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"rudderless" poems
As they walked along after the matinee, the older brother teased his sister, “Hey, guess what, Frankenstein lives in the attic and he’s goin’ get you.”  With a flushed face the little sister responded, "Nah-ah, besides the attic door is locked."  And her brother smirked, “Think Frankenstein cares about locked doors?" Throughout their childhood, the brother jumped out behind closed doors, terrifying his little sister, and with each fright he gave his own fear seemed to lessen.  After a startle the sister thought, ‘Does my brother love me, like I love him?’, and she concluded, “He must, why else would he try to scare me to death?’ Within the decade, a sudden brain hemorrhage took their dearly loved mother.  Now, untethered in their mother’s love, the siblings changed, tightened, within,  While their father, a traumatized, war veteran, swiftly fell off the wagon, and the brother and sister cast off, rudderless, uprooted into troubled waters. And with their hearts snapped shut, immersed in relentless grief, they parted ways.  Some years later, their father died, bequeathed them both his unhealed pain. The brother, the sister, slid secretively into alcoholism, conceded the family custom, invested deeply in their despair, the two went on, married, raised families, conformed. And time went by, as alcohol soothed the pain until the brother breathed his last, his belly taut with fluid, his liver destroyed, a life sentence ended.  While she, the lone survivor, mysteriously yielded unto Grace and was pardoned, recovered, she finally understood, she knew deep inside; everyone did the best they could, even her. …and within a circle of one; I loved them all forever and ever.
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Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 11:53 AM UTC
The Curse of Frankenstein, 1957
As they walked along after the matinee, the older brother teased his sister, “Hey, guess what, Frankenstein lives in the attic and he’s goin’ get you.”  With a flushed face the little sister responded, "Nah-ah, besides the attic door is locked."  And her brother smirked, “Think Frankenstein cares about locked doors?" Throughout their childhood, the brother jumped out behind closed doors, terrifying his little sister, and with each fright he gave his own fear seemed to lessen.  After a startle the sister thought, ‘Does my brother love me, like I love him?’, and she concluded, “He must, why else would he try to scare me to death?’ Within the decade, a sudden brain hemorrhage took their dearly loved mother.  Now, untethered in their mother’s love, the siblings changed, tightened, within,  While their father, a traumatized, war veteran, swiftly fell off the wagon, and the brother and sister cast off, rudderless, uprooted into troubled waters. And with their hearts snapped shut, immersed in relentless grief, they parted ways.  Some years later, their father died, bequeathed them both his unhealed pain. The brother, the sister, slid secretively into alcoholism, conceded the family custom, invested deeply in their despair, the two went on, married, raised families, conformed. And time went by, as alcohol soothed the pain until the brother breathed his last, his belly taut with fluid, his liver destroyed, a life sentence ended.  While she, the lone survivor, mysteriously yielded unto Grace and was pardoned, recovered, she finally understood, she knew deep inside; everyone did the best they could, even her. …and within a circle of one; I loved them all forever and ever.
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6
+ A bed-sits high and dry,marooned on a sandbank of night. As radio 4-casts its nets to isolated ships like me that rudderless drift on into the light. Still dark outside,no sounds,save the distant echoing bark of a hungry fox ----streets away. Another dawn ripped blackbin bag of a day creeps and ouzes in Heavy unfocused lids fogged in the steamy smokeyness of tea and a first fag plenty of time plenty of time. Time before the world wakes to the morning pips and its flushing, brushing, rushing sounds A greyness gathers just beyound my pained curtains, as with a silent sigh a roosted blackbird clears its fasted throat. Then as if by magic I 'm carried, scimming high above and beyound this mooring set in a silvered sea,on a welcomed mantra known to all. As if a calling pray at day break,following each word in a moment subline Un angle vole un angle vole. Rockall - Malin - Hebrides Humber - Fisher - German bight Thames - Dover - Wight. Each single secert understood and noted only by a few as I glide over in paced, pausey surf rolling words North northeast - 994 - Falling slowly - Low pressure moving away - Gales 8 very poor - Backing 3-4 later - Mainly good - Becoming variable - Syclonic later - Increasing 6-7 mainly west - Swally showers for a time - Fair - Good. Oh so good, each pure English comforting sounds heard over lapping waves of air. The bushy wet nosed fox sulks and cowers away from the breaking sun, as the blackbird draws a dewdropped breath though golden nib and tapping gently, call a hidden choir into song just for me. Reminding me of the things I'd for gotten I care about. Sharp timed unwelcomed pips flood the ears to prise open sticky eyes from promised dreams and spoon-cuddles warm As I set forth on wetted pavements, ready to decline into my charted day. Yet smiling as if blessed and no longer alone But filled with early morning salty thoughts of strangers I have yet to meet
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Feb 24, 2011
Feb 24, 2011 at 7:47 AM UTC
Brighton Early
+ A bed-sits high and dry,marooned on a sandbank of night. As radio 4-casts its nets to isolated ships like me that rudderless drift on into the light. Still dark outside,no sounds,save the distant echoing bark of a hungry fox ----streets away. Another dawn ripped blackbin bag of a day creeps and ouzes in Heavy unfocused lids fogged in the steamy smokeyness of tea and a first fag plenty of time plenty of time. Time before the world wakes to the morning pips and its flushing, brushing, rushing sounds A greyness gathers just beyound my pained curtains, as with a silent sigh a roosted blackbird clears its fasted throat. Then as if by magic I 'm carried, scimming high above and beyound this mooring set in a silvered sea,on a welcomed mantra known to all. As if a calling pray at day break,following each word in a moment subline Un angle vole un angle vole. Rockall - Malin - Hebrides Humber - Fisher - German bight Thames - Dover - Wight. Each single secert understood and noted only by a few as I glide over in paced, pausey surf rolling words North northeast - 994 - Falling slowly - Low pressure moving away - Gales 8 very poor - Backing 3-4 later - Mainly good - Becoming variable - Syclonic later - Increasing 6-7 mainly west - Swally showers for a time - Fair - Good. Oh so good, each pure English comforting sounds heard over lapping waves of air. The bushy wet nosed fox sulks and cowers away from the breaking sun, as the blackbird draws a dewdropped breath though golden nib and tapping gently, call a hidden choir into song just for me. Reminding me of the things I'd for gotten I care about. Sharp timed unwelcomed pips flood the ears to prise open sticky eyes from promised dreams and spoon-cuddles warm As I set forth on wetted pavements, ready to decline into my charted day. Yet smiling as if blessed and no longer alone But filled with early morning salty thoughts of strangers I have yet to meet
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30
It's dark and the light leaks out like the change in my pockets; like the blood from her nose; like knowledge from my head. And I can feel myself being   swallowed by this systematic long dark. I cannot remove myself,   a gut-worm in the lower-mantle belly. Watching video-cassettes of   my birthday. I don't know what happened to my birthday video.   I don't know what happened to my parents or what I did to happen   to them. The light leaks, again, and I choke on my celebri-thoughts; mentally-masturbating to the waves I'd give on a book tour or studio lot. Talking about some movie that made some money, somewhere in Santa Fe or L.A. The news is channeling my president: a swollen man that is the physical representation that a lot of American people are parasitic; lovers in racism, xenophobia, transphobia, Islamophobia, homophobia; scared of everything except the 'straight-talking' magnate they put in office. Not playing president; playing God. I'd hate to get political, though. I'd hate to ramble on and on about something I don't know enough about to **** myself over. I can feel myself picking up steam. I can feel myself getting redundant but embracing the bruised ego and poor technique. Loving the entrails spilling out of the splits of my fingertips; more beautiful than the brains I bashed on the sidewalks of old Morgantown. Morgantown, a town so kind you are gently destroyed by its over-crowded masses, dying to be different or drunk -- I suppose that's not very different than most places. But let's get back to these trees that I haven't even talked about. Let's get back to the kitchen table with the hollowed hard-drive, with wires and cords flopping to the sides, like a gutted spaghetti eater with poor stomach acid. How terrible. I'll never forgive myself for that last line. I feel so rudderless. So cynical with a touch of cliche. I keep pushing back that age for success, thinking that I have the luxury of choosing. My vocabulary is limited. My intelligence is assumed; probably a void, where delusions manifest and asian **** rewinds and plays,   rewinds and plays.
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Apr 16, 2017
Apr 16, 2017 at 8:38 PM UTC
8. Stream of Pretentiousness; Degenerates
It's dark and the light leaks out like the change in my pockets; like the blood from her nose; like knowledge from my head. And I can feel myself being   swallowed by this systematic long dark. I cannot remove myself,   a gut-worm in the lower-mantle belly. Watching video-cassettes of   my birthday. I don't know what happened to my birthday video.   I don't know what happened to my parents or what I did to happen   to them. The light leaks, again, and I choke on my celebri-thoughts; mentally-masturbating to the waves I'd give on a book tour or studio lot. Talking about some movie that made some money, somewhere in Santa Fe or L.A. The news is channeling my president: a swollen man that is the physical representation that a lot of American people are parasitic; lovers in racism, xenophobia, transphobia, Islamophobia, homophobia; scared of everything except the 'straight-talking' magnate they put in office. Not playing president; playing God. I'd hate to get political, though. I'd hate to ramble on and on about something I don't know enough about to **** myself over. I can feel myself picking up steam. I can feel myself getting redundant but embracing the bruised ego and poor technique. Loving the entrails spilling out of the splits of my fingertips; more beautiful than the brains I bashed on the sidewalks of old Morgantown. Morgantown, a town so kind you are gently destroyed by its over-crowded masses, dying to be different or drunk -- I suppose that's not very different than most places. But let's get back to these trees that I haven't even talked about. Let's get back to the kitchen table with the hollowed hard-drive, with wires and cords flopping to the sides, like a gutted spaghetti eater with poor stomach acid. How terrible. I'll never forgive myself for that last line. I feel so rudderless. So cynical with a touch of cliche. I keep pushing back that age for success, thinking that I have the luxury of choosing. My vocabulary is limited. My intelligence is assumed; probably a void, where delusions manifest and asian **** rewinds and plays,   rewinds and plays.
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49
We aren't given a guidebook of the life in store for us. The best we can hope for is a life with maximum joy and minimum suffering. I struggle with the thoughts.... Have you ever imagined being fatherless partnerless rudderless....? Small graces that I never did. So I only had to experience each once. Despair that now I am.
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Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 9:50 AM UTC
An epic journey of random acts
Addiction's innocent cousin ***** needling into my veins infected me seasons ago the ache I once felt still strong as mast's girth From wind to wind sea to sea we internally roamed in my mind the map was a treasure trove for exploration i never was bound to lake shore wind whipping tide tussling rousing mornings and dusky nights My mistresses my pleasure gliding goddess drift lazily and let me sing praise with shouts "Boom" but coy or not I coil spry aged not with time but lessons learned The youngest have yet to grow knowledge of the mystery fables tell of beautiful passings Land's unreachable without proper direction rudderless a hair's breadth magnified out of reach cool autumn leaves fall on my skiff She tugs at my heart and at your golden hemp locks they have all my love stolen from your deck your bow your stern your timber your core but let us sail evermore
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Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 11:06 PM UTC
Sail
choo choo next stop.....perdition (no, not really...no-one believes this Stygian opacity) 1. look how Time doth ravage thee look what it did to thy visage in smithereens, lies youth it so artfully takes away what is held so dear rivers and streams valleys and hills arching to ecstatic heights plunging to abysmal lows into the ravine of chance stirred by the spoon of Time slowly around the cauldron brews the self-same mixture then poured into chasms of forgetfulness using the eternal sledgehammer it smashes the foundation of thought grinds the nutmeg of speed pulps the fruit of mentality slows the pulse of sensation and pardons none. 2. what was once sensuous and voluptuous lips now are merely two dry slits on your face once stared-into eyeballs, now glass over vitreous cataracts steadily grow, weed-like toned into lithe elastic bands now stretch away into forever, a pale platform to walk on life's morn is encompassed by years' slanting clouded and bedimmed by mists of age butterfly's existence outweighs a man's by mere night-veiled windowpane of true sight draw the curtains; close the shutters; screen the eyes the time has come to shed all blinkers and face the sun. 3. crimp sag limp drag mud cracks down a dipping dale scalding pain sears sore half-foot yes, time is but a disease ravaging all without fear or favour sunken eyes slower reflexes tardier mind scraggly body hides not condescends not forgets not the glimmer of .... a time of ... 4. cathedral invites the walker in cool and calm recesses sit silent wait.... then they walk in, carrying one who had but a lucky half-score lot clear soprano note becomes a rudderless bleat announcing the folly of stifling ego now shorn of burning frost of circuitous fervour beams of mercy cast a final look-see jump the barriers of time to carry thee off. pipe organ-stops are pulled out (art thee ready?  platform number 5) S T,  9 May 2013
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May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 9:24 AM UTC
time is but a disease
choo choo next stop.....perdition (no, not really...no-one believes this Stygian opacity) 1. look how Time doth ravage thee look what it did to thy visage in smithereens, lies youth it so artfully takes away what is held so dear rivers and streams valleys and hills arching to ecstatic heights plunging to abysmal lows into the ravine of chance stirred by the spoon of Time slowly around the cauldron brews the self-same mixture then poured into chasms of forgetfulness using the eternal sledgehammer it smashes the foundation of thought grinds the nutmeg of speed pulps the fruit of mentality slows the pulse of sensation and pardons none. 2. what was once sensuous and voluptuous lips now are merely two dry slits on your face once stared-into eyeballs, now glass over vitreous cataracts steadily grow, weed-like toned into lithe elastic bands now stretch away into forever, a pale platform to walk on life's morn is encompassed by years' slanting clouded and bedimmed by mists of age butterfly's existence outweighs a man's by mere night-veiled windowpane of true sight draw the curtains; close the shutters; screen the eyes the time has come to shed all blinkers and face the sun. 3. crimp sag limp drag mud cracks down a dipping dale scalding pain sears sore half-foot yes, time is but a disease ravaging all without fear or favour sunken eyes slower reflexes tardier mind scraggly body hides not condescends not forgets not the glimmer of .... a time of ... 4. cathedral invites the walker in cool and calm recesses sit silent wait.... then they walk in, carrying one who had but a lucky half-score lot clear soprano note becomes a rudderless bleat announcing the folly of stifling ego now shorn of burning frost of circuitous fervour beams of mercy cast a final look-see jump the barriers of time to carry thee off. pipe organ-stops are pulled out (art thee ready?  platform number 5) S T,  9 May 2013
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75
Dear Poet Friends, Delhi is well known for its Dust Storms during the hot and humid month of May & June, and the absence of rain! This poem was composed in the Month of May 2008, and posted on ‘Poetfreak.com'.  Hope you like the same. Thanks, - Raj                        DUST  STORM All through the sultry and humid day, The sky had grown angry and reddish grey! And the evening suddenly became very still, As an eerie silence crept there in! When suddenly from the sky came rushing out, Making a prolonged whistling and gushing sound, As if some beastly hounds have been let out, - There came the raging, ravaging, Dust Storm! Lashing the tree tops and smashing window panes , Uprooting old trees by road side and lanes! Ravaging and railing with its destructive force, Blew the angry and relentless dust storm! As papers and packets and old withered leaves, Flew around like thread-less kites on this hot Summer's eve! All my collected thoughts, desires, and dreams, Flew helter-skelter with the winds up high, Like rudderless ships without direction, With the whirlwind in its maddening motion. With dust in my hair, in my eyes and mouth, As the sand storm raged all around and about! When after some time like a spent out force, The storm abated as night drew close. With dust in my hair, in my eyes and mouth, But a pleasant coolness prevailed all around! Dust Am I, And To Dust I Shall Return, ** Once I wake up from my Earthly trance! And with the raging dust storm I shall rage one day, To join up in its maddening dance in the month of May!                     ---Raj Nandy, New Delhi.
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Jun 22, 2016
Jun 22, 2016 at 11:36 AM UTC
DUST STORM !
Dear Poet Friends, Delhi is well known for its Dust Storms during the hot and humid month of May & June, and the absence of rain! This poem was composed in the Month of May 2008, and posted on ‘Poetfreak.com'.  Hope you like the same. Thanks, - Raj                        DUST  STORM All through the sultry and humid day, The sky had grown angry and reddish grey! And the evening suddenly became very still, As an eerie silence crept there in! When suddenly from the sky came rushing out, Making a prolonged whistling and gushing sound, As if some beastly hounds have been let out, - There came the raging, ravaging, Dust Storm! Lashing the tree tops and smashing window panes , Uprooting old trees by road side and lanes! Ravaging and railing with its destructive force, Blew the angry and relentless dust storm! As papers and packets and old withered leaves, Flew around like thread-less kites on this hot Summer's eve! All my collected thoughts, desires, and dreams, Flew helter-skelter with the winds up high, Like rudderless ships without direction, With the whirlwind in its maddening motion. With dust in my hair, in my eyes and mouth, As the sand storm raged all around and about! When after some time like a spent out force, The storm abated as night drew close. With dust in my hair, in my eyes and mouth, But a pleasant coolness prevailed all around! Dust Am I, And To Dust I Shall Return, ** Once I wake up from my Earthly trance! And with the raging dust storm I shall rage one day, To join up in its maddening dance in the month of May!                     ---Raj Nandy, New Delhi.
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35
**under my skin high tension wires they crackle and singe the hair on my arms burning inside making roadmaps on my throat and belly leading nowhere the words are singing an a cappella high note bursting my eardrums shattering glass the fragments shimmer and filter out into the ionosphere hang there to rival the aurora borialis the words are singing their song of mermaids their siren song i crash on the rocks i tear the paper with a rudderless ship and the words skitter off the page like lizards** soulsurvivor (c) 6/6/2015
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Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 2:49 PM UTC
the words are singing
There are three B's intimately connected to a spinal cord injury, bowel, bladder, and blather. The gut severed from the brain is rudderless. Both bowel and bladder require outside assistance which brings in blather. The care giver, the talker. One time, in my case a born again ****** searcher. Not for **** but for digital conversion. My *** well in hand I heard the purr, "Do you believe in Jesus?"
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Aug 25, 2012
Aug 25, 2012 at 8:11 PM UTC
Digital conversion
He flew, far from the plumed flock, above the vast stretch of sands, over crags and boulders. flew into forlorn uncharted lands, into the lure of the unknown, searching for a tree to perch. a temporary haven in encircling fetters, a home away from home. seeking comfort where none exists. Saw the twilight nibbling at, the blazing brightness, from the sinking sun. an orb of orange red. a tad too naughty to tame, playing out its remaining moments. Nowhere within eyeshot, a crown of supine leafy green, propped firm on poles of brown, shooting out into the darkened sky. nor the whirr of nocturnal moths, leaving the hide of leprous barks. Like a kite at the beck of winds, slipped out from the controlling grip, with the string hanging loosely down, he swayed and tossed in boundless blue. below lay the abysmal depths, and sand dunes forming cancerous lumps. The sun that sank into roaring depths, left not even a glint of light, unable to hold on to a willed direction, and passing through the Stygian sky, he knew his body growing heavy, felt the ache in every limb, and the wings, losing their power to soar x x x x x x The descent was far too abrupt, rudderless and reeling, he dropped down, like a missile, blasted out, and none heard the fierce thud!
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Mar 15, 2018
Mar 15, 2018 at 9:20 AM UTC
Rudder-less
I am a weary traveler, yet I fatigue from sitting still I've been on this trail, seeking medicine for my disease Not sure if I'm still alive, or merely ill I am lukewarm water, yet I burn from the cold inside I stop at every impasse, pushing rocks out of my way And wondering if my legs are broken, or if they overstride I am a rudderless vessel, paying no mind to signs As I drift from place to place, from dream to dream Retreating from this world without a finish line I am a weary traveler, yet I fatigue from sitting still I've been on this trail, seeking medicine for my disease Still not sure if I'm alive, or merely ill
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Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 9:59 AM UTC
Weary Traveler
Pendulous eyes, weary and bleak Immoveable shadows, the unseen torrents Coyly divulge the once impetuous spirit On his shoulders, he carries a colossal weight For his is a cleft vessel, rudderless and floundering The rise and fall of each swell, brings neither hope or despair He contemplates the gilded life, an absurd apparition And slithers back to obscurity where the worm and dreams cohabitate
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Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 7:18 AM UTC
Depressed
I'm an Amazombie in denim and fog, Black and blue, and twenty-two: a millennial with an oppressive blog. *** money, and hipster brains -- condomless, rudderless, token. I like the way you like the way when I'm completely broken.
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Sep 8, 2016
Sep 8, 2016 at 6:22 PM UTC
Black and Blue
Of any color or creed, Of status high or low, Treacherous minds, Heartless brain, Venomous looks, Ruthless tongue, Heinous hands, Rudderless feet, Intense dubious desire, Conspire, collude, Often pay deaf ear Snub wiser counsel of one’s mind And skim out criminals How to spurn viral thoughts; A major challenge confronting humanity Of a confounded nation That needs vaccination.
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Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 11:01 AM UTC
The Challenge
I am floundering in a new identity often praise is irksome it comes with a cost, so subliminal I'll become, rudderless, I voyage, comparatively as a torrent is to stimulating.
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Jan 17, 2013
Jan 17, 2013 at 3:54 PM UTC
Assumed Identity
i had not gone fishing that night. the sun was down, with dark clouds hovering low. me, in my rudderless boat, staring at the sky. was i thinking of fish?  I think i was just lost at sea. i was thinking, (well, i don't remember exactly) caught up in a brief break in the clouds.  the stars were out, shining their shining.   i saw them, but didn't.  i was looking for the moon, her full, hovering beauty imprinted still on my mind. but this night, the moon was but a sliver of light, and i... i was without remorse.  i had come to that place of understanding that the moon's light neither waxes nor wanes within the confines of shadow.  she becomes invisible in this shadowland, and perhaps this is for the best, for who can take the beauty of the moon on a starless night and call her their own?  she was not mine to have. and the tide, it pulled me in, it pushed me out;  this motion set about by the moon. (oh, my moon!)   i looked out, saw the waves come lapping gentle onto my boards. the crash and slap, the rocking of my boat, shook me from my reverie.  i looked down, saw these dreams gasping at my feet. oh, beautiful dreams born of moon and tide, how did you land here, and why?  i saw your gasping, your grasping at calming waters. who was i to return you to your sea?   i was only a lost and rudderless boat.   i had not gone fishing that night; i was no fisherman. yet i took you home, slipped you into my warm, salty waters and called you my own.
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Jan 23, 2012
Jan 23, 2012 at 3:32 AM UTC
i had not gone fishing that night
i had not gone fishing that night. the sun was down, with dark clouds hovering low. me, in my rudderless boat, staring at the sky. was i thinking of fish?  I think i was just lost at sea. i was thinking, (well, i don't remember exactly) caught up in a brief break in the clouds.  the stars were out, shining their shining.   i saw them, but didn't.  i was looking for the moon, her full, hovering beauty imprinted still on my mind. but this night, the moon was but a sliver of light, and i... i was without remorse.  i had come to that place of understanding that the moon's light neither waxes nor wanes within the confines of shadow.  she becomes invisible in this shadowland, and perhaps this is for the best, for who can take the beauty of the moon on a starless night and call her their own?  she was not mine to have. and the tide, it pulled me in, it pushed me out;  this motion set about by the moon. (oh, my moon!)   i looked out, saw the waves come lapping gentle onto my boards. the crash and slap, the rocking of my boat, shook me from my reverie.  i looked down, saw these dreams gasping at my feet. oh, beautiful dreams born of moon and tide, how did you land here, and why?  i saw your gasping, your grasping at calming waters. who was i to return you to your sea?   i was only a lost and rudderless boat.   i had not gone fishing that night; i was no fisherman. yet i took you home, slipped you into my warm, salty waters and called you my own.
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28
That's him away then. So, kids, what do we do now? No, laddie, don't cry. We'll find our way. No-one will write it down, you may be sure of that, but no-one will be burnt alive for it - no nation will be conquered for it - no vacuous, rudderless culture will claim it at their convenience. On you go now, boys, there's work to be done. We can't all nap under a bodhi tree when it suits us. Here now, no tears - here's a kiss for you both. We'll walk this path together, real dust rising behind us, real pain and real joy before us and we'll maybe find that attachment's not such a terrible thing after all.
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Jul 25, 2013
Jul 25, 2013 at 3:09 PM UTC
Mrs. Buddha
Of any color or creed, Of status high or low, Treacherous minds, Heartless brain, Venomous looks, Ruthless tongue, Heinous hands, Rudderless feet, Intense dubious desire, Conspire, collude, Often pay deaf ear Snub wiser counsel of one’s mind And skim out criminals How to spurn viral thoughts; A major challenge confronting humanity Of a confounded nation That needs vaccination.
0
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 7:01 AM UTC
The Challenge
I swam in your seas Dived depths to plunder treasures From the dark ocean floor Felt the tumult of your soul crash over me Floated with you on calm blue waters warmed by the sun Lapping waves rhythmically revealing belly, breast, pearlescent scales, hair red as flame. Your lips formed a half-smile As you sang your siren song And I surrendered myself to an eternity of pleasures Now I am cast adrift, rudderless No horizon in sight Endlessly searching for a glimpse of you.
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Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 5:35 AM UTC
Ode to my Mer-Lover
I’ve been at the helm on a rudderless ship lost in a mercurial sea of deficiency I could fly by the sit of my pants with a suitcase already packed on any given day at any given time at any given place I was where I wanted to be seeing who I wanted to see doing what I wanted to do despite my responsibilities as a father or having to face the daunting tasks that appeased my current girlfriend(s). having no structure and no plan, life was a timeline of formidable prospects. I rather enjoyed it quite nicely.
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May 1, 2025
May 1, 2025 at 7:59 PM UTC
selfish
Just floating in this world like a rudderless ship An aimless traveller on a nowhere trip
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Apr 6, 2022
Apr 6, 2022 at 7:10 AM UTC
what?
When we met you said life had broken you It started in childhood, what he put you through And now you felt shamed because you were homeless Abandoned by society, drifting and rudderless You told me as though it was a ***** secret And thought I'd walk away You told me how you washed in the railway station Fighting for work to improve your situation Never giving up and never giving in The very epitome of "Who Dares Wins" And you thought I'd walk away? You looked in the mirror and saw a loser I cried and wished that I'd met you sooner But you just said you'd learnt a lot Sleeping rough on Christmas Day You looked in the mirror, hated what you saw But I looked at you, seeing so much more Where you saw a loser I saw a hero A samurai stood where you saw a zero Knocked down 9 times you got up 10 If it wasn't enough you just did it again Shotokan Tiger, in potentia Noble, brave, strong. Living proof that birth can't dictate you That a ruined childhood needn't  break you You overcame all, yet I never pitied you Forged in flames and born anew Vicious abuse from a cowardly father A little half man who claimed to be a soldier So "brave" he beat you black and blue But he could learn to be a man from you In you I see a Pilgrim, bold and free Longing for mountains and glittering seas Always going farther, one peak more You'll  find your Mecca at the Dojo door So walk beside me on the Golden Road Let me share your honour code Be my Sensei and guide my hand While you light our way to Samarkand
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Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 6:50 PM UTC
My Shotokan Tiger
When we met you said life had broken you It started in childhood, what he put you through And now you felt shamed because you were homeless Abandoned by society, drifting and rudderless You told me as though it was a ***** secret And thought I'd walk away You told me how you washed in the railway station Fighting for work to improve your situation Never giving up and never giving in The very epitome of "Who Dares Wins" And you thought I'd walk away? You looked in the mirror and saw a loser I cried and wished that I'd met you sooner But you just said you'd learnt a lot Sleeping rough on Christmas Day You looked in the mirror, hated what you saw But I looked at you, seeing so much more Where you saw a loser I saw a hero A samurai stood where you saw a zero Knocked down 9 times you got up 10 If it wasn't enough you just did it again Shotokan Tiger, in potentia Noble, brave, strong. Living proof that birth can't dictate you That a ruined childhood needn't  break you You overcame all, yet I never pitied you Forged in flames and born anew Vicious abuse from a cowardly father A little half man who claimed to be a soldier So "brave" he beat you black and blue But he could learn to be a man from you In you I see a Pilgrim, bold and free Longing for mountains and glittering seas Always going farther, one peak more You'll  find your Mecca at the Dojo door So walk beside me on the Golden Road Let me share your honour code Be my Sensei and guide my hand While you light our way to Samarkand
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Motherless rudderless There is no one to steer this boat. We are still anchored in the past Exactly where she dropped it. Moss grows old Rust corrodes But time doesn't erode
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Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 1:20 PM UTC
Gone