Poetry competition CLOSED 4th June 2012 7:00am
WINNER
CarmelitaLuvet
CarmelitaLuvet
RUNNERS-UP:
BleedingInferno219
and SychophanticSlag
The Walking Dead
-~{ The Puritan and The Maiden }~-
A Puritan of Salem town, a swordsman of high renown,
Went riding out of the gates, of the ancient stockade…
Oh fare ye well to town, said the swordsman of renown,
For I have been a militiaman, and I shall not be afraid!
And so he spurred his horse along a trail little traveled…
Through Indian country and beyond, in places so dark,
That any lesser man would feel all his nerves unraveled…
But steely was that Puritan’s resolve, and so on a lark,
He journeyed beyond lands called civilized by mankind,
Saying fare ye well to the place of his birth and family.
He was always a man so different in spirit and in mind,
Unafraid: of the things that oft haunted the wild country.
But oft a snow-white owl watched him on his journeys,
Seeming to mock him, when he did only as he pleased.
Whilst riding along an autumn trail covered with leaves,
From high oak trees: of fiery orange and yellow colors…
Seeking after the kind of adventure as nobody believes,
The Puritan saw a gray landscape, cold and dolorous…
Where the mists of a recent rain made wet those roads,
The few of which crossed marshes thick with old toads.
Dying were the woods that grew from out fouler bogs…
Than any the Puritan had seen before in all of his years.
Villages here and there: their fences all of rotting logs…
Empty of life, he passed through and heard loud tears.
Wept by ghosts unseen, and so assuming it the wind…
The Puritan left those villages behind and set out again.
But as evening came, his breath was cold and laboring,
His steed was pushed too far, and both were suffering.
Finally, he came unto a graveyard perched upon hills,
Surrounded by a low stone wall broken with neglect…
He passed the wall, as his horse shook with foul chills,
Dying beneath him, and so he had not time to reflect…
Only to leave the beast behind him: and journey along.
But all about him the sound of a violin playing a song…
Familiar and haunting: that called the dead from sleep!
And so, the dead of ages did from the evil soil creep…
To the tune of a white-dressed figure by some old oak,
Who sat upon a log playing the tune, but never spoke.
The Puritan saw the dead begin to join in a dire waltz,
As he thought he heard a voice recalling his old faults.
The pale one with the violin, a raven-haired maid she,
Stopped only to light candles all around, for all to see.
The dance of the dead continued long for it was night,
And long were the hours, before the break of dawn…
With those grim dancers: the Puritan’s long-dead wife;
Did plead for him to join her upon the graveyard lawn.
And thence, the dead encircled the Puritan all about…
He could not fight them, for his sword but only metal.
No silver had he to ward off death; only cruel doubt…
And that was not enough to postpone his death rattle.
He danced with his wife, and upon the break of morn,
When the pale one’s violin had played its’ final note…
The Puritan lay lifeless, his finery all tattered and torn,
And of his tragic tale: nothing more, the tellers wrote.
But on cold nights in autumn, a pale white maid plays,
A lonely violin: until the coming of the sun's gold rays.
A Puritan of Salem town, a swordsman of high renown,
Went riding out of the gates, of the ancient stockade…
Oh fare ye well to town, said the swordsman of renown,
For I have been a militiaman, and I shall not be afraid!
And so he spurred his horse along a trail little traveled…
Through Indian country and beyond, in places so dark,
That any lesser man would feel all his nerves unraveled…
But steely was that Puritan’s resolve, and so on a lark,
He journeyed beyond lands called civilized by mankind,
Saying fare ye well to the place of his birth and family.
He was always a man so different in spirit and in mind,
Unafraid: of the things that oft haunted the wild country.
But oft a snow-white owl watched him on his journeys,
Seeming to mock him, when he did only as he pleased.
Whilst riding along an autumn trail covered with leaves,
From high oak trees: of fiery orange and yellow colors…
Seeking after the kind of adventure as nobody believes,
The Puritan saw a gray landscape, cold and dolorous…
Where the mists of a recent rain made wet those roads,
The few of which crossed marshes thick with old toads.
Dying were the woods that grew from out fouler bogs…
Than any the Puritan had seen before in all of his years.
Villages here and there: their fences all of rotting logs…
Empty of life, he passed through and heard loud tears.
Wept by ghosts unseen, and so assuming it the wind…
The Puritan left those villages behind and set out again.
But as evening came, his breath was cold and laboring,
His steed was pushed too far, and both were suffering.
Finally, he came unto a graveyard perched upon hills,
Surrounded by a low stone wall broken with neglect…
He passed the wall, as his horse shook with foul chills,
Dying beneath him, and so he had not time to reflect…
Only to leave the beast behind him: and journey along.
But all about him the sound of a violin playing a song…
Familiar and haunting: that called the dead from sleep!
And so, the dead of ages did from the evil soil creep…
To the tune of a white-dressed figure by some old oak,
Who sat upon a log playing the tune, but never spoke.
The Puritan saw the dead begin to join in a dire waltz,
As he thought he heard a voice recalling his old faults.
The pale one with the violin, a raven-haired maid she,
Stopped only to light candles all around, for all to see.
The dance of the dead continued long for it was night,
And long were the hours, before the break of dawn…
With those grim dancers: the Puritan’s long-dead wife;
Did plead for him to join her upon the graveyard lawn.
And thence, the dead encircled the Puritan all about…
He could not fight them, for his sword but only metal.
No silver had he to ward off death; only cruel doubt…
And that was not enough to postpone his death rattle.
He danced with his wife, and upon the break of morn,
When the pale one’s violin had played its’ final note…
The Puritan lay lifeless, his finery all tattered and torn,
And of his tragic tale: nothing more, the tellers wrote.
But on cold nights in autumn, a pale white maid plays,
A lonely violin: until the coming of the sun's gold rays.
Anonymous
Was wollen Sie onhe deutsche?
- Night of the Drowned -
By rugged paths through the woodlands green,
In younger years I walked often there between…
The yellow flowers that grew by the sad pond,
Which never stirred, save by breath of beyond…
And the darker forests where old spirits played,
Near ruins where once-lost folk piously prayed!
Complete was the lonely majesty of that domain,
So indifferent to human desires, dreams, or pain!
Alone I walked, like a spirit haunting a dwelling…
Familiar from some past days: oddly compelling.
What enchantment bore me hither I’ll not know!
Better to ask the wind why it was born to blow.
Ere night had fallen I beheld sights so uncanny,
Brought to this world by some ghostly company.
To speak of them is like to treat of some dream,
Wherein one may know delights but also scream.
Oh silent waters, what was reflected within you?
If only they could speak, the waters faded blue!
Perhaps terror keeps them silent, unable to tell…
The secrets they witnessed, of Heaven and Hell.
Mayhap sometimes fear is brought on by delight,
So profound, that it keeps one in an eternal night.
If you ask the waters, they shall not tell you this…
For they are lost, either in silence or infinite bliss!
Beneath the crescent moon, a goddess’s crown,
Yellow flowers become white, as winter’s gown.
As colorless as the faces looking up from under…
Whilst in the sky cracked a loud clap of thunder.
The drowned ones who dwell down in the murk,
Saw me peering at the waters wherein they lurk!
I looked away unable to bear each bloated face,
Lost in the depths trapped far from God’s grace.
I felt the touch of someone behind me, just then…
Turning around to see a beautiful ghostly maiden.
She passed through me, wading out in the deep,
To drown herself: anew, where no fish will creep!
By rugged paths through the woodlands green,
In younger years I walked often there between…
The yellow flowers that grew by the sad pond,
Which never stirred, save by breath of beyond…
And the darker forests where old spirits played,
Near ruins where once-lost folk piously prayed!
Complete was the lonely majesty of that domain,
So indifferent to human desires, dreams, or pain!
Alone I walked, like a spirit haunting a dwelling…
Familiar from some past days: oddly compelling.
What enchantment bore me hither I’ll not know!
Better to ask the wind why it was born to blow.
Ere night had fallen I beheld sights so uncanny,
Brought to this world by some ghostly company.
To speak of them is like to treat of some dream,
Wherein one may know delights but also scream.
Oh silent waters, what was reflected within you?
If only they could speak, the waters faded blue!
Perhaps terror keeps them silent, unable to tell…
The secrets they witnessed, of Heaven and Hell.
Mayhap sometimes fear is brought on by delight,
So profound, that it keeps one in an eternal night.
If you ask the waters, they shall not tell you this…
For they are lost, either in silence or infinite bliss!
Beneath the crescent moon, a goddess’s crown,
Yellow flowers become white, as winter’s gown.
As colorless as the faces looking up from under…
Whilst in the sky cracked a loud clap of thunder.
The drowned ones who dwell down in the murk,
Saw me peering at the waters wherein they lurk!
I looked away unable to bear each bloated face,
Lost in the depths trapped far from God’s grace.
I felt the touch of someone behind me, just then…
Turning around to see a beautiful ghostly maiden.
She passed through me, wading out in the deep,
To drown herself: anew, where no fish will creep!
Anonymous
Ah well.. I was raised with German and Russian.. and i'll see what I have for you.
siphondarkness said:It makes them easier to judge. since I have to go to google and translate. But if you post a poem in german and put what it is in english below it that would work
Ah! I see you answered the question already. So we can post just in English? Or do we have to post them in both languages?
Ah! I see you answered the question already. So we can post just in English? Or do we have to post them in both languages?
Anonymous
Ah well.. I know some German.. so I was confused when you used German for the title of this thread and your only rule is all submissions in English are preferred. That lead me to ask you that question.
Silly me! I just noticed it mentions under the rules we can post in English. At least that answers my question. 
So for me, English it shall remain. Thanks for expanding the rules for people whose native language is not English though! That was a very good idea, adding that explanation.
So for me, English it shall remain. Thanks for expanding the rules for people whose native language is not English though! That was a very good idea, adding that explanation.---~} Queen of the Harvest Moon {~---
Part One: Sorrowful Queen
In sorrow, reigns a blessed queen; for others tell tales of her fall…
And mark her as a being accursed, telling such tales to one and all.
But she is regal even in exile, though queen she be of dark shades!
I tell her tale a different way, for I have walked in her misty glades.
Her mercy is not reserved for the wicked, but only for those pure,
And so my heart was judged of old, when I was asked for more…
In such regard I came to see, the beauty of that angel fallen of light.
But never in glory diminished was she, her fairness existing to spite,
Those powers that laid low her first estate, and robbed her throne!
I had embraced all that they feared, ere I was given flesh and bone.
No darkness fills my heart with terror, for I have seen Hell in entire,
And the corrupt that gnash their teeth, below, bathed in ghostly fire.
In the palace of the queen I do not see them, for therein is a peace,
Kept by pacts long unknown to mortals, that only gods may cease.
Starless are the spaces betwixt the distant planets I once tread on,
Black as the eyes of she whom I sing of here, but for a distant sun!
Nameless is she as the moon of this world, unknown in alien clime,
Where others names are spoken of, in languages of the inner mind.
How different was my aspect in those realms, than that I do wear,
In this guise in which I have endured as even gods must now bear.
Part Two: Between the Gulfs
Oh ye men and women who long to journey to the farthest galaxy:
Do not look there for thy salvation, for that way lies: only tragedy.
I was there, beyond the scope of mortal seeing, at palaces grand,
When the forces of the heavens fought for control of every land…
And the daughter of the queen served as my priestess, for an age.
Before the sons of Olympus came against us in all their lofty rage!
You shall not find the palace, where we once held court in secret,
For that world was broken by the foe, when wars had thus beset.
Her temple now looks out over a plane far removed from this one,
And no human eye can measure, the gulfs that between thus yawn.
Losing my way in tangled woodlands, when harvest moon is high,
I slip between the gulfs when the portal opens that none can deny.
Attune thyself to the elementals, and commune with spirits of afar,
For that is how the spell is cast, which bridges many a distant star.
Of random whim, she assumes a form that the eye can perceive…
In the chambers of her place of waiting, where her kindred grieve!
Her eyes begin to glow with the red flames of the dragon blood…
That once ruled much of the world before the advent of the Flood.
Proud is she, and stately as a true noble of the race of her kindred,
Even in darkness, attended by those who are now called the dead.
Part Three: Forbidden Embrace
Of jade hue is her flesh, her hair the color of blood, freshly spilt…
Her garments are flowing black silks, and she is free of elder guilt,
For time hath erased the stain that marked her once upon far eons!
And so I take her hand in my own; to her charm my will succumbs.
She presses against me as our forms embrace, two titans cast low,
As her silks flow about her, and I, their softness gentler than snow.
We fall upon cushions of black and red, upon her temple’s floor…
And we move together as of old, each of us playing like the whore.
The ebb and flow of lovemaking as powerful as the tides of ocean,
Carries me away upon celestial seas, to places of hidden emotion!
To embrace the forbidden incarnate, no ordinary soul can survive,
And were I just a man like any other, I could not in her love thrive.
Whilst we made love trees withered in the forests and did perish…
And even the pines turned brittle, which every season doth cherish.
The soil grew cold, and autumn surrendered to winter’s demand…
Whilst the harvest moon turned as if blood by an unholy command.
The pleasures I enjoyed, blinded me to the terrors that lay without,
And were it not for the heights of ecstasy, my soul would so doubt.
Our passions spent, we withdraw and time seems to freeze solid…
As a kind of silent eternity holds sway, its’ coming a notion sordid.
Part Four: The Dance Macabre
The dark queen takes into her hand some panpipes, and she plays,
Which brings time back from the brink of oblivion by arcane ways.
Something in her music chills me to the core, and I know old fears,
As I remember the last time I heard it, during a world’s final years.
Skeletons rise from hidden crypts, dancing macabre to that tune…
As if judgment day hath arrived to enshroud that domain of gloom!
The queen puts down the pipes, and the dance comes to a finish…
Whilst she comes back to kiss me again, her lust never diminished.
I am heated: by her lips; but yet I cannot escape the silent stares…
Of things that should not be walking again, increasing all my cares!
How turns rapture so soon to something that cannot be explained?
Only as the seasons change, can such understanding be so gained.
The scent of roses mixed with the stench of the grave arose then…
As incense and lilies seemed to overpower all that, and all of them,
Those fiends that were mockeries of their living selves long erased,
When they began their servitude to the kingdom of shadowy grace.
I could have run but where would I go when death is part of things,
So that all must come to her in the end, both commoners and kings!
Yet even death gives sway to she whose kingdom I entered foolish,
So that there is nothing in those domains that is not held to her wish.
Part Five: Tongue of the Ancients
The kiss ceases, the embrace remains, and I am held by her design,
She whose names cannot be uttered: who holds the book and sign!
I do not plead to be set free; you cannot plead with a queen as she,
All I could do was enjoy her company, granting her the true victory.
I hear the creaking of the bones of they that now shamble off quick,
Only to clatter to the floor, becoming each a pile of tree-born sticks.
I am alone with the queen at last, and we speak without any voices,
As I learn that all that transpired did so because of my own choices.
She takes my chin into her right hand to study me in manner curious,
Taking the measure of my nature, and finding it somehow glorious…
Then she opens her mouth to speak, but can only utter some shriek!
Speaking words in a tongue long unspoken for many a divine week,
Which spans far beyond, the count of mortals as they may reason…
And yet I understood every syllable, for I was a part of her treason.
That same, which brought us both unto our current forms and fates,
The power of which drew me to her, where she for all eternity waits.
Soon darkness engulfed all and I was back in the woodland strange,
Where winter now was in its’ full swing: upon every path and range!
Dawn now replaced the harvest moon, and sunlight glared intense…
To eyes that had just emerged: from the other side of life’s far fence.
Part One: Sorrowful Queen
In sorrow, reigns a blessed queen; for others tell tales of her fall…
And mark her as a being accursed, telling such tales to one and all.
But she is regal even in exile, though queen she be of dark shades!
I tell her tale a different way, for I have walked in her misty glades.
Her mercy is not reserved for the wicked, but only for those pure,
And so my heart was judged of old, when I was asked for more…
In such regard I came to see, the beauty of that angel fallen of light.
But never in glory diminished was she, her fairness existing to spite,
Those powers that laid low her first estate, and robbed her throne!
I had embraced all that they feared, ere I was given flesh and bone.
No darkness fills my heart with terror, for I have seen Hell in entire,
And the corrupt that gnash their teeth, below, bathed in ghostly fire.
In the palace of the queen I do not see them, for therein is a peace,
Kept by pacts long unknown to mortals, that only gods may cease.
Starless are the spaces betwixt the distant planets I once tread on,
Black as the eyes of she whom I sing of here, but for a distant sun!
Nameless is she as the moon of this world, unknown in alien clime,
Where others names are spoken of, in languages of the inner mind.
How different was my aspect in those realms, than that I do wear,
In this guise in which I have endured as even gods must now bear.
Part Two: Between the Gulfs
Oh ye men and women who long to journey to the farthest galaxy:
Do not look there for thy salvation, for that way lies: only tragedy.
I was there, beyond the scope of mortal seeing, at palaces grand,
When the forces of the heavens fought for control of every land…
And the daughter of the queen served as my priestess, for an age.
Before the sons of Olympus came against us in all their lofty rage!
You shall not find the palace, where we once held court in secret,
For that world was broken by the foe, when wars had thus beset.
Her temple now looks out over a plane far removed from this one,
And no human eye can measure, the gulfs that between thus yawn.
Losing my way in tangled woodlands, when harvest moon is high,
I slip between the gulfs when the portal opens that none can deny.
Attune thyself to the elementals, and commune with spirits of afar,
For that is how the spell is cast, which bridges many a distant star.
Of random whim, she assumes a form that the eye can perceive…
In the chambers of her place of waiting, where her kindred grieve!
Her eyes begin to glow with the red flames of the dragon blood…
That once ruled much of the world before the advent of the Flood.
Proud is she, and stately as a true noble of the race of her kindred,
Even in darkness, attended by those who are now called the dead.
Part Three: Forbidden Embrace
Of jade hue is her flesh, her hair the color of blood, freshly spilt…
Her garments are flowing black silks, and she is free of elder guilt,
For time hath erased the stain that marked her once upon far eons!
And so I take her hand in my own; to her charm my will succumbs.
She presses against me as our forms embrace, two titans cast low,
As her silks flow about her, and I, their softness gentler than snow.
We fall upon cushions of black and red, upon her temple’s floor…
And we move together as of old, each of us playing like the whore.
The ebb and flow of lovemaking as powerful as the tides of ocean,
Carries me away upon celestial seas, to places of hidden emotion!
To embrace the forbidden incarnate, no ordinary soul can survive,
And were I just a man like any other, I could not in her love thrive.
Whilst we made love trees withered in the forests and did perish…
And even the pines turned brittle, which every season doth cherish.
The soil grew cold, and autumn surrendered to winter’s demand…
Whilst the harvest moon turned as if blood by an unholy command.
The pleasures I enjoyed, blinded me to the terrors that lay without,
And were it not for the heights of ecstasy, my soul would so doubt.
Our passions spent, we withdraw and time seems to freeze solid…
As a kind of silent eternity holds sway, its’ coming a notion sordid.
Part Four: The Dance Macabre
The dark queen takes into her hand some panpipes, and she plays,
Which brings time back from the brink of oblivion by arcane ways.
Something in her music chills me to the core, and I know old fears,
As I remember the last time I heard it, during a world’s final years.
Skeletons rise from hidden crypts, dancing macabre to that tune…
As if judgment day hath arrived to enshroud that domain of gloom!
The queen puts down the pipes, and the dance comes to a finish…
Whilst she comes back to kiss me again, her lust never diminished.
I am heated: by her lips; but yet I cannot escape the silent stares…
Of things that should not be walking again, increasing all my cares!
How turns rapture so soon to something that cannot be explained?
Only as the seasons change, can such understanding be so gained.
The scent of roses mixed with the stench of the grave arose then…
As incense and lilies seemed to overpower all that, and all of them,
Those fiends that were mockeries of their living selves long erased,
When they began their servitude to the kingdom of shadowy grace.
I could have run but where would I go when death is part of things,
So that all must come to her in the end, both commoners and kings!
Yet even death gives sway to she whose kingdom I entered foolish,
So that there is nothing in those domains that is not held to her wish.
Part Five: Tongue of the Ancients
The kiss ceases, the embrace remains, and I am held by her design,
She whose names cannot be uttered: who holds the book and sign!
I do not plead to be set free; you cannot plead with a queen as she,
All I could do was enjoy her company, granting her the true victory.
I hear the creaking of the bones of they that now shamble off quick,
Only to clatter to the floor, becoming each a pile of tree-born sticks.
I am alone with the queen at last, and we speak without any voices,
As I learn that all that transpired did so because of my own choices.
She takes my chin into her right hand to study me in manner curious,
Taking the measure of my nature, and finding it somehow glorious…
Then she opens her mouth to speak, but can only utter some shriek!
Speaking words in a tongue long unspoken for many a divine week,
Which spans far beyond, the count of mortals as they may reason…
And yet I understood every syllable, for I was a part of her treason.
That same, which brought us both unto our current forms and fates,
The power of which drew me to her, where she for all eternity waits.
Soon darkness engulfed all and I was back in the woodland strange,
Where winter now was in its’ full swing: upon every path and range!
Dawn now replaced the harvest moon, and sunlight glared intense…
To eyes that had just emerged: from the other side of life’s far fence.
-~]} Siren Bride [{~-
Upon the bow of the sloop that bore us in haste…
I heard the call of a maiden as pale went my face!
No mortal maid could make music so passing fair,
I longed to join her, just wash away all my care…
No mortal man could want a dream, so very bad!
I heard the crew muttering, saying that I was mad.
My knuckles tightened on the railing, so very raw,
As my angry voice lashed out, like a raven’s caw:
Let no man judge me for none have been so bold!
I’ll not let a single mutinous swine grow to be old.
I am the captain, and these waters have a power,
So gather round and listen for nigh is a dark hour.
And all the crew, they gathered before the bow…
Every man had heard the music from below now.
Some became fearful, and prepared escape rafts,
Whilst a fire that burned not was about the masts!
Pale and blue: an omen of spirits from the depths.
Whence, came they: from out darkly sunken rifts?
They were rising up and in their ascent so mighty,
I heard songs that would have shamed Aphrodite.
Slender arms reached up and dragged men down;
As terror gripped my soul I so thought I’d drown.
On each dying man’s face was a smile so sublime!
That one might think them content to sink in brine.
I heard the voice, of one who with Dagon dines…
And I felt sharp barbs of the divine trident’s tines.
In the places where seaweed adorns maidens’ hair!
The sea gods awaken, in their long forgotten lair.
Above, the world is shaken: by old gods, stirring!
I waited for their return, their powers conferring…
Madness to those who cannot grasp the mystery,
Of those who were ancient: before man’s history.
Dagon arose that day, and sent the sirens to hunt,
For those already tainted, to drink of watery font.
I cast to the gods a coin from a Spanish treasure,
And a sea goddess showed me wicked pleasure!
My crew came up from below; I am captain still…
Now we sail forever, seeking living blood to spill!
My bride is a green maiden of the depths, a siren:
She sings when men die beneath our blades again.
Pale azure flame that consumes not, in the rigging,
Announces our ship of fools, her bell dully ringing.
Once, we were privateers, of fortune and esteem,
But now we drift on the sea, in our waking dream.
The old ones who dwell in their cities of the deep,
When they ensnare a soul, it is theirs to ever keep.
The lads cannot die, and in my sleep is nightmare!
So if you hear the cry of the sirens sailor, beware.
Upon the bow of the sloop that bore us in haste…
I heard the call of a maiden as pale went my face!
No mortal maid could make music so passing fair,
I longed to join her, just wash away all my care…
No mortal man could want a dream, so very bad!
I heard the crew muttering, saying that I was mad.
My knuckles tightened on the railing, so very raw,
As my angry voice lashed out, like a raven’s caw:
Let no man judge me for none have been so bold!
I’ll not let a single mutinous swine grow to be old.
I am the captain, and these waters have a power,
So gather round and listen for nigh is a dark hour.
And all the crew, they gathered before the bow…
Every man had heard the music from below now.
Some became fearful, and prepared escape rafts,
Whilst a fire that burned not was about the masts!
Pale and blue: an omen of spirits from the depths.
Whence, came they: from out darkly sunken rifts?
They were rising up and in their ascent so mighty,
I heard songs that would have shamed Aphrodite.
Slender arms reached up and dragged men down;
As terror gripped my soul I so thought I’d drown.
On each dying man’s face was a smile so sublime!
That one might think them content to sink in brine.
I heard the voice, of one who with Dagon dines…
And I felt sharp barbs of the divine trident’s tines.
In the places where seaweed adorns maidens’ hair!
The sea gods awaken, in their long forgotten lair.
Above, the world is shaken: by old gods, stirring!
I waited for their return, their powers conferring…
Madness to those who cannot grasp the mystery,
Of those who were ancient: before man’s history.
Dagon arose that day, and sent the sirens to hunt,
For those already tainted, to drink of watery font.
I cast to the gods a coin from a Spanish treasure,
And a sea goddess showed me wicked pleasure!
My crew came up from below; I am captain still…
Now we sail forever, seeking living blood to spill!
My bride is a green maiden of the depths, a siren:
She sings when men die beneath our blades again.
Pale azure flame that consumes not, in the rigging,
Announces our ship of fools, her bell dully ringing.
Once, we were privateers, of fortune and esteem,
But now we drift on the sea, in our waking dream.
The old ones who dwell in their cities of the deep,
When they ensnare a soul, it is theirs to ever keep.
The lads cannot die, and in my sleep is nightmare!
So if you hear the cry of the sirens sailor, beware.
- A Buccaneer’s Soul -
Being a Tale of the Flying Dutchman…
Prologue: The Coasts of Jamaica
Off the coasts of Jamaica, my ship sailed on,
Along Caribbean waves that rocked, in time.
The crew is singing, and drinking much rum,
Whilst I keep to myself, preferring red wine.
I pen, some poetry to a goddess I once loved,
When in other flesh I walked, in times past…
I look out a window, at the gray skies above,
And I turn the hourglass over, as time is fast.
I watch a solitary gull, and it seems so free…
Why do men make themselves prisoners, so?
Even these hearty lads who sail on with me…
We are slaves to the wind and if it will blow!
I sharpen my cutlass, preparing for our task…
As we near English waters, our long lost port.
We seek a safer harbor, where crabs do bask!
Our vessel dares not near the Redcoats’ fort…
No welcome would be ours, only cannon fire.
And so we sail on, seeking a secretive cove…
Where a treasure lies buried, which we desire,
Though not nearly as much as I long for love!
Part One: Bloody Spanish Gold
Captain, they call me, with fear in each voice.
Am I so terrible, or have stories traveled far?
We near the ancient cave; we come by choice,
Guided by the horizon, and many a noble star.
Less noble, indeed, are these greedy sailors…
Who call me a monster without knowing true!
The gold is Spanish, bloody from many wars,
Along with sapphires glowing fairly and blue.
Men died for us to claim it as such is the way,
The bones that guarded it knew the story full.
Telling not of their secrets until the final day,
For the dead are silent, and stubborn as a bull.
The booty is divided fairly, in accord to code,
And soon we set sail again, for French waters.
But on our way the skies darken, evil to bode!
We make fast the hatches on all the quarters…
But soon, we are caught up in a mighty storm,
Of which legends speak of, and seamen fear…
As ‘woe’ cries the gulls ‘you’ll see not morn!’
We saw not the morn, nor the one I held dear.
(Alone upon some windswept crag…
He gazed out long upon the cold sea.
A voice was calling from the depths,
Which kept on saying: “Look at me!”
Of his fortunes, he dared never brag,
For they brought him not: his victory.
So many men had met bloody deaths,
During his voyage of lawless piracy!
Hell dared not accept his own bones,
And so the sea one day called to him.
She craved his passion for her own…
Prepared to drown his every dark sin.
Though he was a legend on the main,
Blood was on his hands, a dark stain!)
Part Two: The Sea Goddess
The sea took the gold, in tribute to a goddess,
As I was cast adrift, the only survivor to live!
I was wrecked on a beach, and in my distress,
I resigned myself, my soul unto death to give.
That is where she found me, most royal lady!
I call her that, for her bearing was imperious.
Though her blood was not noble it beat hotly,
And her way, to speak truth, was mysterious.
‘A buccaneer’s soul, I sense in your breast…’
She said unto me, her eyes dark as the abyss.
‘But all such times are passing, going to rest!’
And she said no more, for lusty was our kiss.
She sang me a song that took me way back…
I was adrift on the melody, her eyes my light.
I forgot about my sins under the flag black…
And my soul was lost in a dance of the night.
Morn never came, and I knew I’d passed on,
Finding peace for a time with she I’d served.
But then I spied dawn’s rays, the warm sun…
And I could not die; for that, I was unnerved.
(The pirate had known all her charms,
That undying goddess, from below…
Not spoken of by men of true reason.
She swallowed his sin, took his soul!
He forgot his name, and his old scars,
Though he could not be pure as snow.
Her time was nigh in that wild season,
And the maddest wind began to blow!
He dove from the crag in dawn’s mist,
His crew beheld his fate from the ship.
By the sea goddess he was so kissed…
And his soul was lost, with a final slip.
But his ship had sunk so long before…
And her crew drew breath never more!)
Part Three: Voyage of the Dead
How long was I captain of the black galleon?
No hourglass was there to track time passing.
She stood at my side, after all that I’d done…
Beautiful as ever, her smile perhaps laughing!
The pale crew, all taken from a watery end…
Those same who had perished under my flag!
Many of whom once I had even called friend,
In search of treasure: of which we could brag.
Hands stained with blood from their lost loot,
Their voices chill as they sang almost merrily.
Damned men all, all from head down to boot,
Never caught, by the gallows or hanging tree.
But all things we do have a price to be paid…
And no gold can stave off the hands of death!
On the seas between worlds we sailed, afraid,
My only comfort, was my goddess’s breath…
Until at last, we sailed out of that life forever.
Each man to his fate, be it perdition or peace!
Death makes of each mortal, a true believer…
And there are some torments that never cease.
(They say he arose from his wet grave,
Unable to die till dire judgment day…
His crew shared his fate as heavy cost.
They sail the seas still, all debt to pay!
No matter how much love he so gave,
Unto his ancient mistress in his way…
His soul was fated to remain thus lost.
And so closest to the sea he must stay!
Ferrying the dead to the farthest shore,
Where he himself cannot disembark…
He seeks to redeem himself once more.
In the night, he sails, when all is dark!
Still plotting a course to the next life…
Hoping to escape his eternity of strife.)
Being a Tale of the Flying Dutchman…
Prologue: The Coasts of Jamaica
Off the coasts of Jamaica, my ship sailed on,
Along Caribbean waves that rocked, in time.
The crew is singing, and drinking much rum,
Whilst I keep to myself, preferring red wine.
I pen, some poetry to a goddess I once loved,
When in other flesh I walked, in times past…
I look out a window, at the gray skies above,
And I turn the hourglass over, as time is fast.
I watch a solitary gull, and it seems so free…
Why do men make themselves prisoners, so?
Even these hearty lads who sail on with me…
We are slaves to the wind and if it will blow!
I sharpen my cutlass, preparing for our task…
As we near English waters, our long lost port.
We seek a safer harbor, where crabs do bask!
Our vessel dares not near the Redcoats’ fort…
No welcome would be ours, only cannon fire.
And so we sail on, seeking a secretive cove…
Where a treasure lies buried, which we desire,
Though not nearly as much as I long for love!
Part One: Bloody Spanish Gold
Captain, they call me, with fear in each voice.
Am I so terrible, or have stories traveled far?
We near the ancient cave; we come by choice,
Guided by the horizon, and many a noble star.
Less noble, indeed, are these greedy sailors…
Who call me a monster without knowing true!
The gold is Spanish, bloody from many wars,
Along with sapphires glowing fairly and blue.
Men died for us to claim it as such is the way,
The bones that guarded it knew the story full.
Telling not of their secrets until the final day,
For the dead are silent, and stubborn as a bull.
The booty is divided fairly, in accord to code,
And soon we set sail again, for French waters.
But on our way the skies darken, evil to bode!
We make fast the hatches on all the quarters…
But soon, we are caught up in a mighty storm,
Of which legends speak of, and seamen fear…
As ‘woe’ cries the gulls ‘you’ll see not morn!’
We saw not the morn, nor the one I held dear.
(Alone upon some windswept crag…
He gazed out long upon the cold sea.
A voice was calling from the depths,
Which kept on saying: “Look at me!”
Of his fortunes, he dared never brag,
For they brought him not: his victory.
So many men had met bloody deaths,
During his voyage of lawless piracy!
Hell dared not accept his own bones,
And so the sea one day called to him.
She craved his passion for her own…
Prepared to drown his every dark sin.
Though he was a legend on the main,
Blood was on his hands, a dark stain!)
Part Two: The Sea Goddess
The sea took the gold, in tribute to a goddess,
As I was cast adrift, the only survivor to live!
I was wrecked on a beach, and in my distress,
I resigned myself, my soul unto death to give.
That is where she found me, most royal lady!
I call her that, for her bearing was imperious.
Though her blood was not noble it beat hotly,
And her way, to speak truth, was mysterious.
‘A buccaneer’s soul, I sense in your breast…’
She said unto me, her eyes dark as the abyss.
‘But all such times are passing, going to rest!’
And she said no more, for lusty was our kiss.
She sang me a song that took me way back…
I was adrift on the melody, her eyes my light.
I forgot about my sins under the flag black…
And my soul was lost in a dance of the night.
Morn never came, and I knew I’d passed on,
Finding peace for a time with she I’d served.
But then I spied dawn’s rays, the warm sun…
And I could not die; for that, I was unnerved.
(The pirate had known all her charms,
That undying goddess, from below…
Not spoken of by men of true reason.
She swallowed his sin, took his soul!
He forgot his name, and his old scars,
Though he could not be pure as snow.
Her time was nigh in that wild season,
And the maddest wind began to blow!
He dove from the crag in dawn’s mist,
His crew beheld his fate from the ship.
By the sea goddess he was so kissed…
And his soul was lost, with a final slip.
But his ship had sunk so long before…
And her crew drew breath never more!)
Part Three: Voyage of the Dead
How long was I captain of the black galleon?
No hourglass was there to track time passing.
She stood at my side, after all that I’d done…
Beautiful as ever, her smile perhaps laughing!
The pale crew, all taken from a watery end…
Those same who had perished under my flag!
Many of whom once I had even called friend,
In search of treasure: of which we could brag.
Hands stained with blood from their lost loot,
Their voices chill as they sang almost merrily.
Damned men all, all from head down to boot,
Never caught, by the gallows or hanging tree.
But all things we do have a price to be paid…
And no gold can stave off the hands of death!
On the seas between worlds we sailed, afraid,
My only comfort, was my goddess’s breath…
Until at last, we sailed out of that life forever.
Each man to his fate, be it perdition or peace!
Death makes of each mortal, a true believer…
And there are some torments that never cease.
(They say he arose from his wet grave,
Unable to die till dire judgment day…
His crew shared his fate as heavy cost.
They sail the seas still, all debt to pay!
No matter how much love he so gave,
Unto his ancient mistress in his way…
His soul was fated to remain thus lost.
And so closest to the sea he must stay!
Ferrying the dead to the farthest shore,
Where he himself cannot disembark…
He seeks to redeem himself once more.
In the night, he sails, when all is dark!
Still plotting a course to the next life…
Hoping to escape his eternity of strife.)
