Somebody put Kylie Minogue on
from the wall mounted touchscreen one-pound-a-go jukebox-
Coldplay would've been better, but I should be so lucky-
and the rising water in the Titanic's engine room of noise
rose to a First Class stateroom chatter and Kate Winslet
and the queue to the bar grew a little longer

and then
you
walked
in
like
a
Sunday
morning
walk,

one long stroll by a river edge or lake side,
through a Westfield, Bluewater Meadowhall
in one long rehearsed map move entrance
dodging standing drinkers and their plus ones in Zara trench coats and Boden shawls,
and you left a wake of wet forest and crumbling beachhead afternoons behind you as you
walked
on
through
the
crowd
to the pool table at the back where you watched
*** after ***
after pint
after ***
after we need more one pound coins to play more pool,
and you went out for **** though you don't smoke yourself
and you looked up into the mist because you're the kind that would find New York Stuart Little big:
mostly building, building, building, window, balcony, bridge, statue and Central Park trees,
and you walked back in with river eyes, your lids moving from cold back to behind-the-fridge, pub-room warm
and they watered a little, Pacific blue sliding over eternal black;
I think she's the kind that needs a lion tamer not an orchestra leader,
but I've only got Petit Filous muscles and I had four raw eggs this morning and I'm still not as strong as I’d like to be,
(put the baton down, Tim)
a River Phoenix younger Harrison Ford stasis, one train wreck ride to remember,
nowhere near the lion tamer you need.

Kylie sings for the fifteenth time in a row,
and the bar is past last orders though cash is pushed under for pints
and you disappeared under bar light
and then into the moonlight
and now I'm sat grieving
the Golden Retriever of The Nutshell
in Bury St Edmunds this evening.

Here on the pale beach, in the darkness;
With the full moon just to rise;
They sit alone, and look over the sea,
Or into each other's eyes. . .
She pokes her parasol into the sleepy sand,
Or sifts the lazy whiteness through her hand.
'A lovely night,' he says, 'the moon,
Comes up for you and me.
Just like a blind old spotlight there,
Fizzing across the sea!'
She pays no heed, nor even turns her head:
He slides his arm around her waist instead.
'Why don't we do a sketch together--
Those songs you sing are swell.
Where did you get them, anyway?
They suit you awfully well.'
She will not turn to him--will not resist.
Impassive, she submits to being kissed.
'My husband wrote all four of them.
You know,--my husband drowned.
He was always sickly, soon depressed. . .'
But still she hears the sound
Of a stateroom door shut hard, and footsteps going
Swiftly and steadily, and the dark sea flowing.
She hears the dark sea flowing, and sees his eyes
Hollow with disenchantment, sick surprise,--
And hate of her whom he had loved too well. . .
She lowers her eyes, demurely prods a shell.
'Yes. We might do an act together.
That would be very nice.'
He kisses her passionately, and thinks
She's carnal, but cold as ice.

An hour ago
it was just a clang
barley a bang
a scrape
while we were eating our crepes
on the ship that could not sink
at least that's what they all said with a good natured wink
but now there is a lurching
and the floors are no longer listing
deep inside the center
you and I are members
the steward came by
with a sigh
and scream
he told us,...not enough life boats it seems
this stateroom is so far down
so many steps up to win the crown
could I do it
with this cane
and my knee pain
maybe if I fought
as my father taught
I could get to the moonlight
to see so much panic on deck what a sight
but you my dear with your hip
and this new ships tilt
you would never make it in time
But now I know I could
fly off this ship
and live
but without you
so my dear let me pour you some wine
as we retire to our stateroom
no reason to swoon
my dear should we sit in our lavish chairs
our best evening dress to wear
shall I brush your hair
both of us without a care
better yet
shall we both lay on the bed
holding hands
as the cold water creeps in
without sin we close our eyes
in the deep

Here on the pale beach, in the darkness;
With the full moon just to rise;
They sit alone, and look over the sea,
Or into each other's eyes. . .

She pokes her parasol into the sleepy sand,
Or sifts the lazy whiteness through her hand.

'A lovely night,' he says, 'the moon,
Comes up for you and me.
Just like a blind old spotlight there,
Fizzing across the sea!'

She pays no heed, nor even turns her head:
He slides his arm around her waist instead.

'Why don't we do a sketch together-
Those songs you sing are swell.
Where did you get them, anyway?
They suit you awfully well.'

She will not turn to him-will not resist.
Impassive, she submits to being kissed.

'My husband wrote all four of them.
You know,-my husband drowned.
He was always sickly, soon depressed. . .'
But still she hears the sound

Of a stateroom door shut hard, and footsteps going
Swiftly and steadily, and the dark sea flowing.

She hears the dark sea flowing, and sees his eyes
Hollow with disenchantment, sick surprise,-

And hate of her whom he had loved too well. . .
She lowers her eyes, demurely prods a shell.

'Yes. We might do an act together.
That would be very nice.'
He kisses her passionately, and thinks
She's carnal, but cold as ice.

On a hot August night
She appeared, the lost soul.
The sweltering evening
turning suddenly cold.
She was dressed in the clothes
She had worn when she died.
A bullet hole in her temple,
a handgun by her side.
A beautiful Stranger
at the foot of my bed.
A faint smell of lilac
from a specter long dead.
The Ghost didn’t speak,
At least not that I heard,
Nor could I, gripped by terror,
Utter one word.
World weary and sad
said her ****** expression.
A Love gone all wrong
was my honest impression.
Then she was gone;
Not a glimmer remained.
The warm summer evening
My stateroom reclaimed.
It was cold where she died
On the steps to the beach;
Her spirit is restless
and seems never to sleep.

Oh beautiful stranger
None can say why you died
But the coroner ruled
That it was suicide.

Cruising on the seven seas
Out on the ocean and just feel that breeze
There was a dance that night
It was going to be a lover’s delight
The power of love will go beyond being polite
Hearts spread everywhere
A lover’s night that can’t compare
Lips being the perk
The moon giving the feeling of passion in being berserk
Then while in the ship’s stateroom, a romantic interlude of two in
“Do Not Distrub”
Lover’s will be caught up in their own observe
A new freshness in the air
Lovers with a renewed response
A ship and the seven seas
The feeling of being at ease.

In your eyes of aquamarine,
as I stare deep into them,
I am transported, to warm beaches,
gentle waves, and swaying palms.

Your breath on my neck,
reminds me of cruise ship afternoons,
as the gulf wind blows across our deck,
out on the balcony of our stateroom.

Your bare skin, bronzed in the sun,
except in the covered places,
takes me to the pool,
with blazing sun reflections.

The feel of your fingers
slowly crawling across my chest
takes me to Cozumel,
caressing each other in clear blue water.

The taste of your kiss,
sweet as can be,
takes me to our wedding day,
I do's at the lake side.

Welcome aboard
Ship to shore
A Poet’s galore
The need to getaway
Words that have their way
Over the waves
Destination bound
Listen to that ship’s sound
Sentences anchored as I write
Ocean breeze
Totally at ease
Poet to observation
Subjects with lots of information
Yonder breaks
Words ponder
Cruising and observing
Waves upon more waves
Stateroom calls of behave
Journey into adventure
Island stop upon island stop taking a picture
Captured moments sitting on a pier
Ideas come being a preserver
Words wrote down
Romantic vibes
Poet love beyond words
Intriguing v
Back to reality where the bon voyage cruise began
The cruise comes to an end
Memories of when
Journey from then
Voyage giving relaxation
The cruise full of sensation
S.S. Poet
We disembark
Love me now into everlasting
Thoughts remain
It’s love now between me and Jane.