"whalers" poems
Hydrangea framed in cedar shake
Pastel blossoms for display
Ghosts of whales & whalers past
Salty mist of Atlantic spray
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 6:03 PM UTC
cut paper, paper cut
cut file folder, file folder cut
cut tin, tin cut
red lines leak
stains.
thin pain
touches nerves,
sharp as knives,
blotting all
else out,
until you shout OUCH
pressure the wound
to stop the flow
too,
from your mouth
the words heard
a better found
on a boat full of sailors
crabbing or whalers
and as you bob
in out and get your
sea legs under you
you will remember
self-administered first aid too!
©DWE102013
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 1:28 AM UTC
In West Virginia they dig tunnels or a great big hole,
to extricate from Mother Earth the substance known as coal.
For centuries the coal was burned and smoke would fill the air,
but coal became outmoded and demand's no longer there.
So many miners were laid off as mines did stall or close,
and in Coal Country incomes dropped and unemployment rose.
But Donald Trump made promises to fix the miners' strife,
by saying he'd bring Old King Coal a-roaring back to life.
So Trump reduced the regulations that bring jail or fines
for harm to the environment from power plants or mines.
But all this is irrelevant - Trump has no magic spell
to make the world want coal again. To whom will these mines sell?
Trump may as well have promised to bring back the horse and cart;
for tinkers, whalers, schooner sailors, a rich and brand new start.
For Trump will promise anything and sell his very soul.
Next Christmas his reward should be... a big old lump of coal.
Apr 1, 2017
Apr 1, 2017 at 7:14 PM UTC
Sailor come hither and harken our song
and be calm and becalmed on our uncharted sea,
and unhindered by storms that would sully thy sails
and the thunderous waves that would pummel thy decks;
oh sailor come hither and harken our song
and our voices will sing joy to thee
Rejoice and remain in the waters we share
with the planks and the plankton, the rainbow of fishes,
the garments of sailors and whalers with whale tattoos
over their chests and their necks;
oh sailor remain in the waters we share
and our voices will bring joy to thee
Swim deep to the depths of our uncharted ocean
And see the fine wrecks of the ships of thy fathers,
the littered bones strewn from the deck hands in hand-me-downs,
anchor chains rusting and bells of submariners;
oh sailor swim deep to the depths of our ocean
and our voices will give joy to thee
Draw breath from the water to taste the fine fragrance
of wines and of gold and the many fine horses
that sailed from old cities to trade with the new towns
and ventured to hear of our song of their happiness;
oh sailor draw breath from the waters fine fragrance
and our voices will sing oft of thee
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 11:43 PM UTC
Rivers flow down towards the bay
And with them, lifetimes swept away
Of cobble stones and windswept sand
And legends of our native land
I walk alone down avenues
Of shifting sands and ocean hues
And faces from another time
From road to sandy bluffs, I climb
Down by the sea, the windy shore
Whispers their names, who are no more
Pale ghosts who wander by the sea
Up from the waves, they call to me
Of whalers, who for glory, yearned
And sailing ships that ne'er returned
Of sailors brave and lovely maids
To them, the ocean serenades
I sip my beer and hear a gull
Lost on these timeless streets of Hull.
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 12:17 AM UTC