Falling stars upon the Caribbean
Heat baking down to my bones
Wishing for a spit of dry land &
Marooned with a lady of nice tones
Mirages dancing out on the water
Out on the flight deck for the breeze
Need to flesh out my humid mind
Fantasies alive out on the high seas
A naked woman upon the figurehead
Standing proud in the breeze
Calling to the Sirens & wenches
Knowing the truth of these seas
Her beauty remaining firm & intact
The ship around her orange with rust
The sailors with splinters in their palms
For she has a wooden bust
I want to run away & join the circus
To be done with this life at sea
To kiss the ground she walks on
Solid foundations forever under me
Scribbling love notes to my lady
Creating a new world of literary lust
A positive existence springing forth
My happiness nestled within her bust
Fatigue hitting my bleary eyes
Another night upon the flight deck
Needing a shower & my rack
A nation’s burden around my neck
Chocks & chains in the pouring rain
Undeterred from the mission at hand
Endless hours like every sailor before
So few remaining will ever understand
Telling stories after dark
Occasionally with Tom Waits in the lead
Fantastical little allegories
Bringing a light to those souls in need
No need to whisper in the shadows
Luminous words to prepare the way
Removing barriers to our enlightenment
Witticisms fleshed out & on display
Short tales to get creative juices flowing
Harking back to dreams that we might meet
Subtle differences between the pauses
Allowing our imaginations to properly greet
Scenes from our own round table
Foreplay within our cheeky banter
Conjuring visions of a keen passion
Diluted memories at the bottom of our decanter
Bad behavior leads to a more examined life
Though through fiction we can live eternal
A little more sensitive than you want to believe
Yearning to be held by a beautiful dame so maternal
Out here with our hearts raised to the sky
Searching for better answers on the midnight shore
With the freedom to imagine wisdom laid bare
Parsed theories for when we sent them off to war
Subtle manipulation within our romantic esthetics
Unreliable narrators marching; our literary brigade
There’s no vernacular for hearts’ folly
Pushing forth our gentle notion love might persuade
In the end, dear friends, our parable is contrite
In this heinous world, we all have a simple choice
I lay myself to slumber, a fatigued sailor
Wishing for a lullaby coming from Nick Cave’s voice
Image by Eli Digital Creative from Pixabay
I went for a walk in the predawn hours
I could feel something wasn’t quite right
’Twas a red sky morning/sailor take warning
Amiss; something’s gone bump in the night
There was a time I went walking in the woods
Fatigued; this existence has become too tense
It was there I encountered the damned zombies
They stole my peace along with my sensibility & sense
Now, I don’t do much walking outside of the wire
If I must, I seek protection from my Heavenly Lord
I never fail to bring along a prayer upon my lips
& in my hand the weight & might of the Wu-Tang sword
*found this graffiti in Wilhelmshaven, Germany in 2017
Transitional glories of the forlorn
Where do we begin to find solace
Ancient cries of those forgiven
Trading a reckoning for eternal bliss
Standing high on a sailor’s mount
Searching for souls in which to confide
A bounty shall be easily & surely lost
Yet remaining steadfast with the coming tide
Stand down, Sailors
We don’t want you to infect
The others with freedom
Or anything we can’t inject
Your attitudes are contagious
They’d ruin our plans here
To keep the crew pensive
& living in complete fear
We have them programmed
There’ll be no resistance
Time to lay down your coins
Your souls at our utmost insistence
We’re doing our best
Within the grime of the trenches
Unfathomable hours away
Never enough; turn those wrenches
What about those left at home
Toiling away within lonely hours
Waiting at the foot of the bed
Their hearts slowly turing dour
But we’ll find a way
Surely an answer will come soon
Then we’ll shed these burdens
& return to make our ladies swoon
There’s a difference
In what we’ve seen
You’ve sat idly
I’ve been in the machine
The belly & the bowels
Breathing fire & steam
I’ve stood the watch
While you’ve had pleasant dreams
Sailing out on the good ship
Prevailing winds ensuring a clear path
Foregoing the unexplained existence
Forging headlong into nature’s wrath
Arctic waters surrounding our view
Diligent sailors crewing this steel boat
Perpetually longing for a illusive home
But buoyed by a dedication keeping us afloat
Bluer than words allow
God’s great oceans set free
Not to be contained
You cannot own the sea
Technological advances
Now seem so moot
Driftwood without direction
A sailor has no roots
A wink from her to get my heart a-revving
Her pink negligee hanging below her knee
Soft skin turns into hardened intentions
The promise of a night of debauchery
A bouquet not desired, but a single bloom
Visions of adulation thoroughly taut
I’m rigidly attuned with her frequency
A fine suited man removing a Windsor knot
Fastened to my bedpost; a sailor can surely tie
Settling down with this libertine, methinks
A pretty picture of a delicious woman
Purely polished reflections in my cufflinks
Post coital; passion overflowing this room
Perfection amid people imperfectly real
Precious moments that I’ll never forsake
My woman’s love, allowing me to constantly heal
I can’t swim that far
No use for a sailor like me
Floating with the jetsam
Without the pomp or jubilee
This grey cell rocking
On each & every wave
At the whim of nature
I pray for Jesus to save
A daily grind in hell
No time for witty quips
This a mere life raft
For the Devil’s Flagship
Floating amongst the blue
My bones drying in the heat
I’m still thinking about you
Relaxation, such a novel treat
Life cherished in these days
Not the change you wanted to see
Time ignored in many ways
I am sorry, for I am still only me
A few scenes from my walk around Anchorage today. It’s a beautiful town. I wish I had more time to dig a little deeper.
“As it is base for a soldier to love; so I am in love with a base wench.”
– William Shakespeare: Love’s Labor Lost, 1594
Captain Q 