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Tryst Jun 2015
Abandoning Medusa,
Four hundred boarded boat and raft
As angry storms abused her,
The sandbank held her firm and fast
And each fresh wave might be her last,
So each man went unto his craft
And headed out to sea

I watched her mass still gleaming
In moon's spotlight upon the rocks
And fading as to dreaming,
As oarsmen pulled with cursèd tongues
To take the strain and drag our throngs
That clung to life on floating stocks
Imprisoned by the sea

oh what a sight, to see our raft as laden down as she,
with little boats and fastened ropes to tow her o'er the sea


Men watched for signs of treason,
In fear of those who may decline
To see the light of reason,
And climbing off our haven perch
To strike toward the bobbing lurch
Of boats connected to the line
That towed us o'er the sea

A silver streak went flashing
As blade reflected of the moon
To hew the mooring's lashing;
No longer bound by fetid weight
The oarsmen pulled and with a great
Relief they moved away, and soon
Our raft was lost at sea

with cold dismay, we watched horizon swallow boats with glee,
when all were gone, we stood as one, abandoned to the sea


Clinging to the single mast
And each to each were firmly gripped
As sinking neath the living mass
The makeshift raft that floated free
Was covered by the foaming sea
And each man feared lest if he slipped
He's lost unto the sea

Water covered o'er our waists
And each with barely room to stand,
One hundred fifty doomed to fates
That ne'er a one could yet foresee
As each looked onwards helplessly
To glimpse the hope of promised land
Beyond the raging sea

has any scene more wretchèd been observed I ask of thee?
behold our sight and awful plight, held captive by the sea


For food one barrel only
Of biscuits that was tossed and thrown
Into the frigid roiling sea
And when we pulled it from the waves
Wet biscuits soaked to salted paste
Were swift devoured, and left with none
Our hunger cursed the sea

Our thirst became a torment
With only casks of wine to drink
And all the time to lament
The petty fight that caused the loss
Of all the water sadly tossed
Towards the edge and o'er the brink
Into the vasty sea

our sunburnt skins were blistered, we were hopeless as could be,
we prayed for night until the fright of darkness on the sea


Men turned upon their brothers,
Each fighting for an inch of space
And men screamed for their mothers,
As clubs were swung and axes heaved,
As bones were smashed and heads were cleaved,
And so began our human race
Surviving on the sea

The stench of early morning
Brought retching from the strongest tar
As light from a new dawning
Unveiled the carnage of the scene,
Men dead and dying, limbs hacked clean,
No time would heal the mental scar
Of those still trapped at sea

if you would listen further, I implore your eyes to see
the vision of our hopelessness upon the endless sea


One day passed to another
And every day more men were lost
To hunger or their brother,
And as our numbers swift declined
Starvation ruled most ev'ry mind,
And saw the thing we craved the most
Right there upon the sea

At first it started slowly,
One haggard man with wildling eyes
Took up a blade and boldly,
He carved a piece of rotting flesh
And to a man we held our breath
And watched as he devoured his prize
Upon the ghastly sea

With little hesitation
Some other men took up the lead
And with some trepidation,
I eyed the corpse and followed suit,
Slicing his leg above the boot,
And wolfed it down such was my need
Upon that evil sea

I ask not for forgiveness friend, I offer thee no plea,
You cannot know, you were not there upon that dreadful sea


Yet still my tale has sorrow,
That I have not the heart to tell
So courage I must borrow,
For all should know the tragic deeds
That show the truth, how man succeeds
When placed within the living hell
Of endless days at sea

One quarter turned to madness,
Where midnight waits with bloodied hands
To strike the screaming masses
And feast upon the sick and lame
With flesh prized higher than a name,
We turned with eyes like burning brands
And stared unto the sea

the weak were dead who still drew breath, they knew as well as we,
their lives were owed to pay our debt in homage to the sea


Some thirteen days we lived there
Before we caught the sight of sails
And rescued from our nightmare,
We crept away to wander home
But never can we be alone
Forever watched by wretchèd souls
We left upon the sea

So here my tale is ended,
One hundred fifty went aboard
And fifteen men descended,
Our raft was left to float away
And maybe still it floats today
With hungry souls forever moored
Upon the raging sea
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Raft_of_the_Medusa
Tryst Apr 2015
Ill-gotten knave!  Thy witless candle burns
Bright as a baboon's ****!  Thy gnarlèd brows
Greet, meet and mingle like the wildling ferns
And thy breath turns and churns insides of cows!
Thou stompest me? Ha! Bring thy brothers all,
Beneath my steely boot thou shall be trod!
Dust be thy supper, feast upon thy fall,
Eat hearty of thy just deserted sod!
Thou comest hither with thy merry folk,
Thou japes a merry jest upon my kin?
Thy bandy leggèd jiggery a joke,
To spilleth of mine cup is thine own sin!
        If thou be not afraid, let thee not hide,
        My gauntlet speaks! Will thou comest outside?
I may have been drinking when I wrote this...(hic!)

Imprinted   in to the  fleshwall-
linings   of my very spirit
resides a photo of you--

(staring at your computer screen)
      with a genuine look  of shock  
        and disbelief..

..And before I could even yell Sam
I was receiving     by you
the most horrendous,  publicly displayed
****-kick  I  have  ever  received.

It only stayed out there for a short time
but online, a "short time"  
            ..is exactly as an eternity;

       So I pulled back  in self protection.

I had been dickin'-around  out there
in a whole 'nother poetic-realm..
playfully finding words and verse  comparing
my wildly-passionate virility

    to that of a well-honed precision,
    high powered performance engine

And two clear babes  showed up  in the comments
   and let me know
how impressed and affected they were
by what it was they were reading.

   So naturally,  me being a single man..
         I responded.
    I never knew them before, or ever saw them after.
    End of story.



                    ..Almost.


Young,  beautifu­l Wildling--
I never knew you even gave two ficks and a ****..

Until I saw that picture  of you..
staring into your computer screen
in raw,  disbelief--

      ...the wind,  fully knocked out of your sails.

So..  clearly you buried yourself
in  multiple two-fingered  snorts
of your favourite "spurned lover's"  little helper happy-juice..
and once you reached   the intended goal

     of full-blown,  *******--

You performed some of the most Machiavellian-****
I have ever seen in my life.  

           (But it fell short of its  intended goal.)



Nothing can remove you  from the love  of you
                                        that I feel in my heart.

What you thought was destroyed,
was immediately forgiven
   Solely because of that picture  of you
   that is now,  forever mine.  Solely.

   There is a dream,  beautiful girl

   ..And nothing  you can do  
                  can make it end.
                  (The restoring of you   back to you
                  is such a central part of that dream.)


    The restoring of you, young beautiful..       You.


            
            Mm.

    Shhh....   listen..
Put on the dress in which you were married,
pull down the veil from where your eyes are hid.

Can you remember where we both came from.
    Let us do as we did--

Look at tomorrow, today
Making tomorrow, today
Make tomorrow, make tomorrow,  make tomorrow today.

Put back the photo  under the window.
Put down the 'phone that you hold in your hand.

Put away these things  that stand in between us,

          And let us be what we can.

When it seems, hopeless
When it seems, hopeless..

Make tomorrow, make tomorrow, make tomorrow, today.

What better measure of what you were doing here
    Than what you can leave behind..

All the children of your children's children,
Do you ever think what they're going to find?

Make tomorrow, make tomorrow..
Where the sacred meet the scared.

Make tomorrow, make tomorrow.
Where the dreamer's dream is dared.

In each one of us,  a dream can burn like the sun.
Let's try it all one more time  to get this lesson learned.
                         .      .      .      .

Sitting up in a spaceship.
Looking down at the earth.
You wonder what they're struggling for..
What's it all really worth

Making tomorrow today
Making tomorrow today
Make tomorrow..   make tomorrow.

https://youtu.be/TdA_V_HYdCI
You have been worth every single moment

            ..Every  single  one.
I am not a kneeler
I’m a wild thing, a wildling
Connected to the organic
Living in the pulse
As his lips meet mine
In a soft and gentle touch,
As his arms wind around me
In a safe and gentle embrace,
As his eyes meet mine
In a yearning and gentle hold;
I am no longer afraid to
Let my heart fling itself
Against my ribcage
Wildly wishing to feel again.
In the beginning when Adam met Eve beneath the canopy of paradise
they agreed on most things.
They basked in the perfection of all that surround, laughing at each other's jokes.
One day Adam carved a gift for Eve.
Tirelessly wildling the branch of an oak tree.
"Tools", he boosted as she stroked the small utensils.
"I'll call them forks," said Eve happily setting the table.
What came next sparked an age old debate, as Eve grasped her fork in the left hand, Adam in his right.
"What are you doing?" he vexed, scratching his head.
"That hand is incorrect!"
"Tis not my sweet, it is the hand I use to eat, I am in my right mind my dear, you are the uncultured one here!"
And so it began, as they reproduced.
Cain was right handed as was Seth, but poor Able was born with his mother's fondness for left.
Left hands unite
Sara Jakke Nov 2014
On earth, there are billions of people. Living, breathing, waking up. These creatures sleep when there is no light. When darkness swallows the sunlight but leaves the moon in its astonishing picture. A photo of darkness and moonlight and dancing hippies crowded around a fire in the middle of the woods. The progression of the landscape is continuous and emotional for those who care. One can climb over a wall and visualise manmade buildings and sculptures and towers and one can chose to climb a mountain and see blankets of ocean, rainforest or deserts. The choices are endless, earth is precious, plants are precious, bacteria is precious, animals are precious, apart from one sort, the kind that likes to set itself aside from the animal kingdom, become a different species. Precious is not the right word to describe this wildling. That animal is dangerous. On its own a tiger or a lion would easily **** it, and eat it alive.  Brutal, show no mercy. But give them some tools and they will blow any creatures head of in mysterious ways.
Xiola Nov 16
The wild woman, she is cyclical.
The wild woman, she is seasonal.
The wild woman, she is tidal.
The wild woman honours her seasons of being.
She rests in both body and mind when her bones and spirit command it.
The wild woman yields to the gift of her own emotional wisdom.
She is as mutable and unpredictable as a tropical storm
The wild woman is both hibernating bear and flitting hummingbird.
She is springs flush and she is volcanic eruptions.
She is the crones wisdom after the maidens mistakes
She is all the stories of all the ancestors stored in the library of her bones.
Through her they will be heard
.
Michael Marchese Aug 2022
Let me run rampant
Across your enchantment
And lambent illumine
Your gloom catacombs
For I lurk
Go berserk
In accursed
Mirth manic
And contradict gods
Just to feel
More titanic
Volcanic at times
So inclined to destroy
Overruled,
Undermined
By these rhymes I enjoy
Thunder mind
Does not rest
Until bolts in the brain
Can explain
What I claim
In a more cryptic way
collecting my thoughts feels
like lassoing clouds, the rope
falls through the mist, shapes
dissipate and reform anew,
I can't capture myself, my
parts have all locked themselves
away, some in white rooms
with straightjackets, the others
keeping the key and holding
the baton, ready to strike,
I'm full of bullies and victims
inside, please let me gather
myself in my arms and kiss
away the salty sweat of regret
and fear on every brow. bow
to the fatigue that plagues
these sickened individuals
all slaving to keep me together
but untethered to each other,
mother, daughter, sister, lover
they're all here and yet so
far away, stay with me, please
stay with me. play with my
inner child, my wildling self,
and my wealth of insecure
questioning souls gathered
in a lukewarm pool of doubt,
I'm festering inside. I need
cleansing, a helping hand,
a voice in the dark that
sparks a light so that I may
see, and find my way
back to me.

— The End —