Alone At The Seaside
Sunday, October sunlight, I´m at the marina admiring
a boat made of wood, hull, deck and the bridge; I was
dreaming of mystical islands in the Pacific. An elderly
man near me spoke, said it was his ship, it had been
a fishing vessel…Asked if I wanted to come onboard
and have a look…Yes thank you. Everything onboard
was spick& span, but noticed the freezer in the pantry
took too much space. The cargo hold of his vessel was
converted a salon, but why all those black silk pillows,
on sofas and chairs? Thought it sinister. The man was
standing too near me taking up my pace and breathing
my air. Back on deck he invited me for an afternoon trip,
but told him I had to go home for my tea. Driving home
I thought of the freezer again, perhaps he wanted to lure
to the open sea throttle me with one of the black pillows
cut me into pieces and put each part in nice plastic bags with
name tags on, say, left leg, shoulder bone, thigh and foot.
use them as bait when he went shark fishing. Once again
my hunch had saved my life.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Welcome Onboard
Welcome onboard
I don’t care to read of other people dreams it has nothing to do with
me, so I will tell you a real story. The day after my anniversary I walked
along the docks of Faro saw a sign, a cargo ship needed a chief steward.
I walked up the gangway, spoke to the captain and got the job.
On deck when the provision arrived; I was in charge just like before.
The captain came he looked baffled; according to my passport I was 73
and far too old to join a ship. The master thanked me, getting victuals
onboard signing for them and getting the food stuff safely stored.
The ship left without me but her captain saluted me, it was raining no
one saw my tears. Whatever I do these days even driving a car there are
people telling me I’m too old. Yet in Japan their oldest porno star, a man
of 77 and still working, so why will they not let me go back to sea again?
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Friendship
The Friendship
Sven and I were best friends sailed on the same ship together.
he as a third officer and I as a cook. We were both interested
in reading, cinema and politics, and we liked go dancing when
our ship docked. One night in Kingston, Jamaica, we met two
girls at a beach cafe, I liked my girl there was an easy repartee
between us and we laughed a lot. Back onboard Sven said my
the girl was not suitable for me, I smiled, thought it a joke.
Next day was Sunday Sven went ashore after breakfast, going
to the beach, he said, I had to stay onboard and cook dinner.
He came back in the evening, when I was ready to go ashore
and meet my new girlfriend; Sven said he was very tired and
wanted to stay onboard for the night. When I met my girl at
the cafe, she appeared startled looked around and behind me
but said nothing; told she had been to the beach all day and
was quite exhausted, the easy talk between us was gone and
the silence was awkward, so I wordlessly just got up and left.
Back onboard, Sven sat in the mess-hall drinking coffee and
reading, he looked up said halloo but continued to read;
In my darkened room I looked out, full moon and the lights
of Jamaica looked alluring; I also saw Sven go ashore again and
it was well after midnight.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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But, I Can't Stop Fishing! ! !
But, I can't stop fishing,
I told my new wife.
It's an integral part,
Of all young men's lifes.
But she laid down the law,
It was fishing or her.
Get rid of the tackle,
The rods and the lures.
She wanted no part,
Of those smelly fish.
To tell you the truth,
She was really a...pain.
Well I don't know what happened,
But after a while,
She just let it go,
Like a bright eyed little child.
And I took her fishing,
For the first time in her life.
And she caught more than me,
My wonderful new wife.
It's close to forty years now,
And she never stays home.
She says it's not right,
That I go fishing alone.
12/21/10 Alton Texas
poem by Juan Olivarez
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Stand by the Engines
On the moonlighted decks there are children at play,
While smoothly the steamer is holding her way;
And the old folks are chatting on deck-seats and chairs,
And the lads and the lassies go strolling in pairs.
Some gaze half-entranced on the beautiful sea,
And wonder perhaps if a vision it be:
And surely their journeys no sorrow nor care,
For wealth, love, and beauty are passengers there.
But down underneath, ’mid the coal dust that smears
The face and the hands, work the ship’s engineers.
Whate’er be the duty of others, ’tis theirs
To stand by their engines whatever occurs.
The sailor may gaze on the sea and the sky;
The sailor may tell when the danger is nigh;
But when Death his black head o’er the waters uprears,
Unseen he is met by the ship’s engineers.
They are thrown from their feet by the force of a shock;
They know that their vessel has struck on a rock.
Now stand by your engines when danger appears,
For all may depend on the ship’s engineers!
No thought of their danger! No mad rush on deck!
They stand at their posts in the hull of a wreck,
Firm hands on the valves; and the white steam appears;
And down with their ship go the brave engineers!
poem by Henry Lawson
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The President I Nearly Met
Once, I nearly met a President
It was a very hot morning when we docked in port of Prince. Papa Doc was
in power then, the president of Haiti, a nice man who gave coins to the poor.
Onboard came the usual gang of uniformed official who wanted whisky and
cigarettes before any papers were signed. Amongst them Tonton Macute,
men in slacks, summer shirts concealing side arms, sunglasses worn day or
night; Papa Doc’s men looking after things. One of them offered to take me
ashore show where the best whore was, I declined have an aversion for guns.
It was a long hot night all portholes and doors closed, frantic people trying
to sneak onboard to get away from this sunlit Island. The pilot came at noon
to take us out, an intelligent man with eyes who had seen it all, he spoke
English, I asked him about Papa Doc. He paused and said: “our president is
a very nice man when he visits villages he has bags of coins whish he strew
on the road for the poor to pick up from the dust, and with desperate hearts
they are grateful for what he gives them.”
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Caring medicos! (A funny story)
Santa took his elderly father to a nursing home to check it out. He sat his father down on a sofa in the main aisleway and went to talk with the administrators.
Santa`s father started to tilt slowly toward the left.
A Doctor came by and said, 'Let me help you.'
The Doc piled several pillows on the left side of Santa`s father so he would stay upright. Santa`s father started to tilt slowly to the right. An orderly noticed and put several more pillows on his right side to keep him upright. Santa`s father started to lean forward when a nurse came by and piled several pillows in front of him. About this time, Santa returned. Santa, 'Well, Dad, isn`t this a nice place.'
Santa`s father replied, 'I guess it`s ok, but they won`t let me fart.'
poem by Edwin Drood
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The Atlantic
The Atlantic
Thought I was over it now, the call that is my destiny;
twice I have tried to be a part of the sea,
but I failed swam to the surface inhaling life giving air.
I have moved inland, far from the sea,
where there is a puny lake and it dries up in June.
I have no son or daughter that will visit me
at the old people’s home.
No one to fuzz over me tell me not to smoke or waiting for me to go.
The sea is my friend.
My youth was spent there, alone at night standing on the deck,
of a ship, talking to the ocean, listening to its warm hum;
I resisted wanted more of life I think.
I have been wrong now that I’m old and have lost my dignity,
holding on to life when every
stab of pain tells me I’m there.
The sea has retreated I know it waits for me to know when it
is time to go home.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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050510J trying not to work
i happened to talk to a gentleman
retired from government last month
he is taking his time without a plan
fishing the wharf at morning sunshine
got his fishing hooks all tangled up
he told me, last he just threw in a box
on his first cast he yelled 'come on bite'
in my mind how could they without bait
snug 'em that won't be very pretty sight
i guess he saw me with a grin; respond
'oh! yes, i never put bait on first launch'
'i noticed, you must be clearing the rust'
poem by Manonton Dalan
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The Fisherman's Boat
I am tied to a pole
In me came and sat a fisherman with a big mole
He had a fishing rod and a net
With a bucket and bait so wet
He untied me and rowed me
Into the deep sea
And with rod, net and bait
He caught fish till late
He went home with a big fish
To prepare and eat a tasty dish
Tomorrow again he’ll come wearing his overcoat
To untie me, his little fishing boat.
poem by Niharika Singh
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Captain Teach alias Black Beard
Edward Teach was a native of Bristol, and sailed from that port
On board a privateer, in search of sport,
As one of the crew, during the French War in that station,
And for personal courage he soon gained his Captain's approbation.
'Twas in the spring of 1717, Captajn Harnigold and Teach sailed from Providence
For the continent of America, and no further hence;
And in their way captured a vessel laden with flour,
Which they put on board their own vessels in the space of an hour.
They also seized two other vessels snd took some gallons of wine,
Besides plunder to a considerable value, and most of it most costly design;
And after that they made a prize of a large French Guinea-man,
Then to act an independent part Teach now began.
But the news spread throughout America, far and near,
And filled many of the inhabitants' hearts with fear;
But Lieutenant Maynard with his sloops of war directly steered,
And left James River on the 17th November in quest of Black Beard,
And on the evening of the 21st came in sight of the pirate;
And when Black Beard spied his sloops he felt elate.
When he saw the sloops sent to apprehend him,
He didn't lose his courage, but fiendishly did grin;
And told his men to cease from drinking and their tittle-tattle,
Although he had only twenty men on board, and prepare for battle.
In case anything should happen to him during the engagement,
One of his men asked him, who felt rather discontent,
Whether his wife knew where he had buried his pelf,
When he impiously replied that nobody knew but the devil and himself.
In the Morning Maynard weighed and sent his boat to sound,
Which, coming near the pirate, unfortunately ran aground;
But Maynard lightened his vessel of the ballast and water,
Whilst from the pirates' ship small shot loudly did clatter.
But the pirates' small shot or slugs didn't Maynard appal,
He told his men to take their cutlasses and be ready upon his call;
And to conceal themselves every man below,
While he would remain at the helm and face the foe.
Then Black Beard cried, "They're all knocked on the head,"
When he saw no hand upon deck he thought they were dead;
Then Black Beard boarded Maynard'a sloop without dismay,
But Maynard's men rushed upon deck, then began the deadly fray.
Then Black Beard and Maynard engaged sword in hand,
And the pirate fought manfully and made a bold stand;
And Maynard with twelve men, and Black Beard with fourteen,
Made the most desperate and bloody conflict that ever was seen.
At last with shots and wounds the pirate fell down dead,
Then from his body Maynard severed the pirate's head,
And suspended it upon his bowsprit-end,
And thanked God Who so mercifully did him defend.
Black Beard derived his name from his long black beard,
Which terrified America more than any comet that had ever appeared;
But, thanks be to God, in this age we need not be afeared,
Of any such pirates as the inhuman Black Beard.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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Thursday to Sunday
On Thursday she told me she was leaving
she wanted to get out of my sight.
She didn’t want to waste words talking about it
no discussion would put things right.
She asked me to book a flight to England
where she would make a life on her own.
It was clear that I no longer figured in her life
and she certainly made it known.
For the rest of the day she never spoke to me
and tried to avoid me in every way.
She wouldn’t listen to any of my questions,
this was a silent treatment day.
I said that this was no way to be parting,
we should talk and reach a compromise,
but she threw reasoning back into my face,
slammed doors, and much more besides.
Her mood was set for the next two days,
she never once spoke a civil word.
I had accepted what seemed inevitable
even though I thought it absurd.
I sent emails and letters to friends and family,
explaining that we had come to an end,
she had decided to break up the partnership
and didn’t want to part as friends.
At three thirty on Sunday morning
she asked if I was awake.
I said I had just woken up at that moment,
but what was so urgent that couldn’t wait.
She wanted to say something important,
so I said say what you’ve got to say.
She was sorry for the way she spoke to me
and her words weren’t intended that way.
All she wanted was to be alone for a while
and to get away from the day to day stress.
She then whispered that she still loved me,
and could I forgive her this terrible mess.
For a few minutes I thought and said nothing.
She then said, “Well, is forgiveness in your heart?
I’m sorry that the words I said came out wrong,
I do love you and don’t want us to part.”
I explained the position that she had placed me,
and that I’d made plans for a life on my own.
I’d made the arrangements to live without her,
because she insisted on being alone.
“So that’s it, ” she said, “you can’t forgive me? ”
I said, “I couldn’t go through all this again.
What’s stopping you repeating the performance? ”
She said, “I won’t it’s caused us too much pain.”
Gently, she placed her arm around me,
and I thought hard and long.
I then turned and placed my arm around her
and said, “I hope my decision’s not wrong.”
poem by Orlando Belo
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Texas
Texas.
Texas was for me a magic word, to be a cowboy, herd cattle
and in the evening, ride into town and sort out the baddies.
Mind I wanted to be a sheriff, but first I had to learn, how to
use a lasso. I jumped my ship in Houston, took a bus inland.
As light fell I saw a big ranch the bus stopped and let me off.
I knocked on a door told the rancher I wanted to be a cowboy.
He gave me t. bone steak and let me sleep in the bunk house.
At dawn the sheriff was there to take me back to Houston.
He wore Stetson and let me wear it till we reached the docks
and I had to go onboard, to cook lunch for the hungry crew.
When asked where I had been, I said I had visited my uncle
who has a ranch at a place called Panhandle.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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The Obviousness Of The Evidence Shown
Throughout my life...
And others who could attest to my sentiments.
I have had others who believed they knew me.
To say that I wasn't 'that' enough for 'their' liking.
Can you imagine?
As if I was born to prove to them...
My life and efforts were on a rating scale.
To please their whims and noninvolvements.
Or that I wasn't a 'real' this to claim that,
But to be just what they said I 'was' or wasn't.
To demean any attempts I made in anything...
I 'wanted' to do to get done.
And the color of my skin,
Had a lot to do with that too.
Oh...
I got it from both sides of the fence.
With some painful comments,
Forever to be remembered.
Or I thought I was better than others.
I like that one!
Because I spoke to have others understand,
What it was I was saying.
I spoke too clearly.
LOL...
Seriously.
I have actually had people tell me that.
I wish I was joking but I am not.
I was told I spoke as if I was a caucasian.
As if I wanted to be!
A black boy living in a black neighborhood.
With black friends and surrounded by blackness.
Or...
Check this out!
If I really wanted to do what I wanted to do,
I'd move and go somewhere else.
Because 'they' weren't going to allow me,
To do what I wanted to do in the place I was born.
Uh...
Excuse?
Are you looking for an exit sign?
Because I am not.
Well...
Thank God I didn't allow their comments,
To ruin my ambitions.
Like others they have done with a doing,
Who bought into that kind of evilness...
To achieve exactly what the obviousness,
Of the evidence shown as proof of 'their' doings.
Not mine!
My wishes and dreams are not to be limited!
Period.
With an exclamation!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Grandpa's Lake
He was sitting by himself all alone,
Down in a little corner.
Looking out of place, in the funeral home,
And away from all the mourners.
His dad walked up, and I heard him say,
Daddy can I go home?
I don't know why grandpa went away,
But he might be home alone.
I want to be there, when he gets back,
We were going fishing today.
He'll need his hooks and rods, and that burlap sack,
Where he puts the fish away.
His dad looked up, a tear in his eye,
And said 'grandpa's fishing now.'
But it's a great big lake, up in the sky,
And you can't go there right now.
He's fishing with his dad today,
They'll be fishing for some time.
They have a lot to do and say,
Cause to that lake it's a long steep climb.
They haven't seen each other,
In oh, so many years.
And grandpa's glad to see his father,
And both their eyes have tears.
And grandpa's a little boy again,
Just a fishing with his dad.
And on his face there's no more pain,
I hope for him your'e glad.
The little boy just smiled and said,
I guess I'm happy about that.
Yes for grampa I'm very glad,
But for me, I guess I'm sad.
I wanted to go fishing, with my grampa today.
But if you can take me,
To the lake, maybe the bay,
I'll go, my time is free.
I guess I'll wait to fish with grampa,
Till I can make it to his lake.
Maybe he'll find some secret spots,
I sure hope so, for my sake.
1/4/11 Alton Texas
poem by Juan Olivarez
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My first day in school
More than half a century ago,
the Monsoon showers had just brought relief from the sweltering summer,
just when I was dreaming of playing soccer whole day outdoors,
My Dad decided that I have to attend an elementary school.
I was dragged a mile by my older brother to my new school,
It would be my favorite Durga Temple converted into a school,
My dreams of a class with benches and chairs just vanished,
As we were sitting on the floor in open partitioned classrooms of the school.
I thought I would get a nice colorful uniform to wear to school,
but it looked like that the dress code was a futuristic dream,
At least every class had a black board bigger than my slate,
the teacher had a duster whereas I had to wipe the chalk with my hand.
The fear of some burly kids and nostalgia of home made me sad and homesick,
I could not stop crying and asking my teacher to let me go home.
I still remember the teacher with big black cane,
every time I cried to go home, I got a whack on my palm with his cane,
I could not stop crying, he would not stop whacking,
till I was sent in a distant corner for breaking the class rule.
Kneeling down in the corner, I dreamt of Mom and home,
I found comfort in the memories of joyous Durga Puja days,
I wished the Goddess would come alive,
and pierce the hands of the teacher with her big spear.
Finally the Tiffin time heralded the temporary recess,
the teacher came down and helped me open my Tiffin can,
He asked me to eat while he wrote something on my slate,
He hoped that it would keep me interested in his school.
After I finished my food, he handed my slate,
He had drawn a picture of a big smiling cat with whiskers and big tail,
He asked me to draw the cat on the other side of the slate,
I was so happy drawing the circles and lines whole afternoon,
I forgot I had a rough first day in school.
poem by Jay P Narain
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Poem (You, my photographer, you, most aware)
You, my photographer, you, most aware,
Who climbed to the bridge when the iceberg struck,
Climbed with your camera when the ship's hull broke,
And lighted your flashes and, standing passionate there,
Wound the camera in the sudden burst's flare,
Shot the screaming women, and turned and took
Pictures of the iceberg (as the ship's deck shook)
Dreaming like the moon in the night's black air!
You, tiptoe on the rail to film a child!
The nude old woman swimming in the sea
Looked up from the dark water to watch you there;
Below, near the ballroom where the band still toiled,
The frightened, in their lifebelts, watched you bitterly -
You hypocrite! My brother! We are a pair!
poem by Delmore Schwartz
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On the mountain top at a seaside?
I saw the ship near the rocks
Her anchor drops
And on the mast
A segull rests!
It's getting darker the sky
And the lights flickering
On board the Vessel.
A Watch-keeper walks on the deck
And a Seaman sits on a bollard
With a fishing rod.
I shouted; 'Have you got a spare cabin
For an old bard and I could have work voluntarily Captain
If it's possible? '
I threw my tattered Seaman's Book
Which was not endorsed since a long time.
O the painful early morning my dream-ship already sailed
To her destined port and I grabbed my old book with a lament!
*[My deceased poor Mom always says; 'The joy of being an old is nothing but sadness.']
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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I Met A Man.
Along the road called Life I met a man today,
He asked if I were going his way.
I took a minute and looked him up and down,
Just to ask myself if he were someone I wanted to be around.
His heart was black with sin,
There seemed very little if any goodness within.
The years had etched upon his face,
And you my friend are failure and disgrace.
Now I noticed him looking back into me,
I was not going to be allowed to think my thoughts for free.
He looked at me and read my thought,
He spoke and this is what he taught.
You my son are me and I am you,
Your skin brown or your eyes deepest blue.
Each has choices to make,
And doors with paths to take.
The more I looked upon this ragged old man,
The more I understood this was part of God's plan.
Fair to say a God given plea,
That I see this old man was me.
[RKH] 2/07/2003
Fishing in the sky
Fishing in the sky
The sun came down to say goodbye
For you don’t need the sun to beam on your shoulders no more
She gives you more than any heat you could ever store
Don’t look back, I was just a heavy hearted sack
Now I’ll get my fishing rod and fish somewhere else
Don’t hold on to my hands, let me get off your back
I thought I had you, but I only ever wish I did
She looks like that missing part of you that you longed for
That missing part of you that I tried to be
She has dry eyes and a fresh smile
She’s the missing piece of your suburban tile
Bury the sand we clasped in our hands
Translate the words we never dared understand
Gather your seeds and say your goodbyes
Pass me the fishing rod, ill fish in the sky
poem by Sara Tehrani
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The Runcorn Ferry
On the banks of the Mersey, o'er on Cheshire side,
Lies Runcorn that's best known to fame
By Transporter Bridge as takes folks over t'stream,
Or else brings them back across same.
In days afore Transporter Bridge were put up,
A ferryboat lay in the slip,
And old Ted the boatman would row folks across
At per tuppence per person per trip.
Now Runcorn lay over on one side of stream,
And Widnes on t'other side stood,
And, as nobody wanted to go either place,
Well, the trade wasn't any too good.
One evening, to Ted's superlative surprise,
Three customers came into view:
A Mr and Mrs Ramsbottom it were,
And Albert, their little son, too.
"How much for the three?" Mr Ramsbottom asked,
As his hand to his pocket did dip.
Ted said: "Same for three as it would be for one,
Per tuppence per person per trip."
"You're not charging tuppence for that little lad?"
Said Mother, her eyes flashing wild.
"Per tuppence per person per trip", answered Ted,
"Per woman, per man, or per child".
"Fivepence for three, that's the most that I'll pay",
Said Father, "Don't waste time in talk".
"Per tuppence per person per trip", answered Ted,
"And them, as can't pay, 'as to walk!"
"We can walk, an' all", said Father. "Come Mother,
It's none so deep, weather's quite mild".
So into the water the three of them stepped:
The father, the mother, the child.
The further they paddled, the deeper it got,
But they wouldn't give in, once begun.
In the spirit that's made Lancashire what she is,
They'd sooner be drownded than done.
Very soon, the old people were up to their necks,
And the little lad clean out of sight.
Said Father: "Where's Albert?" And Mother replied:
"I've got hold of his hand, he's all right!"
Well, just at that moment, Pa got an idea
And, floundering back to old Ted, He said:
"We've walked half-way. Come, tak' us the rest
For half-price -- that's a penny a head."
But Ted wasn't standing for none of that there,
And, making an obstinate lip,
"Per tuppence per person per trip", Ted replied,
"Per trip, or per part of per trip".
"All right, then", said Father, "let me tak' the boat,
And I'll pick up the others half-way.
I'll row them across, and I'll bring the boat back,
And thruppence in t'bargain I'll pay".
T'were money for nothing. Ted answered: "Right-ho",
And Father got hold of the sculls.
With the sharp end of boat towards middle of stream,
He were there in a couple of pulls.
He got Mother out -- it were rather a job,
With the water, she weighed half a ton --
Then, pushing the oar down the side of the boat,
Started fishing around for his son.
When poor little Albert came up to the top,
His collars were soggy and limp.
And, with holding his breath at the bottom so long,
His face were as red as a shrimp.
Pa took them across, and he brought the boat back,
And he said to old Ted on the slip:
"Wilt' row me across by me'sen?" Ted said:
"Aye, at per tuppence per person per trip".
When they got t'other side, Father laughed fit to bust.
He'd got best of bargain, you see.
He'd worked it all out, and he'd got his own way,
And he'd paid nobbut fivepence for three!
poem by Marriott Edgar
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