~ ~ ~
Adieu!
My Crew, My Crew!


this, our first trip,
our longest voyage,
nears completion

eighteenth of May,
a terminal date,
date of destination,
upon it commenced,
upon it,
our commencement

a terminus nearing,
a degree of latitude given,
a degree of longitude observed,
by you
mes méridiens,
witnesses to my zenith,
a degree of gratitude granted
and lovingly recv'd

adieu, adieu!
this sole~full rhyme
beats upon my lips
repeats and repeats,
endlessly looped,
Adieu, my crew!

sailor, voyageur,
scribe and travel guide
for four seasons,
a composition of one long
anno sabbatico,
muy simpatico

in the spring of '13
I sprung up here,
a Mayflower,,
a May flower,
a floral ship,
annual for a single year,
annual for a single circumnavigation

hearing now once again,
refreshing sounds,
hinting noises,
here comes his paul simonizing summery spring again,
rhyming timing reminding dylan style,
it's all over now, my babies blue

t'is season to move forward,
back to old acquaintances renewed,
sand, water and salty sun,
three lifelong friends who,
Auld Lang Syne,
never ever forget me

we get drunk on their eternity,
their celestial beauty,
and they,
upon my tarnished earthly being,
unreservedly and never judgingly,
give inspiration unstintingly,
we share,
never measuring a captain's humanity
by mystical formulae of reads or hearts

for
grains of sand, water wave droplets and sun rays,
all
only know one measure,
immeasurable

respect the
never-ending new combinations
of an old nature,
even the impoverished words he speaks,
words as they exit the
brain's grand birth canal,
whimsically announcing their poetic arrival with a:

"been here, done that,
but happy to do it,
one more time,
just ever so differently"

the only counting
that satisfies them and me,
the clicking sound be,
the sound of a
a pointer-finger tablet-clicking,
heartbeats a metering,
individual letters being stork-delivered,
and

yellow lightening
when it comes,
signifying family completion,
a poem,
a family,
comes
crackling real!

here comes spring again!
happily to shackle me,
shuckling me back to and fro,
to whence I came,
and from
whence I once
and always belonged

memorial weekend,
memorializing me,
orchestrating a prodigal son's
two edged tune,
a contrapuntal contrapposto,
a "fare-thee-well, man"
and a
"hello son, welcome home!"

that empty Adirondack chair,
by my name,
with your names
in tears inscribed upon it,
awaits

the breezes take note,
singing a duopoly:

this ole chair
needs refilling,
Rest & Recreation for your Rhythm & Blues,
your busted body boy
healing with our natural scents,
calming with common sense

with it,
will and refill,
the cracked breaches,
by phonetic letters frenetic,
drinking, then purge-spilling,
a speckled spackling paste of comfort food words
given of and given by,
given back to,
the bay's tide
and beaches
and

you, crew,

let this soul captain briefly lead,
spilling too oft his new seed,
he,
selected but unelected by a
raucous silent voice-vote...
of an unknown,
impressed-into-service crew

some of you
impressed upon
the skin of this captain man's sou!,
a cherishment so complete,
yet has he to fully comprehend,
its miracality,
the golden epaulettes upon his shoulder,
worn ever proudly

the nearest ending,
one of many.
a course of waterfall and rapids survived,
yet invisible shoals fast approaching,
a single bell tolling, warning,
here was, here comes,
yet another,
close calling

sirens shriek
forewarning,
can't abide a moment longer thus,
desperate longing
for a refuge of language loved,
not lost in lands and a sea of
ranted bittersweet journaled cant
and hashtags of sad despair

can't lengthen this sway,
grant a governor's stay,
cannot

heaven schedules our lives,
completed a time out
in a day,
twenty four hours of fabulous, fabled
and of late,
a shopworn, forlorn existence,
three hundred and sixty five times,
circularized on these pages

now
no forevermore, no forestalling,
only the truth,
a grizzled, unprimped,
mirror'd recognition

flutes,
sad low whistle,
trumpets,
wild maimed moan,
violins,
jenny jilted wailing tears, groan,
and harps and guitars,
each pluck single notes plaintive,
long and slow their disappearing reverberation,
but end it must

none can deny or fail to ascertain,
port of our joint destination,
pinpointed on maps as
"the last curtain call,"
just over the nearby horizon line,
demarcating the finality
of the days of glorious,
and the quietude of
a storied ending

my crew, my crew,
forever besided,
forever insided,
bussed, bedded, and bathed,
with me,

wherever I write most,
wherever I write eyes moist,
my crew
of all captains,
whose fealty I adore
and to whom,
my loyalty unquestioned sworn,
upon righteous English oak
an oath unstained,
an American bible, an American chest,
blood sworn here forever to
my
brothers, sisters and children
many who by title me addressed
this man as,
grandfather,
yet friends
from foreign-no-more-lands

this is only a poem,
this is only the best I have

This to me given,
and now to you returned,
encrusted with trust

for
we together,
were
a new combination
all our own

my crew, my crew,
for you:
my seasonal Yule log-life burns
every day,
all years of my life shiny shiny
copper-burnished teapot whistling
you, your names
a tune of the past,
and the yet to come

I care,
burdened more
than than you ere known,
dare I bear
to bare-confess

for and by you was I,
my restlessness lessened
my unrest less,
so comforted by an out-louded,
deep-welcome-throated reception
let it end thus,
no whimpers or cries,
no misunderstanding

in a Wilderness of Words,
sought you out,
your name and lands,
yours, purposely hidden,
disguised and unknown,

while I placed before you,
my name
my birthplace,
the poetry of my truths,
the jagged laughing,
the cryptic crying,
at myself,
foibles, pimples and the
the insights inside,
mine own book of revelations
all clear in the
drippings of my clarifying
cloudy tears

stranger to friends to chance,
all by chance,
sharing nodules, capsules,
even tumors and ill humors

your affection and simple heroism,
left me both gasping,
and leaves me now,
grasping

your hearts sustain
and are sustainable,
in ways the word,
organic,
not even remotely
adequate, sufficient

in ways
that can be secreted here,
in sharing,
private messages,
snippet exchanges,
that are valored above the rubies of
public hearts that
claim attention
but are gold bonded hand cuffs,
nonetheless!

my left, what is left,
to your strong right,
by rings married we are,
you and I,
a secretion on our kissing lips,
a perfumed essence called
No.365
"secrets of us..."

Wit I were a man
who could advance
his essay further,
but this voyage,
closed and done,
but a steamer approaches
where they need a third mate,
no questions asked,
no names exchanged,
no counting the change in his heart and the,
holes in his heart pocket

asking not,
are you friend long term true,
or just a fly by night,
short-winded trend

so onto
ports that are nameless,
needy for discovery,
perhaps,
they will have a fruitfulness
unripened,
awaiting verbal germination
so yet again,
when he wipes away
with back of a hand,
his fresh fears,
moistening those dried,
those crack'd lips

underneath will be yet found
a perhaps,
a
fully formed, yet to be shared,
new poem,
that gives value
standing on its own,
and perhaps, rewarming, reawakening,
his gone cold and pale,
yet quivering moving,
his almost stilled silenced spring,
but not quite,
lips...


--------------------------------

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
                         Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
                            But I with mournful tread,
                               Walk the deck my Captain lies,
                                  Fallen cold and dead.

                     Walt Whitman
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And the words that are used
For to get the ship confused
Will not be understood as they’re spoken
For the chains of the sea
Will have busted in the night
And will be buried at the bottom of the ocean

A song will lift
As the mainsail shifts
And the boat drifts on to the shoreline
And the sun will respect
Every face on the deck
The hour that the ship comes in

Then the sands will roll
Out a carpet of gold
For your weary toes to be a-touchin’
And the ship’s wise men
Will remind you once again
That the whole wide world is watchin’

bob dylan

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We'll meet beyond the shore
We'll kiss just as before
Happy we'll be beyond the sea
And never again I'll go sailing

I know beyond a doubt
My heart will lead me there soon
We'll meet (I know we'll meet) beyond the shore
We'll kiss just as before
Happy we'll be beyond the sea
And never again I'll go sailing

No more sailing
So long sailing
Bye, bye sailing...

Jack Lawerence

Though  flames  may  roar,
And  raging  fires  sore.
When  fear  stricken   heart,
We  always  play  our  part.
 

The  bleak  unsure  smoke  rises  dense  and  dark,
Each moment  grows  longer  with each little spark.
No matter  the  struggle  we keep  fighting  through,
Alert  and  aware  we  know  what  we  must  do.
 

Blind  to  a  hand  just  before
our  face,
Against  the clock  we  must  quickly  race.
For  when it  gets  down  to the  last  desperate  wire,
Swift  and  efficient  we  will  put out  that  fire.
 

Though  the  chances  are  we’ve never  met,
When  needed  a  savior  you  can  always  expect.
While  echoed  sirens  may  blare  and  ring,
We  hear  the  muffled  night  cries  sing.

 
There's  no  such  thing  as  simple  routine,
Ignoring  monotony  that  lies  in  between.
Very  real consequences  we are more  than  aware,
From possible  situations  beyond  any compare.
 

Not  a  second  allowed  for  one  breath  of  fear,
Never  a  moment   to  shed  a  single  silent  tear.
Because  when  you're  in desperate  dire  need,
We  will  always  strive  our  very  best  to  succeed.
 

Blood  flowing  in Red,  White  and  Blue,
We’re  Brothers  dedicated  in  all  that  we  do.
In  death’s  darkest  shadows  we  may  dare  to roam,
Yet  we  know  that  we  may  each  not  always  come  home.


This  is  our deepest  heartfelt  desire,
Given to  us  from a  place  so  much  higher.
In  all  that  we  do  each  risk  taken  for you,
Our  passion  runs  deep  we’re  dedicated  and  true.
 

Some  tend  to forget  that  this  is  our  real  life,
That  we  also  have children,  friends  and  our  wife.
We  walk the  thin  line  though  it  sometimes  narrows,
In  this world  we are someone’s  real  life superheroes.
 

In case you forget dear when you leave in the morning,
I ask you darling to please head my forewarning.
When  overcome  with  adrenalin I remind  you  to  fight,
To  come  home yourself  dear at  the end  of  each  night.

Her father always thought the best,
but a secret lied behind her perfect façade.
Needle,
thread,
puncture
wounds in-between toes to hide the deeds
that were done. she was delirious in actions
as in the woods she wondered
trails
illusions
thoughts
not of a lucid mind was opened up.
Her father thinking the worst searched
in vain for her beauty. But a castle unknown
came into view, as he wondered in thinking
she had sought shelter in the beleaguered place
"Beauty,
He spoke but not a noise was uttered, nor a breath
could be heard. He lingered in views of stately rooms,
how had this place never been seen.
Truth of thought has a funny way of seeking those
who unwittingly pursue its need. As in to a bleak
and dark room he stood, he lit the light with flame
in hand. A crunch underfoot echoed through out,
cloth,
bone,
skulls
littered the expanse of this room. Gnawing marks
of teeth clenched deep, but others yet
to decay. Like rag dolls used as some form
of twisted play things, fear etched in there
features as death granted them a moment of
relief from what used them as a novelty before
that final laceration ended there breath.
Digust,
Horror,
Fear
as he yearned to leave such a place of
lingering death. When appeared young beauty
Worse for wear, father what are you doing in such
a place? I looked for you as it's been two days.
But then without forewarning its cold
hands clasped around her fathers throat.
Heed my warning as death waits for your father,
for things he wondered upon must never be spoke.
Beauty stepped back, her hand grasping the handle
But it was already sealed, the mirror on the wall did
utter,
proclaim,
announce
that the door was not opening as the key
was but a refection of self. With that she threw her shoe,
Its heal shattered the reflective aura and it bleed reflection
upon the surrounding area. With but an action the fathers
neck was but a twig snapped in haste.
His cry was pitiful and last words expelled "Why,
Beauty ran through the garden roses cutting her
with there thorns, her legs weeping she became faint.
"Awaken,
"arouse,
stimulate
oneself before my patience carves seconds in your
subtle flesh. Startled and not in denial of
What was craved, but nothing could coax her
from this debilitating feeling.
She arose, shivering, sweating, it took this
as unbridled fear. But beauty feared no one
she had done, seen things to coax a next high.

"Do you not morn the falling of your father girl,

"He was nearly of his time,
"We all kiss the thorns the rose never stays fresh long,  

A strange look happened upon his sunken eyes,
You are not like any other I have guested here
at my beckoning before. Due to your fathers sight,
you are a guest of no leaving, a bed is made,
wearing's of your taste are in the wardrobe.

Whispers clung to the walls as face ebbed upon
her hearing dinner is served madam,

"What the hell are you,
"Were those within the walls,
"Hurry up miss he doesn't like waiting,

Upon the long table did vast meals endorse,
eat up, have your fill.
With appetite in her eyes she lusted after such
morsels never had such graced her homeward plate.

"Why do you linger in this place,

"I'm cursed with in these walls, gardens
once I permitted my self importance and
walked beyond the chimes of my gates arch
and now my features  are what your eyes linger on,

Silence decorated the room after that, as neither
did ask any unwarranted words expelling out,
His eyes lingered on here beauty, could she be that
which could undo this curse of vanities misgivings.  

Time passed her sweats had past her cramps
that were like a thousand knifes within her
veins calmed and she made the most of this place.
Walks upon freshly cut hedges, these little
Fixtures of horror jagged glasses that
would slit a wrist with a wrongful gesture now
seemed harmless enough.

But as though opposites did attract and
yearning for company other than self.
She took walks upon the gardens,
In disrepair was one such place and what
seemed like roses was something else.

"What are you doing here,

As her breath hassened, and thoughts consumed
of what could be. But clean she had been for
going on months and days.
But the earge grew as night turned to morning,
she loved him but was this enogh for
the kiss of this old friend was once so sweet.

He knew in his heart he had changed no longer feeding
on the flesh of mortal men, he had mirrored his
thoughts of loves bloom on his heart.
But could one love someone this hideous in features
only this moment would tell.

"Beauty, I have something to mention,

But the house was silent the features on the walls
ascended through out to find the beauty that
meant so much to all that were apart of this house.

Not a single breath was found,
neither by shadow or mouse. Had she left?
No why now, her heart was entwined
with his but he could not feel her essence
no beat was echoing out.

"My beauty, my love,

Moments past as a scent was picked up,
But it was not of life but of decay.
He found her with the needle cracked on the floor,
Her features of
bliss,
horror,
death
was her lover now, and it taken her away.
He saw a note scrunched in her hand,
he read it out in thoughts he was lost,

"My darling beast,

"I have noted your thoughts towards me,
and I lingered on them as I must.
But you are a beast and only for life
did I do as I must.
I was dead inside when you were upon me,
my yearning or horror I hide in lust.
I could not escape you, eye were upon
me even in sleep I was never alone such mistrust.
So now I leave this place a free woman.
not in love, not in fear, in life I was a prisoner
but in death I am a free bird no longer an empty husk,*


He reeled in disbelief at what her words spelt out,
Was he truly that horrifying even to touch.
he held her in his arms, carried her to the gate,
and looked into the distance seeing the sun setting
He raised a hand a cleft her heart out.

"You took this from me world, but I take it back,

He threw her to the dogs that waited eagerly
for flesh, they had not fed on this delicacy
for so long, While she was here no one was to touch.
In heartache he walked to the arch and carried on straight.
His figure was contorted and with one final out spelling
of grief he was consumed in embers then gone to ash.

All who had fallen from grace when he was made
beast returned to normal form. But happiness
was a short miracle , for all were of sin for what
had taken place, behind walls and doors as
all were consumed and the palace of a king
now burnt like the sun set. Only gardens and
ashes were a testament of what was. But love was
never a happy ending when a persons true features
were surfaced, how can you see past that to true love.

alliteration
delving delusory,
a literati shun
thy commissions,
galore,
the line goes around the
corner

Entrusted.
write us a prayer -
as if I were thus worthy

t'is a delusion
which is worse than
Illusion
my fingers command me -
not I, them
I scribe inky,
they write what they deem
the most unfitting fulfilling

thy requests
more crosses to bear,
this Jew has walked the
Via Dolorosa
then, and again,
now

oh yes delve delve
with archaic *****
turn over earth unsubstantiated
long time un~disturbed

"bring us your truths
in whatever form
they spill from you"

Thus, they command me, Lord

"Go back to living,
like it used to be.
No more tortured soul
to slow you down"

Thus, they command me, Lord

sleep restful,
feet bathed,
Pavorotti  & Pachelbel
comforted,
let it go,
live the fleeting,
well,
drink the wine,
wafer, taste,
Jew,
but stay away from the confessional

don't
delve into your own
thesaurus
when opened,
one can vision
right through us

don't
delve in to the recesses
thankfully receding, eroding,
except for the enlightening flashbacks
that stone cold come with no
forewarning

don't
let the sin memories
of ancient words,
black gold bubble up
with the first striking of the blade

Delve
(excavate your soul deep)
Not

I did not come this poem to write
I did not come to repeat
Solomon's poem,
nothing new under the sun

don't,
daunting
wish to delve into my delusions,
my original sin
the deceit
the conceit
I am unique
I am original

but let us weave as I best could
diagrammed prayers
as the sun rises over my eastern river
for it the seventh day,
the sabbath day,
which the commandments
commend as the day to remember and

to keep it holy.
Six days you shall labor,
and do all your work,
but the seventh day is a Sabbath
to the LORD your God.
On it you shall not do any work,
you, or your son, or your daughter,
your male servant, or your female servant,
or your livestock,
or the
sojourner
who is within your gates.
For in six days the LORD
made heaven and earth, the sea,
and all that is in them,
and rested on the seventh day.
Therefore the LORD
blessed the Sabbath day
and made it holy.

no delving today
I will observe thy reader's,
all of them my teacher's,
commandments
rest easy,
spill no truths this day

but on the new born morrow
I shall fresh
delve and sin again
and write them
joyful hymns
to sing
on the profane workweek,
for my torture,
my spilled and soiled truths
shall be
re-presented
to joyous comfort

and then,
I shall sojourn among them

Birth
comes whispering
her way
into the world.
The passing
of the days
are unmentioned,
unnoticed,
forgotten sounds.
And then,
with no forewarning,
another faint whisper,
and we have
death
at our fingertips.
In vain
do we grasp
desperately
for the fleeting
moments,
sounds,
of which we were
oblivious to
only yesterday...
which were
Ours
only yesterday.
Alas!
All is gone
far
beyond our reach,
save only yesterday's
murmuring
echoes.

cj  1971

Were they not reliable, the winds when they came
Was it not sadness they felt, when the tribes lost a name
(Amidst the rubble and ash,
he vivaciously spills his cash)
Was it not atonement swept across the crowd
Were their heads not solemn when they bowed
(A city in mourning,
strategic forewarning)
Did the music not play at low volumes in the eve
Did the stories of the past not eventually interweave
(He stands atop an empire so vast
realising now that his time has passed)
Do you not feel great elation that the town now lays dead
Do you not thank them kindly that you were allowed to be mislead
(Ah, but a story never ends with the champion
merely fertilised soil for the blooming rampion)

sitting in LA  traffic,
feeling very traff,^
unsurprisingly,,
dream-haze to SF,
now, every doorway
is an entrance/exit
to the Matrix

the movie is all about
concentric circles of reality
intersecting, when I emerge
in Chinatown, me and naturally,
Neo too,
(older and cute, and edible, like my fav flav)
who finds me equally irresistible,

He asks am I real,
sore disappointed,
for earlier, making love,
there were no harpsichords,
just  The Zombie’s breathy vocals,
singing prophetic these songs  
“She’s Not There” and
“Tell Her No.”

my then reality was in no doubt,
but nearness breeds suspicion
as much as trust, and Neo
is a worrier, I foresee not
much future for him & me

other men have called me Shylock,
for the betrayal probability is nearer
to 1, and these words, a reality test,
a forewarning to all in my bed sojourn,
are framed, resting above my pillows:

“If you ***** us, do we not bleed?
If you tickle us, do we not laugh?
If you poison us, do we not die?
And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?”

tear stains, some from loneliness,
others from being held to tight,
some from my own scripts reread,
some from you, you don’t even know

when they stay over, I give them
one of two matching robes, both
Barbie pink,
those that laugh and grab it on,
they’re the keepers, they are for real,

just like me

by the way, so many of you have drunk
my crazy words, it’s inexcusable that I’ve
not thanked you yet, individually like the
Queen Mother teaches, repeat reminds,
preenly informs, nothing  better than
a hand written thank you note, so
considered yourself served and appreciated!

am I for real?

the very question I ask myself daily,
to my morn mirror who magic replies,
more than real, crazy unique special, so so
different, otherwise I wouldn’t stick around,

and I thank the mirror with a lipstick kiss,
and it blushes from the love so real, and
cracks
a smile and says you be careful my genteel,
lady princess, your pale skin is exposed and
the California sun is a burning torch and it
touches your perfect body like all the others,
whose fingerprints evaporate in time, so husband
your love, give it slow and precious, for you are
more than mere real, after all,
**you are Brandychanning