"yacht" poems
Breathe here, stare there
Gorgeous people everywhere
Mind chases, heart races
Breath-taking men with briefcases
Black suits and coloured ties
Witty minds with pretty eyes
Pulled up socks, polished shoes
Ink pens, all blues
Strong souls, real men
Captive in a cemented den
Pick one or pick seven
All good as heaven
Hard working, on time
Romantic talks with wine
One sings the other cooks
Charming words, ***** looks
Unexpected, unsure
My boss makes me lure
His Lamborghini, his yacht
Finest of the lot
His dimples, his hair
His tantrums I can bear
Surprise gifts from his side
Strong feelings, stronger vibe
Look here, look there
Gorgeous men everywhere
Single girls form a line
Take them all, boss is mine.
-Zainab Attari
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 8:22 AM UTC
A is the Alphabet, A at its head;
A is an Antelope, agile to run.
B is the Baker Boy bringing the bread,
Or black Bear and brown Bear, both begging for bun.
C is a Cornflower come with the corn;
C is a Cat with a comical look.
D is a Dinner which Dahlias adorn;
D is a Duchess who dines with a Duke.
E is an elegant eloquent Earl;
E is an Egg whence an Eaglet emerges.
F is a Falcon, with feathers to furl;
F is a Fountain of full foaming surges.
G is the Gander, the Gosling, the Goose;
G is a Garnet in girdle of gold.
H is a Heartsease, harmonious of hues;
H is a huge Hammer, heavy to hold.
I is an Idler who idles on ice;
I am I--who will say I am not I?
J is a Jacinth, a jewel of price;
J is a Jay, full of joy in July.
K is a King, or a Kaiser still higher;
K is a Kitten, or quaint Kangaroo.
L is a Lute or a lovely-toned Lyre;
L is a Lily all laden with dew.
M is a Meadow where Meadowsweet blows;
M is a Mountain made dim by a mist.
N is a Nut--in a nutshell it grows--
Or a Nest full of Nightingales singing--oh list!
O is an Opal, with only one spark;
O is an Olive, with oil on its skin.
P is a Pony, a pet in a park;
P is the Point of a Pen or a Pin.
Q is a Quail, quick-chirping at morn;
Q is a Quince quite ripe and near dropping.
R is a Rose, rosy red on a thorn;
R is a red-breasted Robin come hopping.
S is a Snow-storm that sweeps o'er the Sea;
S is the Song that the swift Swallows sing.
T is the Tea-table set out for tea;
T is a Tiger with terrible spring.
U, the Umbrella, went up in a shower;
Or Unit is useful with ten to unite.
V is a Violet veined in the flower;
V is a Viper of venomous bite.
W stands for the water-bred Whale;
Stands for the wonderful Wax-work so gay.
X, or ** or *** is ale,
Or Policeman X, exercised day after day.
Y is a yellow Yacht, yellow its boat;
Y is the Yucca, the Yam, or the Yew.
Z is a Zebra, zigzagged his coat,
Or Zebu, or Zoophyte, seen at the Zoo.
7.1k
for Nick and Kaitie
1.
Yesterday, right when our call got dropped,
I was going to tell you something about marriage.
I was going to tell you something gnomic,
a maxim worth getting engraved.
I've since forgotten,
but I believe it was akin to saying that, like Truth,
marriage is impossible to define in verbal space.
So, I guess I'm glad I forgot. The words
would've seemed either too hastily conceived for their subject matter
or else weightless, enigmatic – without impact.
I think it was Auden who whined, “Marriage is rarely bliss,”
though he lightened the phrase by encapsulating it in the context of modern physics –
namely, at least it has the ability to take place,
and that should be enough to bring bliss equal to Buddha’s Emptiness.
So, I'm happy our call got
dropped,
for the dial tone was
the pithiest aphorism on marriage any sentient life could've produced.
The key word is “produced.”
2.
This is what marriage is not:
Socrates gurgling hemlock
on his dusty prison cot,
giggling as he glimpsed a dikast’s deformed ****
Nietzsche tenured for philology
at Basel; Nietzsche feverishly etching
Fick diese scheiße! on a Jena clinic's wall; biology
predetermining the team for which he was pitching;
a poem; a hotdog; *******
a discharged Kalashnikov
engendering generational pain
somewhere in Saratov
circa 1942;
this is what marriage is not:
hatred, jealousy, ballyhoo,
obsessive yearnings for a yacht;
this is what marriage is not:
anything one pair of hands has wrought.
August 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 8:29 PM UTC
The markets up, the Markets down
For weeks it just meanders.
Alas, my stocks are always down
Each time I take a gander.
GM, Lehman, Citicorp
My broker bought for me-
And you can guess the net result-
IHe bought a yacht, not me.
Those friends who don’t avoid me
Say I’ve reversed Midas’ touch.
I don’t turn things I touch to gold
I turn gold into rust.
I’d heard dart tossing Simians
Can best the S & P
So I went to the Zoo this March
to consult a Chimpanzee.
He took the chartt, he threw the dart
And picked a stock for me-
And now I’m getting margin calls
because I bought BP.
He seemed the sage of Omaha
before he ruined me.
I should have tried Orangutans
And paid their higher fee.
They wanted five bananas
My monkey worked for three.
But now I’m bust because I used
the discount Chimpanzee.
Dec 18, 2011
Dec 18, 2011 at 8:26 PM UTC
you are the sovereign tide
i- the feeble yacht you consume
i contort and conform to abide
by the rules from which you are excused
i am the pathetic attempt
the sun makes to escape from the clouds
whilst you are its radiant rays
that no darkness could ever beat down
i am the dust of the earth
and you are the Northern Lights
whilst I dwell on my lack of worth
you climb to unprecedented heights
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 1:34 PM UTC
453
Love—thou art high—
I cannot climb thee—
But, were it Two—
Who know but we—
Taking turns—at the Chimborazo—
Ducal—at last—stand up by thee—
Love—thou are deep—
I cannot cross thee—
But, were there Two
Instead of One—
Rower, and Yacht—some sovereign Summer—
Who knows—but we’d reach the Sun?
Love—thou are Veiled—
A few—behold thee—
Smile—and alter—and prattle—and die—
Bliss—were an Oddity—without thee—
Nicknamed by God—
Eternity—
3.7k
empty black purse
old love notes
all wrinkled
now molding
damp and limp
boat trips and fancy dinners
airplanes and hangers
ocean views and hotels
princess treatment
promises made
one plastic ring
fit
if taped
texted pictures
a portrait
a yacht
videos shared
two months
later invisible
me and my quite room
and an empty refrigerator
let go
empty black purse
wild goose chase
just a distraction
a fantasy
let go
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 1:57 AM UTC
We have a small sculpture of Henry James on our terrace in New York City.
Nothing would surprise him.
The beast in the jungle was what he saw--
Edith Wharton's obfuscating older brother. . .
He fled the demons
of Manhattan
for fear they would devour
his inner ones
(the ones who wrote the books)
& silence the stifled screams
of his protagonists.
To Europe
like a wandering Jew--
WASP that he was--
but with the Jew's
outsider's hunger. . .
face pressed up
to the glass of ***
refusing every passion
but the passion to write
the words grew
more & more complex
& convoluted
until they utterly imprisoned him
in their fairytale brambles.
Language for me
is meant to be
a transparency,
clear water gleaming
under a covered bridge. . .
I love his spiritual sister
because she snatched clarity
from her murky history.
Tormented New Yorkers both,
but she journeyed
to the heart of light--
did he?
She took her friends on one last voyage,
through the isles of Greece
on a yacht chartered with her royalties--
a rich girl proud to be making her own money.
The light of the Middle Sea
was what she sought.
All denizens
of this demonic city caught
between pitch and black
long for the light.
But she found it
in a few of her books. . .
while Henry James
discovered
what he had probably
started with:
that beast, that jungle,
that solipsistic scream.
He did not join her
on that final cruise.
(He was on his own final cruise).
Did he want to?
I would wager yes.
I look back with love and sorrow
at them both--
dear teachers--
but she shines like Miss Liberty
to Emma Lazarus' hordes,
while he gazes within,
always, at his own
impenetrable jungle.
3.2k
Who, or why, or which, or what, Is the Akond of SWAT?
Is he tall or short, or dark or fair?
Does he sit on a stool or a sofa or a chair,
or SQUAT,
The Akond of Swat?
Is he wise or foolish, young or old?
Does he drink his soup and his coffee cold,
or HOT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he sing or whistle, jabber or talk,
And when riding abroad does he gallop or walk
or TROT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he wear a turban, a fez, or a hat?
Does he sleep on a mattress, a bed, or a mat,
or COT,
The Akond of Swat?
When he writes a copy in round-hand size,
Does he cross his T's and finish his I's
with a DOT,
The Akond of Swat?
Can he write a letter concisely clear
Without a speck or a smudge or smear
or BLOT,
The Akond of Swat?
Do his people like him extremely well?
Or do they, whenever they can, rebel,
or PLOT,
At the Akond of Swat?
If he catches them then, either old or young,
Does he have them chopped in pieces or hung,
or SHOT,
The Akond of Swat?
Do his people **** in the lanes or park?
Or even at times, when days are dark,
GAROTTE,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he study the wants of his own dominion?
Or doesn't he care for public opinion
a JOT,
The Akond of Swat?
To amuse his mind do his people show him
Pictures, or any one's last new poem,
or WHAT,
For the Akond of Swat?
At night if he suddenly screams and wakes,
Do they bring him only a few small cakes,
or a LOT,
For the Akond of Swat?
Does he live on turnips, tea, or tripe?
Does he like his shawl to be marked with a stripe,
or a DOT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he like to lie on his back in a boat
Like the lady who lived in that isle remote,
SHALLOTT,
The Akond of Swat?
Is he quiet, or always making a fuss?
Is his steward a Swiss or a Swede or Russ,
or a SCOT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does like to sit by the calm blue wave?
Or to sleep and snore in a dark green cave,
or a GROTT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he drink small beer from a silver jug?
Or a bowl? or a glass? or a cup? or a mug?
or a ***
The Akond of Swat?
Does he beat his wife with a gold-topped pipe,
When she let the gooseberries grow too ripe,
or ROT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he wear a white tie when he dines with friends,
And tie it neat in a bow with ends,
or a KNOT.
The Akond of Swat?
Does he like new cream, and hate mince-pies?
When he looks at the sun does he wink his eyes,
or NOT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he teach his subjects to roast and bake?
Does he sail about on an inland lake
in a YACHT,
The Akond of Swat?
Some one, or nobody, knows I wot
Who or which or why or what
Is the Akond of Swat?
3k
Peter built a paper boat
Which he could float about the sea
To hidden spots of lonely coast
Where not a ghost or man would be
He painted words along her bough
That soon would plough and skip and trot
Between the waves that rose and falled
The boat was called 'Forget Me Not'
He bid his wife a fond goodbye
The tide was high when he embarked
He drifted from his tiny cove
While weather drove and seagulls larked
He set his course horizon bound
For solid ground of ****** shore
As darkness came he made a bed
To keep his head above the floor
The voyage took him straight and true
Across the blue, toward the sun
But soon a tongue of lightening spat
And thunder rattled like a gun
The waves encircled hungrily
And angrily about their prey
The tempest heaved with no regret
It blew Forget Me Not away
He found himself all caked in sand
And on a strand of desert beach
Forget Me Not had run aground
But safe and sound from tidal reach
He folded down his paper yacht
And found a spot to build a home
But saved the sail and rudder strings
To forge some wings and daily roam
He glided high and long and wide
Past mountainside and shore to shore
And through the night he forged a blade
And with it made a lumber saw
He felled the trunk and snared the beast
And cooked a feast to celebrate
The rain it sought to disagree
But quick was he to remonstrate
The moonlight waxed and waned apart
And on his heart a longing formed
For home and his beloved bride
For fireside and there be warmed
And so he took the house he'd made
From humid shade of seldom oak
He set the island to his aft
And cried and laughed the words he spoke
They matched the words he'd lately hewn
Beneath the moon in shady spot
He carved into that seldom tree
'Remember me, forget me not'
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 10:23 AM UTC
THE BOXING DAY SALES
WHAT CAN I SAY ABOUT THE BOXING DAY SALES
WELL, THE MALL IS OFTEN A PLACE FOR PEOPLE TO
DO THEIR STUFF, BUT BOXING DAY EVERYONE
IS PUSHING OVER EACH OTHER
THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH GOING TO THE MALL ON BOXING DAY
BUT BE PREPARED, IT’S LIKE ALL HELL BROKE LOOSE
YA SEE, PEOPLE BUY THINFS THEY NEVER USE
AND THE MOTHERS BUY KIDS LUNCH, NEVER GETS EATEN
KIDS RUNNING AROUND, SAYING YEAH WE AIN’T AT SCHOOL
LET’S CELEBRATE LET’S CELEBRATE
YOU SEE BOXING DAY IS THE FRANTIC DAY
IF YOU LIKE THE REGULAR DAYS AT THE MALL
NEVER GO ON BOXING DAY
CAUSE, THEY CALL IT BOXING DAY
CAUSE PEOPLE AT THE MALL BOX YOU OUT OF THE WAY
TO EXCHANGE THE TACKY COAT YOUR MOTHER BOUGHT YOU
TO A STYLISH RED LEATHER COAT, LOOKS BETTER AND COSTS THE FUCKEN EARTH
YA SEE IN MELBOURNE, THE BOXING DAY TEST, WITH AUSTRALIA AGAINST THE REST
AND THEN IN SYDNEY, IS THE SYDNEY - HOBART YACHT RACE, AND THAT IS RAD
AND OFTEN PEOPLE ARE CAMPED OUTSIDE SHOPPING CENTRES
TO GET FIRST GRASP AT THE BOXING DAY SALES
WITH ME, I SHOP FOR THE MOMENT, SOM I DON’T GET DISSAPOINTED
I DON’T NEED TO FALL ASLEEP OUTSIDE WESTFIELD BELCONNEN MALL
I AM USING PANADOL CAUSE ATHENA’S METHANE IS POUNDING
BUT THAT IS PREVIOUS LIFE TRAUMA, YA SEE THE PARACETAMOL IS REALLY GETTING IN
AND I CAN FEEL, WITH THE COCA COLA, AND REGULAR BRUSHING
THERE WILL BE ON INFECTION IN MY MOUTH, I DON’T WANT THAT
I PUT MY VIDEOS ON SOCIAL MEDIA TO ATTRACT A COOLER KIND OF PERSON
YA SEE, I DON’T NEED THE FIRST THINGS IN THE BOXING DAY SALES
I GET WHAT I WANT OUT OF LIFE, I REMEMBER A SONG
THE FESTIVAL OF SYDNEY IS OUR DAY, SYDNEY SYDNEY SYDNEY OI OI OI
I HAVE MY HOME NOW, SO I DON’T NEED TO HANG AT THE MALL AS MUCH
BUT CURRENTLY I AM DOING A TAPESTRY ON PATRICK DUNBARS LITTLE LEAGUE BASEBALL
I FEEL COOL, I FEEL ON TOP OF THE WORLD, LOOKING, OVER CREATION, LOOKING
THE ONLY SOLUTION I CAN FIND, AND AS I SANG FINE, PETER BUCHANAN
A MATE IN WOODBERRY IN THE 1970S, DID A REALLY COOL FINNNEEE
WITH A DEEPER VOICE, HE WAS COOOL MAN
I FAKED HIM TO PROVE A POINT TO THE YOUNG DUDES SAYING
JUST BECAUSE THE OTHER YOUNG DUDES UNDERSTOOD DAD’S WAY
DOESN’T MEAN I DID, HE LOOKED LIKE A REAL PAIN IN THE ***
TAKING MY COOL KID AWAY, BUT MUSTN’T DWELL, WE MUST HAVE FUN
I AM OFF TO THE CAVALRY MATCH TOMORROW, TO SEE THE FIRST
BUT I AM LEAVING AFTER THE FIRST MATCH, NO BUSES IN THE NIGHT
AND THE BOXING DAY SALES BRINGS OUT THE RIFF RAFF THE ROUGHER TYPES
AND THE CHEAP SUPERMARKET PUDDING JUNKIES LIKE ME WHO NEED TO GO TO THE MALL TO LEAVE THE HOUSE
BUT BOXING DAY SALES ARE FUN, IF YOU AIN’T IN THE INITIAL LINE
THAT CAN BE FRANTIC
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 3:07 PM UTC
Palm trees, laying in the ocean
Honey, save me, save the mermaids
Pin-up girls are laughing from heaven
Golden water horses are spinning 'round us
Oh no devil is on our side
He stole that American Atlantic Blue Yacht
Oh he knows how to be my man
You are my street racer
Midnight blue answer
Gimme Disney dollars
Cristals and bourbon yo
Creatures from the black lagoon
Burning roses in my room
Oh my God i saw a boom
You know, I have got a crush on you
Swimming in an American Atlantic Blue Yacht with you
We are totally fine
I don't believe in turquoise stars anymore
You are my street racer
Midnight blue answer
Gimme Disney dollars
Cristals and bourbon yo
Creatures from the black lagoon
Burning roses in my room
Oh my God i saw a boom
The woman you love is dead
Oh she's so fake
But she's obsessed with your races
Drive her one more time, you know she loves it
You are my street racer
Midnight blue answer
Gimme Disney dollars
Cristals and bourbon yo
Creatures from the black lagoon
Burning roses in my room
Oh my God i saw a boom
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 8:34 AM UTC
How many millions have you got
I expect you lost count
It's a hellava lot
Not forgetting the splendid yacht
An artist scans a landscape
A comic distills a joke
A shopper looks for a parking space
An addict drags on a smoke
I do what I want one thing at a time
Cumulus nimbus are flying high
Follow my nose with a healthy dose
Of common sense and instinct combined
A vicar rehearses a favourite prayer
A sailor waits on a breeze
A writer sees a story there
A woodsman searches the trees
A rich man still believes he is poor
A lost and lonely is thinking if only
Patting the chair and tapping the floor
We all go chasing a bit of fun
Fulfilment comes in different ways
Like writing a poem every day
Oct 6, 2012
Oct 6, 2012 at 3:24 PM UTC
~~~<¤>~~~
the river is wide, child
the river runs deep
don't you fret, no
don't you weep
the river is wide, child
the river is wide
but your promise 's
on the other side
~~~
don't be afraid
the current 's slow
and you can meander
with the flow
take your time
there is no rush
hear the water
hear the hush
~ chorus ~
see the world, child
from your boat
watch the others
as they float
see the redness
of the waves
dip your hand
the water saves
~ chorus ~
smell the richness
in your craft
be it a yacht
or be it a raft
the water is sweet, yes
the water is free
it stretches far
as you can see
~~~
the river is wide, child
the river runs deep
pray the Lord
your soul to keep
the river is wide, child
the river is wide
but everyone goes
to the other side
soulsurvivor
(C) 7/13/2015
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 6:26 PM UTC
Hello,
I know I shouldn't have to introduce myself
for obvious reasons
but it's apparent to me
that we can so readily change who we are
in that matter of a few years
we are a completely distinct
being from what we once are
but enough about me
I'm living me and you lived it
we know about me
what are you like now?
can you even answer that
can you look at yourself in the mirror
how much do you lie
how much do you hate yourself
these aren't fair questions
i know
completely inappropriate for a job interview
i get it
you've changed
i feel the fetus that is you
nestled inside of me
waiting to come out
you are not innocent
none of us are
but you especially
you claim to be something you're not
you gleefully toe the line between good and bad
blissfully confident of your place
there is no line we both know that
but you toe it anyway
why am i so accusatory?
me?
YOU JUDGE ME
you of all people
the person I have become
YOU JUDGE ME
no
I won't have it
Monsters.
They tell us why they are interesting
"because they weren't always monsters"
********
a caterpillar is still a butterfly
they are one in the same
just because something changed
doesn't mean you changed
I get it
you blame me for you
i get it
well what do you want
what could I do
to make you happy
to make you better
to make you.... loveable
do the right thing
most of the time
when you can
do the right thing
help people
as a matter of self respect
educate yourself
when others fail too
be fair
be strong yes
but don't forget to be fair
money doesn't matter
having enough matters sure
but you don't need a yacht
be the smartest man in the room
even when you know you're not
treat the homeless with respect
they are the ones that need it the most
respect common sense before religion
respect contentness before exhilaration
don't eat when a waiter is at the table
don't let your good idea lose to a popular one
never let someone intimidate you
unless they have a gun
love
love unconditionally
let your heart be broken
so that one day someone can help put it out together
don't settle
unless you know you should
never become a cynic
please never do that
be better than me future self
please
I will do my best to make it so
I hope one day you will read this
with a smile
knowing that you became
the person that I
doubted you could
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 1:25 AM UTC
I wish I had the money
To buy myself a yacht.
I wouldn’t spend it that way
But would love what I bought.
I’d have a huge party
With every friend I know
And let it go on and on
For about a week or so.
And, gifts to everybody
Who was ever kind to me.
Just something thoughtful
To give them gratefully.
I’d pick things out carefully
And wrap them up nice
And in some cases I’m sure
I’d do it at least twice.
I’d rent a fancy house
That overlooked the beach
With kayaks and hammocks
All within everyone’s reach.
And I would hire a caterer
To make delicious foods
So nobody would hunger
No matter what their mood.
And I would hire musicians
To play on regular intervals.
Maybe local songwriters
And super talented minstrels.
And I would wear my finest
Most beautiful things I’ve got.
That’s what I would do if
I could buy myself a yacht.
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 3:50 PM UTC
I need a fresh start
disconnect my heart from the paths already known
disassemble my life, stab a map with a knife
go wherever it shows, only myself and a bag of clothes
without a second thought im already on my yacht
crossing the big blue sea
set me free
set me free
set me free
s.r.
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 8:27 PM UTC
Texas mud, a mud that cakes
A mud that strikes fear
In boots and trucks alike
After fresh summer rain
Billowy clouds rolling a long
Singing their thunderous song
Natures long cool drink
I was muddy once
Moms words i didn't hear as i hit the back door
Thoughts of squishy toes and big smiles
A freshly made mud pie for my sister
I was muddy once
To a boy of ten 2 acres goes on for miles
A whole mess a villains ever willing to meet
The business end of my B.B. gun
And the neighbors nurf gun
I was muddy once
From the trenches of France
To a foxhole on Mars
Only fenced in by the outermost stars
I couldn't be bested
Backyard hoops to creek jumping
Swing sets to sword fights
I was muddy once
The only thought of future
Was what tomorrow would bring
New adventures, new places to see
And all you can drink sweet iced tea
I wanted to be something great when i was a kid
I wanted to be great
I wanted to be a paleontologist, doctor, lawyer, cop, superhero, captain of a yacht, a and mountain man, and never wanted to get married cause girls had cooties and dolls
As it turns out I am none of those things
As it turns out, what i needed most
Was i ran rarest away from
I became something i never thought i would be
I became something i never thought i could be
I am becoming a servant of the King
The mud which once covered my hands
Bound my heart in a thick, clogging bog
Only when i thought no longer of receiving glory
I began to poor grace out from this imperfect jar
Glory pored to a being more eloquent than I
Who hath poured mercy like wine
Love as a fire
Turning my so called foundations into Texas mud
Turns out God doesn't want me to be a doctor
Turns out God wants the willing not the able
i found something bigger
Than the thoughts i thought i knew
How glorious days of old
A tear to my eye and a distant memory
To stretch and grow is one thing
A loss of splendor another
When others think of yesterday,
Dream for tomorrow
Dream and dream big,
For God is bigger still
He rejoices in imagination
Delights in the mind of a child
Reclaim that which we've lost
For you were muddy once
I was muddy once
Apr 12, 2011
Apr 12, 2011 at 1:30 PM UTC
Lonely me, thence lonely world,
No fun, no work does it hold.
Sitting by the window and gazing at the bay,
I’m counting grains and counting days.
Slowly does it pass, with no hobbies and no aim;
Life ain’t just a game, matter not what others say.
Looking at the calendar, with nothing to do,
Just counting years and counting days.
Alone on the strand, a pioneer so gay,
Not caring what others hafta say.
Lying on the ground and watching the sky,
I’m counting stars and counting days.
A private island, a pirate yacht,
And a privateer company of myself.
By the ocean, staring at the watch,
I’m counting hours and counting days.
So messy has life become,
So unruly have dreams become.
Help myself, I may,
But by counting thoughts and counting days?..
Loads of work, but none to worry,
Wasted my leisure, felt no sorry.
No idea what my future holds,
But I am sure,
It’ll, as usual, pass by
Just counting rays and counting days...
May 3, 2018
May 3, 2018 at 5:55 AM UTC
Went for a cruise on the maiden ship Titanic,
A wonderful ship everyone said would be epic
I was not scared because it was unsinkable
To be in fear would for me be unthinkable
Wanted to sail far away to another land
Where my life, I think could be quite grand
Unpacking my suitcase in a luxurious liner
This is the one yacht that could not be finer.
Passengers enjoyed dinner, dancing, and other entertainments.
All the days of the trip they would enjoy the embellishments
I heard that people like Astor, Guggenheim Straus, Thayer and Gordon
Would be on this ship including Stead, Fulrelle, Gibson and Morgan
On April 14, 1912 I was that evening returning to my room
Walking down the corridor I heard a deafening boom
Went to find an RMS crew member
When I was told on deck to assemble
He handed me a life jacket just in case
And to get in the lifeboat because there was space
Passengers were lowered down by the crew
The first little boat had just a few
A man started quickly paddling our tiny boat
Once far away he stopped and we would just float
Everyone watched as we heard screaming, crying and yelling
Amongst the chaos we heard music and saw the flares flying
In the early hours of April 15, the ship’s lights flickered out and then went straight up vertical
We all heard the moans of the iron and watched it break in half and it sank uncontrollable
From quite a distance I saw an ocean of people
Out in the middle of the sea, no one felt hopeful
Soon there was no sound
As we all looked around
Shivering crying and wondering
If we are going to live or die pondering
published in the Crawfordsville, Indiana newspaper
Copyright 2013
All Rights Reserved
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 3:55 PM UTC
Purple is my favorite color
But I hate plum,
New Brunswick skies appear so ugly
But they are good for telling the weather
I wish you would stop cleaning your stupid boat
Which think what you want
But it’s not really a yacht,
At least Girj says so
I believe it’s important to get *****
Like how the stray kittens in my backyard play
As I smoke stoags and light bowls
In my stoop kid fashion kind of way
And I really wouldn’t mind having a coke with
Frank O’Hara
Or a beer with Charles Bukowski,
In fact I think I’d enjoy it
But everyone has their secrets
I tend to buy mine at Kohl’s;
And I hope you realize
This happens to be my life poured into a paper cup
Just incase you get thirsty
While you’re cleaning your stupid boat
Oct 18, 2012
Oct 18, 2012 at 3:48 AM UTC
Trying and failing to get to sleep -
I’ve never sailed before.
I've already tried counting fish
So I turn my thoughts to statistics
In the hope that they reassure:
The chances of dying on a yacht are
Absolutely minimal
(Unless you’re a millionaire).
So when the ocean swells and the boat rocks
I pray to the god of my holey socks
That danger is safely slipping by
On my port or starboard side
And the hungry old whale of fate
Has bigger fish to fry.
Feb 22, 2011
Feb 22, 2011 at 3:04 AM UTC