She had been at sea for three decades
her first voyage at age eighteen
a week after her marriage
in the year of our Lord 1883

She married a sailing man
captain of his own ship
handsome, bearded and tall
a fine commander of his men
as they searched the sea for whales

She loved life at sea
and could imagine no other
the motion of the ship
the sounds of the rigging and the sails
the quiet companionship
with her husband every evening

She was beloved by her husband’s men
whom she mothered well
having had no sons of her own
but nurtured and healed
patched and sewed
bloodied and broken hearts and men

Often she came out on deck
for she knew when they would find them
and though she was in the stern
and the lookout was high in the crow's nest
she saw many whales they missed

She thrilled each time she saw them
awed by their sheer size
marveling at their strength
humbled by their beauty
careful to hide her feelings

Sometimes she could feel
when a whale would blow
and she would call to the first mate
so the men looked at her
as the whale passed unseen

Most times she silently prayed
willing the lookout to search
the wrong spot of ocean
and felt again the pang
of disloyalty to her husband
for he commanded a whaling ship

But then the lookout's call came
"Thar she blows!"
and the men sprang to action
taking after the whale in longboats
while she escaped below

She had seen before the killing
she would not watch again
too many whales succumbed
to exploding harpoons
and a death horrifyingly cruel

And she wondered
what would happen
if only whales could scream . . .

It was on a night like this, not long ago.
The air stood still and the moon hung low.

A loathsome lad on the bow of a whaler.
Not much of a farmer but a pretty good sailor.

Made a wish on the breast of Blue he killed.
"Your mightiest dead, his blood I've spilled!"

Most gods didn't listen save one who did care.
Poseidon held steadfast, his attention was snared.

"Poseidon pay forth my wish which I've earned!
My fortunes everlasting and enemies burned!"

Poseidon appeared though not as you think him.
He appeared as fresh water so the sailor would drink him.

"My favor you seek?" The lads stomach it snarled.
"You killed one of my daughters your heart I will gnarl!"

"Oh dear god who hath forsaken my favor.
Spare me your wrath, my heart don't savor."

The young sailor pleaded his tables now turned.
The house of his dreams Poseidon has burned.

"Quiet you fool your tears do not pang me.
One day I favor you will marry a banshee.

She'll be quite striking, clever, and loyal.
For her hand and her heart you mustn't recoil.

You'll live quite well your fortunes more fair.
You'll suffer no fools, you will not despair.

One night though I'll come back to collect.
I spared your life tis quite a large debt."

Our whaling friend abided then his muscles began to quake.
Poseidon made him ***** so an exit he could make.

They parted ways and many years of travels came to be.
Our whaling lad he had searched those perilous seven seas.

Soon he met and fell in love with a girl from the forests edge.
He proposed to her in sight of Poseidon on high upon a ledge.

A few years passed and soon she bore this man a son.
He couldn't believe his very eyes what favors had he won.

Then one night Poseidon came and rapped his trident on the door.
"A debt must be paid with your own son. I mustn't wait anymore!"

The lad he knew better than to argue with Poseidon.
He took his son from his wife's arms knowing better to abide him.

Poseidon took his son and cast him to the stars.
A reminder far more lasting than any mortal scars.

The young mans wife done cast herself into the firey hearth.
Having done cursed her love and self, for ever giving birth.

The sailor said "What penance, if any, was there ever to be made?"
Poseidon turned away from him for the debt the man had paid.

"Does your pain right now not make you favor death?
Do you not savor in the thought of smelling Cerebrus' breath?

Can you fashion upon your eyes a single saving grace?
How about your soul for one more look upon her face?"

The whaling man said nothing putting pistol to his temple.
The plan it seems all along had been well, rather simple.

A discharged flash and his eyes opened wide.
Prone in his bed his lovely wife there by his side.

His son began to bellow from the crib by the hearth.
Everything was as it was, his love and the birth.

A new moon shone out upon the quiet sea.
Poseidon beckoned the old man to venture out to he.

"Poseidon I don't know what I could do to honor you my god.
Your feats are grand and generous your efforts I applaud."

"Save face my friend for you have learned your lesson well.
And that's to say this **** right here is by Jamison ****** Bell!"

I remember hiding under an old cherry wood dining table. I remember holding my baby sister, shielding her eyes, covering her and trying to tuck her away. Pulling her as close to me as possible, like I might be able to fold her skin into mine so she wouldn’t have to see what was happening around us. I can still hear her crying into my bony 7 year old shoulder and whaling amongst the chaos with the bitty 4 year old voice that she had at the time. I remember the heart stopping feeling of watching my mother get thrown into the wall and watching my brother, 11 years older than myself, hurtle the beautiful antique silver coffee *** that my grandmother left us- into the space near her head where it bludgeoned the wall. I remember barely being taller than the table myself and pulling my sister out when I saw a chance for us to escape the scene and run into another room.  I remember turning around and seeing my older sister, who was 10 at that time, running up and hitting and kicking my brother and getting shoved to the side. I’ve grown accustomed to the headaches I now get at the sight of flashing police lights.

All aboard this ship of fools,
all aboard she's sailing,
all aboard this ship of fools,
for we are going a' whaling.

From the harbour our course we keep,
for the distant Antarctic water,
to find the leviathans of the deep,
and begin our ****** slaughter.

All aboard this ship of fools,
all aboard she's sailing,
all aboard this ship of fools,
for we are going a' whaling.

We say there is a scientific need,
to study these magnificent beings
we harpoon them, and watch them bleed,
as before our ship they're fleeing.

All aboard this ship of fools,
all aboard she's sailing,
all aboard this ship of fools,
for we are going a' whaling.

And still our leaders, they entreat
that we do this for the good of science,
but really it is for their meat,
that we **** these gentle giants

All aboard this ship of fools,
all aboard she's sailing,
all aboard this ship of fools,
for we are going a' whaling.

Tom Higgins.

I feel great pain as the harpoon finds
the whale once more, I hear the boom
as explosion thunders, rips apart
the body, sinew and beating heart
as blood and tissue spread and drift

And shark, the lesser predator
nears and circles the carnage 'till
the struggle ends, the whale stills.
The sea once more is filled with loss
that might, had we more courage, been avoided

Cori MacNaughton
26August2003

Aware of tides
a castle fortifies
with memories of compacted glory,
splendid defiance
lost
to brine horizon,
a hailed day
turned whaling ship grey.

One day... when the sun rose high in the sky... Gods will was said to have whipped the universe of sin for a single moment in time.
But it was the way that sin had been whipped, that will change everything about this story. This story does not have a happy ending. But This story also does not have a bad one either.

When the world was at it's worst, where rapists, killers, pedophiles and just about the worst of the worst would stroll around, like a fresh Sunday right after church ended and the bells would be a-ringin'...

Dressed in Black with a Red clerical collar, the Devil decided to take a walk on Gods green earth.

A lot of those see Lucifer as the darkest of darkness that dark could ever cast into a shadowy corner in the lowest of low pits in Hell. The King of Rebels. The ultimate Sinner. But on this day, just this once, He didn't seem to appear so dark.

With every step he took you could hear the whaling of a banshies cry in the distance. With a grin that crept on the peak of his filthy stature of a body.

What was it that made this being so Evil? Why was he seen as such a tragic accident? Lucifer is no Demon of any kind, but a fallen Angel. The darkest most hated of Angels to ever be known.

The Devil Walked into a Bar... This bar was called "The Cracked Loon-Addict" (But The Devil knew... he could read the words better than any mortals eyes could ever see. The words read on the Bars title, The Cracked Lunatic) Home and Refuge for the worlds most wanted and every living killer, ******, ******* and monster you could possible think up.

He ordered a shot of whisky and took a sip.

A ****** walked up, weak in her demeanor, She reeked of conviction and any form of self respect.  She spat in his face and laughed.

A man walked up to the Devil soon after the woman staggered off drunk, and said he ***** 4 children, 7 wives, murdered 6 men and tortured 17 families and sent each tape he recorded of the tortures to each families family, right before coming after them and killing them too.

The Devil looked into this mans eyes and saw nothing but the truth.

Soon after the man walked away another man walked up to the Devil. This man was skinny and his eyes peeled of death. The man had claimed he was a deluded psychopath with no reason for killing 117 people in the course of 4 days. He said he was just bored.  

Nearing the end of the day as the sun began setting, more and more people, men and women approached the Devil and confessed their sins. By the time the sun had set the Devil was on his way out the door and before leaving a man sitting at a table at the opposite, farthest end of the bar sat in a Pure White Robe. The Devil Stood at the entrance for a moment and then turned around and saw the man and noticed there was a broken halo above his head. The Devil grinned and walked out. The first step he took outside the bar was the Step of Judgement The Second Step was the Step of Eternal Damnation.

Every living being in the bar weather it's species was human animal or unknown, had obliterated into a dark mist. All accept that one single man in the white Robe. That ****** burned alive and his ashes left the mark of his broken wings into the floor boards as if it was to leave a tattoo.

Lucifer remembers. He remembered what the man in the pure white robe said right before the Devil walked out. He said, "I am an egotistical Homosexual who poses as an innocent white male who rapes the innocent and sheds hatred on those who love the same gender; All so I can get into the Kingdom of Heaven." The Devil laughed as he took his first step outside of the Bar and as he left Gods green earth.

But he did not do this for the faith of good or to help and serve the lives of the innocent. They did not even pose a threat to the Devil nor did they care about him.

The Devil did this because he found that the burning souls in hell didn't seem to burn bright enough. So he found some better ones to burn for the next eternity to come until he needs to refill his eternal Inferno.

Hello, Poetry Incorporated,
how are you now, coming after
the world's 3rd breakdown?
Where do we go from here?

Here beside us now, another gift
after the deathly blows.After children entrusts
us yet again pieces of their lives and deaths to us.

A Japanese animation in the 1970s was banned
somewhere offshore. Not just because
the landowners who banned it was just evil,
Nor because one was "better than the other".

It was forbidden maybe because of many questions 
still haunting us to and fro, beckoning us into
living our lives fully, not because of the light and dark,
but rather despite of it.
Like the dark and beautifully frightening
ocean tides that have capsized whaling ships
and yet have given birth to all our species.

Unlike many other animations,
the banned show did not have crudely offensive content.
It was a story of different people coming together
inside a big machine and operating it as one
as they manifest themselves as the Voltes Five.

Calabash Squash
A Poem by Eclipsing Moon-blood red


entry for a contest...rhythm



Hip- hop jury swapped

Hippity- hoppity sequestered they stop

Bibity- bobity alone on the cobblestone.

falling in- falling over

The balcone wailing, and buckets pailing, and hailing, and

Scaling

The walls and ramparts the cannons were whaling

Moby dicking and schlicking the schlock of the clock… hickory dickery ..where is the Doc?

Blind mice made the move..up one "grandfather  side.

... and

Over the top .

Now wasn’t that a quainty dish to set before the Queens …

in drag



© 2011 Eclipsing Moon-blood red

I hear my midnight mistress
Screaming in the night.
It shakes the leave, the grass
The trees.
It echos off the stars it seems.
They twinkle in a shutter
Shed a tear for a broken heart
A whaling heard along the wind,
There goes my midnight mistress
Stinging at my eyes
The tears come.
I am not supposed to walk this road.
Or hear the crying night.
I do not want to think these thoughts,
The tears roll down my cheeks.
"I am sorry my love"
"My cradle of life.  You do not sting my eyes so."
"You do not weak my knees"
It is only me, on this walk.
The trees shaking int he night.
The witching hour brings celebration
The dancing of the trees
The transcendental chanting,
Of my mind, and yours.
And the screaming of my midnight mistress, carried across the wind.

poisoned well of the antichrist littered with ground cover
picking out ****** flecks of gravel
blacktop kneeskin
patience pieces of scattered space time
to go back to the future of continuity
lack of genius ingenuity
and the suckling of the pig entourage

riding in a flat top hatchback
cadillac of the daily grind
upperclassman japan onii-chan
brother in arms from anotha motha
hug from afar colliding with crackpot theory

terrible fantasia cooling bricks in soggy sun
swallowed his pride with a glass of self-worth
and these ***** don't cook like they used to
I don't look like I used to
warped veil of camouflage chameleon leather
with a ****** level of automobile salesman

tried to get closer to god
ground him up, picked out the stems
twisted him into thin paper
touched flame to his finger tip and a son of Adam was born

gum shoe gaze
or the emptiness felt at the end of reasonable doubt
correctional text messaging system
sent from hoarse corpses
tenderly poignant in their ****** coffins

will think for food
cries from an outdated MENSA
over ***** and under-appreciated
siting on hunched shoulders to get a better look
to be a martian in a plain port

wharf warehouse whaling boat
red tide in a Shanghai *******
floodgates made of bitter premise
that last bit of purple yam
**** Okonkwo
Things Fall Apart fell apart due to faded highschool ambitions and bloodshot eyes
cruel like the shade of off-cerulean

champagne fizz tickles at the soft meat of his tarnished throat
and silver tongue
as the matchstick framework
so fragile in comparison
fizzles out on drenched sidewalk
while cigarette ash floats by
like gray gnats

A poem a day takes the pain away.
"It could always be worse"
That's what they all would say.

If it could always be worse,
Then why don't your words make it better?
Don't diminish what I'm feeling,
Simply bc someone's circumstances were harder.

A town was destroyed,
Lives stripped away.
My family and home still in tact,
But I too felt the wrath of that 22nd May.

The ****** and the bruised,
Don't forget the whaling sirens,
Continually speeding by for the first 48 hours.

Anything to help,
Water to the families
Prayers for the refugees.

Thank goodness it wasn't destroyed,
That football field.
What else would have sufficed?
To house the bodies,
In number, nearly 165.

Prayer and tears cannot rectify,
The pain and the hurt evident in mine eye.

Grasp hold of
The friends you were able to get ahold of.

Proud of this town I call home,
Banded together.
But my school, a whole other story on it's own,

I lived, breathed, what was just a building.
My faith in a structure,
Security and normality soon ripped from feelings.

The boxcar children?
The boxed mall children.
Diploma in a shopping bag,
Earned through PowerPoint presentations and 9GAG.

Thank goodness for glassed in boxes,
How else would I have been able to think?
Those tanks have awesome acoustics,
And hey couples can use them for **** tricks.

Build a fort of cardboard,
Film a music video that'll win zero awards!

Throw ping pong ***** over the walls,
Practice ACT while you hear the drama kids doing bird calls.

Can't use photoshop?
There's a class for that.
"Teacher" can't help with trig?
Here's an F for that.

Grief counselors available 24/7.
Doors are also always open,
So go get some lunch at the 7/11.

Took advantage of naïveté,
Skipped school to deal with that 22nd May.

But hey! Prom was still awesome,
And the seniors got scholarships,
So it's alright that my gpa was messed with.
Heck, I was a junior, easily forgotten.

Off to bigger, better things!
Forget the past,
Endure the change.

Hello MSSU or Crowder.
Community college "fo dayz"

This is how we deal with windstorms, in the little old land of Jomo.
The town banded together, but school....
It's more broken than ever.

They turn ya loose and you'll move on,
Cuz for a few years ya had a laptop,
And hey that's enough to build your future upon!

Perilous voyages of small watercraft at sea , amphibious landings on well defended beachheads , Clipper ships whaling on distant oceans , military vessels in armed conflict , night of relentless cannon fire , explosive reflections across shark infested waters , treasure maps and chest laden with gold , rubies and pieces of eight , the cry of Viking warriors on the rugged coast of Newfoundland .. Pirates just off the shores of the Carolinas ..  Forts Pulaski , Sumter and Jefferson on the Dry Tortugas ..
Oil platforms racked by ferocious winds on the Gulf of Mexico ..
Union and Confederate battles on Mobile Bay , Riverboats traversing the Mississippi ..Tending barges along the Ohio ..On high alert through Georgia's intracoastal waterways ....

As so it was as we put to sea.
The Dark pirate captain and me.
Aboard a ghost ship decorated with bones and skulls.
I listened to hear creaking and the circling gulls.

Twas a dark and dismal day, with a ghost green sky.
Her main mast atop the Skull and Crossbones did fly.
Holes in her jib and Poseidon’s pitch fork on her main.
Our dark and treacherous ship was the high seas bane.

A purple fog hung over her deck, coiling and twisting.
Up the masts and sails dark spirit existing.
Born out of the ancient timbers and the toil.
Born out of heartbreak and roil.

I was first mate on this ship of the dead.
One and thirty nine hands that bled.
On the ropes and the sails.
On the harpoons and whales tails.

I counted 14 cannons on the decks.
I found more on a midnight check.
She had seven eighteen pounders deck under.
She shuddered and rolled from the thunder.

Listing to port or starboard from a volley.
Recoiling on the oaken dolly’s
No cannon ***** would touch her.
The purple fog protected those that were.

Aimed at her masts and broadside.
Swatting them into the deep I watched wide-eyed.
She deep sixed more ships than any other vessel.
Their captains hung from the stern trestle.

We came upon a man adrift in a whaling vessel.
The captain swung the ship around to nestle.
The small boat’s gunwales were shattered and torn.
Her occupant screaming wide eyed did warn.

“Avast your voyage twas Mermaids I fear!”
His face a ghostly pale and his eyes were queer.
The Captain brought him on board.
And he brought with him a fear that roared.

My Captain held him at the point of his sword.
The man’s eyes became as fire and he roared.
Deafening, it was out of his empty mouth it howled.
And with it the very air was fouled.

And the purple fog recoiled from this man.
Round and round on the decks it ran.
We all backed away from this apparition.
A horror straight away from Mariner’s superstition.

And he collapsed on the deck.
His pulse I did check.
And he did not have one.
I listened for his heart beat and there was none.

Filaments of his former self arose.
And Hung over his dead body close.
“Beware of White Cap Bay.”
“Tis where the Mermaids play.”

Came a watery cold voice upon the night air.
And we all stood there and stared.
His tortured soul wailing into oblivion.
And he passed on by aspiration.

Of these tiny stars that surrounded him.
And his likeness became dim.
And then he was gone.
The purple fog again was redrawn.

There was no body from whence this came.
Upon the deck where he laid, a blue flame.
And no man could extinguish it.
The Captain touched it with his sword, it split.

And became two, and ran off the starboard side.
“It’s gone!” the bosun cried.
We all stood there at the Captain we stared.
For the first time ever saw the Captain scared.

“Who’s afraid of some Mermaids Mates?”
“I like Mermaids more than pieces of eight.”
Our Captain said in a falsetto voice.
He did nothing to make our hearts rejoice.

And so we sailed dead ahead into the night.
And the crew held their fear with all their might.
A red litten gibbous moon to steer by.
The wind through the tattered sails sighed.

There came into view a huge rocky bay.
Bathed in the ethereal moon light lay.
To the starboard stood a huge stone monolith.
Surrounded by a ring of small obelisks.

And in its top there stood a giant mirror.
At first I thought its purpose unclear.
The closer we sailed I finally understood.
Twas a warning beacon if you would.

Harken to its brilliance unto its warning.
Listen unto its mourning.
And green sea foam licked round its base.
And the wind howled in its face.

And there were queer holes and vanes upon its top.
The wind sounded through the holes an octave drop.
Which made a strange, deep reverberation?
And it shook the deck and masts with strange gyration.

We dropped anchor in a quiet nook.
The Captain said “Lads let us look!”
And several of the old salts were superstitious.
And mumblings of spells and things malicious.

Ran through the crew like a runaway current.
For reasons of truth and things that weren’t.
Then the Captain became enraged.
Said he’d use his enchanted sword to engage.

Any man not worth his salt.
He’d be locked in the forecastle vault.
With the purple fog and the demons of the ship.
Forever in death’s grip.

So nary a man stayed aboard.
And we all crossed a small tidal ford.
And found ourselves again on dry land.
Our sea legs making it strange to stand.

We came to the monoliths huge door.
Adorned with strange hieroglyphs it bore.
Testament to some earlier time.
To some odd number prime.

I stepped into a gigantic hall that was lit with no light.
And I saw a most impossible sight.
A giant sapphire ball floating over a deep shaft.
It radiated beams of light from this strange craft.

It danced on the walls like a giant kaleidoscope.
The men were about to abandon all hope.
I saw a huge aperture above the ball.
That opened like an iris above the hall.

One of the men found an elevator of sorts.
And its doors had rows of oval ports.
And our Captain stepped inside.
And so the crew filed in wild-eyed.

We found ourselves walking out of a strange mist.
In a room atop the monolith.
A huge mirror affixed to system of lens of strange hue.
And I saw in polar equatorial it would slew.

And our Captain looked upon it with an uneasy eye.
“Tis a light house Capm,” came a wistful cry.
“Not like anyone I seen.. says I.”
The Captain touched one of its wheels, “Aye,.. aye.”

I saw upon the wall an imprint of a hand.
Surrounded by a solid gold band.
And it shown a deep blue.
Its color the same as the orb’s hue.

And the boson’s mate was about to touch the object.
“Hold fast there mate!” the captain checked.
“We dunno what that’ll do?”
A blue halo around his hand flew.

And it pulled his palm unto the wall.
And he could not remove it at all.
There came from under us a rumbling vibration.
The aperture was opening in measured gyration.

Upon the mirrors there came a column of light.
From the orb below a blue-gold blinding sight.
And its countenance you could not behold.
Through the lens and off the mirror it rolled.

And it beamed out upon the sea.
And the men were afraid and began to plea.
And it swung around on its own.
Like some mechanical drone.

Nothing human touched its controls and levers.
For it moved upon its own endeavors.
One of the men was standing above the rest of us.
The beam swung into him and he became dust.

Neither force nor the Captain could stand the men fast.
They ran for the elevator save the Captain for last.
Once again we were in the great hall.
The huge orb was making a strange call.

Calling the Mermaids of White Cap Bay.
Upon the rolling surf they did play.
There were mermaids too numerous to count.
Their passage we could not possibly surmount.

They all began singing as one.
Their mesmerizing melody begun.
These sirens from leagues of the deep.
Soon had us all at the edge of sleep.

The Captains enchanted sword did resist.
Upon our lips it did kiss.
A sharp blue spark awoke us all.
From the lilting Mermaids call.

One of them beckoned to me.
I could not move and I could not flee.
And she came out of the sea.
And was floating in front of me.

Sea-green eyes and golden hair.
A long slender nose and skin so fair.
High cheekbones swept back did blend.
Into her hair unto the end.

And small gold stars within her eyes did move.
In a fathomless green sea did prove.
Their test upon my soul.
Doing their best to take a toll.

On this sailors lost heart.
She weaves her black art.
And her teeth a row of ivory scimitars.
That sparkled in the light of the stars.

She called me by name.
And the gold stars in her eyes danced in green flames.
Her breath smelled like sea breezes and myrrh.
And it reminded me of better times that were.

Then she touched my face her touch wet and cold.
She drew fire out of me and glowed gold.
Upon the night.
As I beheld this wondrous sight.

And her touch was no longer cold.
The spot she touched me turned to gold.
Then she kissed me and I could not think.
The flames in her eyes danced and winked.

And so I was lost to this siren of the deep.
Then her sea-green eyes began to weep.
Mermaid tears upon my cheeks.
Diamond liquid from her eyes did leak.

All down my face and into my mouth.
Salty and sweet, like some wine from the south.
And I began to see sub-mariner sights.
And I soon forgot my own foolish plight.

“For I cannot stay here with thee.”
“For my life comes to me from within the sea.”
“Fear not for I can change thee if you see.”
And she pulled me into the pounding green sea.

So down we went into this emerald abyss.
And I found myself in some strange bliss.
And I could breathe in the sea.
And I felt a oneness within me.

And she beamed at me with her ivory smile.
And pointed at my legs for a while.
As I looked at my legs I was startled to see.
A large broad fluke attached to me.

I could hear her voice inside my head.
We talk this way underwater instead.
And we swam down to a sunken Galleon.
Its deck littered with gold and a medallion.

She reached down and picked it from the deck.
Submerged in the sea this old Spanish wreck.
I brushed away the barnacles and brine.
Etched into its face within fine lines.

I saw on its face inscribed a name.
A name from long ago clouded in fame.
Ponce De Leon from the Queen of Spain.
Her lost explorer who succeeded no gain.

And I saw all my shipmates swimming towards me.
The Mermaids converted them was easy to see.
The Captain looked odd with a large fluke tail.
And octopus tentacles from his face did flail.

He was still wearing his stupid three cornered hat.
The silliest sight I concluded that.
And my Mermaid swam up to me and took my hand.
“You do not belong here you belong on land.”

So we swam up from the emerald deep.
When we broke surface she began to weep.
“When you get old and turn to gray.”
“Come back to sea and we will play.”

And with that she dove down and swam away.
And I think about this Mermaid to this very day.
And in my hand I still held the medallion.
Taken from the deck of the old Spanish Galleon.

A gift to me from my lady of the sea.
At night the wind brings me her singing plea.
“Return my sailor return to me.”
“Return to your home under the sea.”

Now I’ve grown old and my hair turned gray.
And you doubt this tale from me you say?
And I swear it’s all true.
I’ll swear by my tattoos.

Dave Proffitt 2/7/2012




















.

The Lord hand picks the unworthy
The outcasts, the needy
The downtroden and filthy
Drowning in despair
Shaking in fear
Staggering in sheer agony
Wondering what just might be
What life really means

His hand is upon the lost
Those still imprisoned by their past
The backslidden and fallen
living in sin and lust
Brewing with contempt and disgust
Crumbling into dust
Wondering if the Lord is just
if they can ever come back

The face of the Lord shines upon
Those who weep and bitterly mourn
The Broken hearted and torn
Who stay up until dawn
Singing the burial song
A chorus of whaling voices
A choir of morbid faces
Wondering what the next phase is

The Lord is gracious
The Lord is kind
The Lord will save us
The lost sheep he will find
His people are declared righteous
Adopted, sealed and sighed
Wonderfully and fearfully designed
Chosen, before the beginning of time

Traveling in rising walking strings
you stretch out these soulful sinews
and tune your mandolins of song
of seasons and tall waves on deep
whaling, wailing a home longing
in lungs breathing for both of us
on traditional barks and harbor docks
wanting, waiting, wanting
pickity passion's dancing flocks
of ******'s doves to prompt
voices aimed at golden gates

-cec

I'm starting to question every thought I ever had
every reason for feeling sad
every dream dissolved
every story I ever told
as reality does not live in the mind
but with everything that passes our eyes
so stay focused
don't pay attention to the lies
for in my head I've lived a thousand lives
but in reality I've never touched the sky
not walked on the moon
never had a bride
never been the groom.

We had fun you and I
at least within my mind
been dreaming since I was a kid
of things that I never quite did
never once kissed your lips
nor smelt your sweet perfume
though those memories still exist
the truth is you left to soon
you only live in my imagination
a perfect mix of my creation
loving, kind and gentle
whispers sentimental.

So the question I ask;
do I keep you close in dreams?
- where our love will forever last
**or face the whaling screams
of a broken heart.

We rode to Ta’if on a flying carpet
— a Toyota with a missing hubcap

sweeping through  fattened clouds
which clung to the hilltops like grazing bison

arriving on the otherworldly plateau that wore
the death shroud of an old hermit’s mystery

which our Prophet reached in sandals as ******
as the deck of a Nantucket whaling ship

Arabian Himalayas. He climbed like a yak
and the Lord strengthened his steps

Our taxi driver — as lost as the cheque in the mail —
poked at his satnav and called his mates

The Almighty’s beloved followed the angel and
never lost his way. He strained with pain

Our driver’s mirrored eyes intruded while we
held hands on the back seat and yawned

The Lord smiled down upon his aching friend
and eased the pain in cramping calves

A sagging mosque now hunches where the ignorant
had cast away the chance of a lifetime

Oh think if they had taken him in — Medina
would sit as a happy king on a mountain throne

I immortalised my love in a photo in that mosque
praying as a saint where our hero had struggled

I adore my captured shaikha and the memory
of when we followed in the footsteps of our Prophet

Living alone in the arctic circle has challenges of its own.
The weather drops to negative sixty degrees
and during the winter months wolves watch you breath.
Although this is a challenge I have found a challenge of my own.


So, hey asked me, "Is there anything wrong, Jon?"
I tell them no.
I tell them I am fine.
That I am happy.

The cold, grips at my vocal chords.
As the tundra spreads across my veins my body numbly forgets where I am.
The mind that works all to often takes a vacation of blankets and existence.
My fingertips sent in their two week notice without the strength to give a reason of departure.

I am swimming in ice.
Whaling like a baby, with everything to say and no one to understand.
Rolling over the same spot that I swear I can melt into water.
The weather looks down upon me, with closed ears.
Negligent to the heart inside of my chest.

Running away does nothing but create distance.
My problems will never be further than the bottom of a bottle.
Finding and reaching for the tongue out of my mouth.
Asking me to accept the fate dropped before me.

Mimicry, to act or mimic another object or animal.
I became the tundra that day.
Unforgiving to the existence in my chest.
Misunderstanding to the tender chords that hold up life.
Leading on that my heart will not feel again from this day out.
Love will not play its games on my frozen land.
Being polite will never help you hear boy.
Keep running, I will keep extending my reach in front of you.
Today I became,
Cold.

Wind torn sails
and old wives tales
both tell a certain truth
like sailors forlorn
'round the cape horn
drowned or frozen to death

The waves and the wind
punish for sins
that frequently go untold
dare to begin that voyage to win
bring in the most liquid gold

Whaling was the name
of this sailors game
learned from my pappy before
when the tall ships call
you'll answer for all
the misgivings that you ever did

Swabbing the decks
like a beer hall *****
sickly from waves and decay
this is the life
for months at a time
from New England
to the ports of Biscay

First sign of a blow
shouts to below
from where the watch sits above
The decks come alive
thar be the prize
the deadly game awaits

Set sails to the wind
and get that boat in
harpoons and crew await
haul on the ropes
or abandon all hopes
the behemoth  will get away

Hearts pound like the oars
sending us forth
Oh, how our quarry evades
better keep your eyes peeled
or your fate is sealed
if she comes up underneath

With a mighty hurrah
the striker lets fly
the harpoon sinks deep in the whale
it plunges below
taking us under tow
blood staining the deep blue waves

I cry for this sin
as we haul the whale in
and cut up all it had been
trade a shilling in the purse
for a life long curse
never to sleep again

When I shut my eyes
I can still hear the cry
up from it's blowhole it came
shivers my spine,every time
I bolt upright wide awake

so, here i sit, having read that semicolons are a ******* tool - im only a partial *******; so, its admissable. in a bar drunk, sass'd, white *****'d, hot as ever-living hell, hoping for a saxophonist. white ******* off bike lock keys in the bathroom as the door is attempted to be opened; "Sorry, we were *******." splurted, what an excuse; white ***** on a bike lock key - protection from theft, i guess. almost out of tobacco, yet i feel i can sustain, excuse me, remain. "i cant believe you did that, ***** crystal." (not what you think (totally what i think)) ambient psychedelia and a saxophonist (shes been mentioned) wailing, wail, whaling; expunge that Conscious ocean as if you were a Japo. yeah, racial slurs racial slurs. im told its 11.55 post on the 7th, but i am quite aware thats a lie. (most knowledge is (vindication symplified and unerred) unaware of what is being typed anymore) ..

Nosey!
I guess I am,
a boy just wishing to grow into a man.

And by the lies I do tell,
it's growing longer for me to ever fall short
Oh Pinocchio, how could the world ever love us, when all the love in the world feels so bought.

Feelings aside,
hating the mistaken times I've taken the deed of living inside of pride
Never living out of the world,
cause I found it much warmer inside.

A piece of wood thrown into the fire,
till ashes are all what remains
Perhaps tied a knot into these puppet strings,
that never break so easily for their my chains.

Oh Pinocchio, I'm so ashamed.

I've been done in by a sly fox,
buried a lot of my worth, hoping for it all to grown enough to afford a wooden house

And like an foolish ***,
I've kicked my own self.
Oh Pinocchio, I surely wish I could be anybody else.

Like a trick,
the play of hand has made it's deal
And maybe if I question reality enough it might show me what's real.

But I'm so much like an old story the world seems to have forgotten,
much in common with the darkness,
my body much like the same material of this black coffin.

Still forgive my whaling Oh Pinocchio. Shall I swallow my sorrow
Maybe be a little thankful for today, but I'm so remorseful for those days that come after tomorrow.

Oh Pinocchio, could I tie one more knot into the string,
could I spell out what I feel, like your name I spell out every time I sing.

Could I ask my creator to create the better version of me,
if such a thing does exist, how could it be.
In the sense of being able to see.

I'd see to that very future,
wind-up into blowing winds heading there
No longer sitting on my talent, though my material is what I sit on as a comfortable chair.

Oh Pinocchio,
I surely don't know
For I once was you so long before. But I'm not a wooden boy anymore.

two way street,  with one route i write
something good, but then all exhilaration
to this weird form of despair
of sheer disappointment
when i couldn't suckle out
more than i already did.
the other route is filled with
a prolific output -
a kaleidoscopic antagonism
of mundane example that
8 billion of an animal kindred
will share - then the sheer exhaustion
of this route - there's no restlessness in it,
there's no wish to revise it, erase
any conjunction necessary vulgarity,
it's what it is -
like when i dislocated my index finger,
and the pain wasn't there,
numbed by adrenaline from the shock,
the soothing adrenaline -
not the typical ***** of the stuff
mountaineering or paragliding -
the subtle junk of the stuff...
sitting in the hospital laughing,
flirting with nurses - 'i'm watching you!'
'sure sure nursey, give us a flirty wink back.'
no need for pain killers, walking in between
the a & e hall watching the bonkers drunks,
feeling so adrenaline filled i started
to say i'm a poet, oddly i speak posh essex
when drunk... haven't spotted a cockney
on my tongue yet... if i do i'll tell ya
of the pear in the salt shaker (shakespeare)...
then with this sickle cell anaemia girl,
asked her if she liked jazz, Us3, great group
mix of hip hop and jazz... you tube that band:
hand on the torch... kiss on the hand:
merrily may you fare through this night:
thumbs up or index finger pointing right.
finally i get to pronounce hungarian surnames,
asked a bar mistress in a pub once: szasz...
that's sas zaz or shash? she didn't reply...
the surgeon came in... 'two options
after looking at the x-ray... anaesthetic
injections... or just a straight pull... injections are...'
'just pull the **** thing, it's getting annoying.'
looked at a piece of paper with the surgeon's
surname on it, ending with -sz,
so i asked what the phonetics were:
ends in haramash?
yes he replied;
finally! my search was over!
can i get a copy of the x-rays?
sure, but no public disclosure via social media, ok?
sure (by hand, my bones, copyright with fingerprints).
but you know what... really...
on the depth of all this?
bull fighting... a sport macho spectacle...
one bull, a ring, a guy with swords... poor bull
no steak from him...
nietzsche wandering the southern hemisphere
of europe for sunshine and fresh air...
if i had the money...
first stop the faroe islands for the grindadráp (whaling,
orca esp.), and last stop probably there...
because imagine if bull fighting was as barbaric as
the grindadráp... it would be like that story
about 2 fish 5 loaves of bread = 1 bull
fed to the spanish coliseum throng:
we're talking many orcas - feeds a village for a year,
no beef tapas nibbles in sight for the fiesta.

Sometimes I want to shake your head from your shoulders
Try to dislodge the barbed twists of your perverse thinking
And the ideas spearing through your tissues
Like whaling harpoons that hooked their many heads deep
Latching and Leaching

Because you might have ****** your packet of Love Hearts a little too hard
Until it crumbled and fizzed in desperate ecstasy on your tongue
And the rest in the tube read MISS ME
Whenever you asked

But you are not Isolde,
Capulet, Karenina or Earnshaw
And as much as you desire the piercing pity of your broken collar bones
The caress of the lost-souls melody and the razorblades of a ribcage
The bitter corset of an appetite that pays for itself in crocodile tears
And the romance of a noose of flaxen hair
You are not Porphyria
And he is not her lover

People are ****** boring. Thats why Im ****** snoring.
So I must decree that I wish to ****** flee.
Need to leave this place. For fear the lines on face, become the cracks in floor.
Want to walk through that open door. Run as far, as fast as can fall, before the mocking bird doth call.
Must find that thing that entertains, must find that thing for perfect gains.
Pain within the heart, will surly come apart.
Unless to find a place to free the mind then ware forever do we start.
Even if it seems as though theres no ware left to go, insanity your last resort,
then come and join me in the chair and see if I ****** care.

  If ever there was a point to life, then why can't it be seen with simple human eyes.
Or shall it be that no one hears the cries, the whaling soul to extole a price that can't be paid
for a life that cant be laid, down upon its'
feet. For entertainment that it seeks is not at all discreet.

  So if you please recommend to me something that I can see.
Your take hold and feel so bold, as to see the point in this boring ****** life.
Carry round the misery and the ****** strife. Then sink into flesh and wound,
and those whom should have swooned. Its all the same for everyone the games we ****** play,
wish to just escape the world its so ****** gay.
See me here with out the cheer to get up off my *** and make a pass at this ****** race.
If all there is ****** fake people then get off my ****** case.

Okay **** it, it just boring so now Im ****** snoring, yet again, isn't this how I did begin.

Twelve days without eating, and I’m feeling rather ill;
My failure to come to grips, well, it gave me a great chill.
Throwing Fists and throwing glass within my twisted haze;
Everything before now has been swept away.
So check the seams of your diamond rings
And underneath your rugs-
You may find somebodies blood.

It felt so wrong so dangerous to walk into the streets,
But I was tempted by political jive and jab and confrontation with the police.
Then I found myself stuck between pepper spray and a checkout line at the mall;
Think fast, everyone’s gone mad
This must be stopped or stalled
I’m a rag-tag revolutionary
With a pocket sized copy of Shakespeare’s dictionary;
It’s a good one…

Now truth be told I was all-alone in an alley with Peg-Leg-Pete;
With every step he took he nearly broke my foot, and with his hook pointed back to the street;
There was a greeting from a whaling trumpet, which threatened me like a storm.
In the blink of an eye funnels fell from the sky,
And Pete yells, “You’ve been warned!
You’ve got to keep your head, or end up dead
In a twisted up puddle of muck.
Keep on moving, don’t test your luck.”

The revolution is in full blaze, and the tires are spinning hot;
The examiners are walking all around, examining what they’ve not got.
Through the toxic fumes and burnt out storefronts they tried to take my life:
“Yes, I can give you hat you’d like, but first you’ll have steal a knife.”
And I prayed for strange, as I ducked away
From the rally-men, and their fights
-God help us!

The president of the united world is taking off his clothes,
And showing off his birther rights so everybody knows
Who he is, and where he’s from; they’re searching for a flaw
To Guarantee their living land is one of love and law.
From the screeching tides of TV sets,
To the valley of the ******,
Just people looking for a hand.

I say Yo-**! Yo-**! The pirate’s life for me!
I was feeling low and all alone, so I went looking for Peg-Leg-Pete
To find a job, or gold doubloons, but I just came upon a note
In the back page of a lonely book, it was Peg-Leg-Pete who wrote:
“I’ve seen twisted shores, and rattled doors
But never quite so much sin
What kind of world are you living in?”

Faintly, a force is forming from an abyss of nothingness.

Swelling with the waste of wanton warriors, whaling of a withered world, curled, in the carriers to a scarier dilemma.

Brimstone, fire, a panorama of pandemonium, with jackals projected from podiums, and its right there on the screen.

Gleaming, on the seemingly glorious display, the loops play, and replay, in gorgeous indefinites, frayed in their tethered need to define our sentiments, so in kind, i severed it, and joined the collective.

Much better.

The machines now clever and draws my every breath to this ******* vortex in the sky.

My fruitless efforts defy, the physics of my inner cynic, if only i would get with it or just try.

Watching us just die.

And I feel fine.

Everything's alright.

I'm not in it to win it, but to survive.

Just assisting your suicide, as i'm resisting until i die, just don't resurrect me to the hive, and involve me in the lines, or the triviality of your times, that you are so proud ...

To squander, over yonder, pondering the fonder things, with bonkers themes, spread through out your memes, like a god ****** teen, burning tinfoil seams, on the street with thieves over a live feed.

Please.

Just keep drifting into the black hole, until its fed and full, or just blow out the lights of my futile fighting, and make me Noland void.

Let them spill their worth

Of beloved righteousness

Let them soak the soil of such vanity

Let their hollow hearts decry the stars

Where death devours this very breath

Let loose the whaling of hidden drums

And the trumpets that sound from depths above

Let agony free through the fires that burn our air and drink our waters dry

Let them cry at the feet of nothing

Cry of nothinnnng

Noth

innng

As it drains them dry