Through a petite shimmer
that unravels large
I glimpsed the kiss
of the soaring breeze
to the greenish cheeks
of a branch's leaf
The breeze was alas!
brutally deceived
as the odes of peace
from its whispering breath
beheaded the leaf
chanting words of death
Betrayal O!Breeze
Order of the storm
Your love,a dream
in the years to come.
As birds with feathers
of seconds of the past
lay dead and cold
on my memory's path
as a drop of rain
from the clouds above
paint myriad wrinkles
in the whitened mirage
the petite shimmer
that unraveled large
grows brutally dimmer
and enlightens my last
As the hideous shadow
of the glowing monarch
arose from the seas
with scroungers as drops
the birth of a dawn
as dark as dusk
bloomed the flower
in the aden of death
Blinded was I
to the eternal kiss
of the lips of the shell
that closes in bliss
Blinded was I
to the eternal love
not ever senile,
but remains a bud
A futile beholder
of otiose memories
Iam indeed a rainbow
eclipsed and maligned
by the merciless touch
of the curse of sight
of loves betrayed
and shattered to bits
of flowers that lost
its aroma within.
Sep 8, 2010
Sep 8, 2010 at 5:22 AM UTC
the wind's whisper was
a romance of sound
satin sheets
shifting
softly
sliding
between her legs
with each gentle tug of his
her marble skin was the rapture
of his innocence
and the oarsmen
of his temptations
rowing him along
toward her
between her nubile legs
and he felt
for once
not like an invader
a Viking
a barbarian
trudging over the mountains
with lust arming his flesh
for the takings to
come
no
he felt
like a father
dutiful
yet also
like a son
respectful - obedient
yet truly, he was
her lover
who had mastered her platonic whims,
sacrifices, and conditions;
earned her trust
earned her surrender
and her, his
and her, his undying, unabashed love
devotion
humility
honor
reciprocal instincts
romantic intuitions
senses of guardianship and homage
faith...
for, he felt stronger
bedding her this day
than any woman before her
stronger
than any promise of affection
any kiss
any trust
for, she had conquered him
passionately
patiently
enduringly, with love
convincing him - resoundingly
that her heart was solely HIS
for that day,
with her inviting him into her womb
that was the start of their honeymoon
the firmament
the consummation
of their oath to love
and eternity
humanity
with no remorse for their matrimonial union...
no fear
no sorrow
no misery
no end
Sep 3, 2024
Sep 3, 2024 at 1:18 AM UTC
I blinked, but beheld it,
the marching of warships,
the broken caskets
at the feet where bishops
of Brixen worshipped,
and the agonizing steps to the castle
-- a spiritual climb --
gifts and prayers in each one's pocket,
(you've got yours, I've got mine).
And there it was opening in the sky:
a woman, in between cycles,
clothed with the sun;
her groom carries her up those steps,
they ring the bell,
and make a wish
for their love to flow against
the current like sea flowers
in the spring.
I blinked, but beheld it,
there was smoke,
there was wind,
there was nothing
but the warm scent of potica,
and pletna aplenty,
their upright oarsmen rowing
through the bloodstream.
They row for the stillborn
who never see the sun.
But there is freewill, and there is sin.
Our kingdom rise.
Our kingdom fall.
Forgive us first, Father,
(our blood shall feed the earth).
Jan 8, 2025
Jan 8, 2025 at 10:54 AM UTC
trolling the doldrums for crumbs of gold
selling old caldrons to witless witches
wearing goblin teeth and dragons blood
earrings from Hot Topic
I languish in the Emo village that is the United States –
Self-serving ******** preserving their precious habitats
while habitually encumbering the global ecology
drinking biodegradable Starbucks in Buick Escalades
escapade-ing ***** raiders afraid of Mercury in retrograde
staying clear of the mayhem
and playing fear propagating madman
I stoke wildfires with gasoline
prodding the populace into premature *********** –
poorly formed ideas the norm
the scorn for the figureheads shows on the shoreline
boorish oarsmen, moored, pour their kerosene blood
onto the floor…. Sure,
pure Fuerer fodder, but newer shoes
were never shod
and the godhead faces west into the sunset –
druidic fluids escape wiccan slits
as the children of the Azure seas never get to be born
Pleaedian starships collide inside Antarctic subterranean dwellings
indiscriminate shelling of uninhabited caverns
as ravenous reptilians eat the jaw muscles
and left eye sockets
of organically fed Dairy cows…
espoused louse houses in Fall fashion blouses
trounce the infirm in clown shaped bounce houses
again, the sin goes unnoticed
as the blood of the innocents grants the elitists
another thousand years of power –
The tower on the hill still shines in the moonlight
on the 5th night of delighting the religious right…
mighty flightless birds self-assured and fed
on bramble burrs
purr at the sight.
bodies strewn all askew;
the moaning few with skin turning blue
true to the stories of old
as lack of oxygen blends with the biblical beast mark
and staving for air the impaired dare not to ask for Jesus aid…
instead they lay, waiting to be saved –
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 6:03 PM UTC
Sliver silver
The nighttime I walk beneath bewilders
And with the skin of my neck prickled with shivers
We walk towards the water
The moonlight to me shimmers
Upon that which I seek neath ocular moon and few stars
They see widely but I see the swoon
Of the moon on the river flow swift
And wither I meet it with wits about this body
I know not yet since
My skin it so shivers and slivers of mist
Caress my wet cheek that’s collected its breath.
Towards river I go and hope there be boats
At least one under bridge held fast by its rope
Where I pray go as I find my fate has so wrote
And under moon so bright it shines fore my face,
This mist be sweat from my brow dripped into my mouth
For the salt it doth leave on my lips for my tongue to run
Upon the road that I walk there hangs a mist
But a sliver that follows in my very midst
And each step I take that draws the river to me near
My heart quickens and blood thickens
For my shroud I cannot shrug.
But facing this silver moon I will never turn back
It pulls me in closer to watch as it slides and shivers on swift river
Upon which my liking I see eerily shimmers
I am the water and I am the mist
And there is the boat where my fate is writ
Tied fast with its rope quite under the bridge
To shroud it’s oarsmen on this night
Which be lit by the opal moon’s bright torch light
Here I will go and fate I will find
The mist follows with me away from the shine
Now I am the water and I am the mist
No sliver silver upon me shall sit
Until the books of this time have ended their script.
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 10:00 AM UTC
I checked into the lobby of her one room apartment,
darkened corridor filled with paintings of Jesus.
The fountain throbbed in the hall of this hotel,
shuttered windows,
subtle innuendos,
three knocks.
The night was hot and black,
clothes stuck to our shirts.
The story is about summer and you,
and her dark little island of a room,
and all of her crooked roads,
that had their footprints in my odes.
She was born under the star of Venus, three stars above me.
Her light blue eyes, filled with humbleness, softly saddened.
Her painter's eyes, mercury mouth at the biblical times.
Hair that was colored like wine dark sea fell down on her breast,
on lips that looked like bare roses,
blushing with blood, eating themselves with desire.
I was a wounded soldier, long afloat on a ship less sea.
Deserted and displaced from the war.
A war between the black and white,
A war between the man and the woman.
Utopian infant, Eutopian mother.
Born into this life, thrown into this world.
We entered the darkened room, and purposely didn’t turn on the lights.
She through her house keys and bag on her bed, lit a cigarette.
Offered me one, however he took some of my own.
Looking into her eyes through the smoke, where the moonlight floats.
Lit lamp that was hanging from a distant boat.
Now I saw, there was a painting by Arnold Bocklin hanging on the wall.
spoken word:
A small rowing boat is just arriving at a water gate and seawall on shore.
An oarsman maneuvers the boat from the stern. In the boat, facing the gate, is a standing figure clad entirely in white, a lone loon dives upon the water. Just behind him, there is a festooned object commonly interpreted as a coffin. The tiny islet is dominated by a dense grove of tall, dark cypress and willow trees. The Mephistopheles is just beneath him. As siren grabs him from the of the edge of the boat, underwater.
And she wraps up my tired face in her hair
And she hands me the apple core,
Two birds in a cage, drinking lovers wine and eating bread.
I'll stop in the middle and skip things between me and her. (It comes to us all, soft as a pillow)
The oarsmen has gone
And the loons have flown for cover.
And me I am on trail, in the funeral of my lover.
Feb 5, 2021
Feb 5, 2021 at 5:02 AM UTC
There is no ship quite like a book
it wanders as it may
Then takes us out amongst the waves
where gods and children play
To places far and wide we trek
chase hell's whale 'long the pole
Crest waves with Ahab na'er the cape
where gods may claim your soul
There your heart becomes a cannon
spit iron on the whale
Follow him through perdition's flame
and live to tell the tale
As the oarsmen all stagger back
cross themselves o’re the job
No hope to see another day
forlorn begin to sob
Imaginations running wild
wicked cruelty sublime
Chase your whale till you catch his tail
or till the end of time
Tate
Original poem and music
http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/aristate/669082/
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 10:56 PM UTC