VOYAGE OF THE TAUREAN

Once I have left these sullen shores

With my paddles and my oars,

I will not look back over my shoulder with hurting heart

And I will not return from whence I depart.

 

This is to be a journey like no other previous

Momentous, magnificent,meaningful, mischievous.

In truth, I know not where I will go

Or the unheralded haven of my halo

 

But I will go because I have the means and the will to go

And I will have no shadow.

The ultimacy of my destiny and my fate

Will Lie in Gods hands worthy of the welcome and the wait.

 

For  this voyage at least if not for others.

Offers not what a simple sailor so easily discovers.,

I will have no crew, no skipper, no pre-demise,,

Only  harnassed hope and  a sense of enterprise.

 

Born out of cradled curiosity, atomic adventure.

Never lost but scribed in this deft denture..

I dare to leave behind the flirtations and the favours of the lusting lagoon

If it ever is a day too soon..

 

There will be no moment for regret.

There will be nothing to forget.

This is to be a voyage without dimension

Timeless and unmeasured in distance,  a physical pension.

 

Oh to have been in the company of  sacred ships

That traverse the horizons and the eclipse.,

Ferries and freighters, barges and paddle steamers,

Be they the maritime world of realists and dreamers.

 

I think I have always been a boat

To Sail  the oceans of the world afloat,

To circumnavigate earth’s continental land masses

Amid the giant gorges and crevasses..

 

I go with wily wonder and aimless abandon,

Oblivious to any penitence.

God alone will be my constant  companion

And life itself my daily defence..

 

I am as unsung as I am safe and sound.

And one day,I know for sure,  I will run aground.

I am but an exalted and expectant euphorian,

For now you will know me only as the Taurean.

 

I am a tried and tested vessel of meagre, mortal means

Education eeked out only by the force of nature’s submarines.

Oh wise and whispering wind take me where I need to go

And where, wind, only you can  blow.

 

The perils of piracy hark the dangers of the mission.

And are transparent in my parting vision.

So as I speak with truth and journey in quest

Peace on earth is that for which I am so boldly blessed.

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A LUMINEUM

There are stars in your eyes

That twinkle and shine.

That reach for the skies

And light up a world just begging to be mine.

 

Venture to look into those starry eyes, and I see

As well as feel a wondrous woman much.

A lumineum of light so fantastic and free

Transcendant and tantalizing, tempting to touch.

 

One stellar among a million stars

That dares to shine this bright

That nurtures the nouveau of my memoirs

On this and any numinous night.

 

Oh she (and who is she?) that has touched a nerve

And pulled a heartstring?

Who is she that serves the Hors d’oevres

To another living being?

 

This is that special moment, when

Vision is captured by the imagination.

When a door to another world doth open

And poetry doth salivate sensation.

 

Yes, I have seen your starry eyes before

In another time and place.

But now, within,  I see the glory of you and so much more,

A gentleness, a grandeur no greater grace.

 

There will never be another moment such as this

That your world will capture so.

That takes your breath away in the portal premise

That will ever be your shining starry shadow.

 

You are indeed a lumineum of light so truly blessed,

This darkened soul of thou you do so illuminate.

Your presence today is like a time-honored guest,

This mortal man can only behold and contemplate..

 

I can see what others cannot

And I can know beyond the portrayal..

I can understand what has long been forgot

In every intricate, intimate detail..

 

Thank you dear lady for your company today

And for the providence of your luminous light.

Now grab the reigns of your horse and make your way

Through the darkness of the night.

THE LIFE STORY OF A STONE

I am a Stone and this is my short life story.

They say that I have the heart of a stone.

Who knows?  Stone the crows!

They say you can’t get blood out of a stone.

Stone me!

So I must be done for then,  well and truly,

Because take a look at this Rolling Stone that gathers no moss.

Ok I know.

I can sink like a stone

And I am only a stone’s throw away from infinity.

In fact, everything I do in this life is a stepping stone ‘indeed’ to the next.

And my legacy might be carved in stone.

Am I really stone-cold sober as I pen this?

Or am I just stoned?

Hey good people, they say that if you live in a glass house, don’t throw stones

And that sticks and stones will break my bones, but do you know, words will never hurt me.

So let me remind you then that he who casts the first stone

Might just leave no stone unturned.

Ridicule is a funny thing.

And I might as well kill two birds with one stone, so to speak.

Stone me!

Alas, a stony silence prevails.

I’ve reached my milestone, the end of my life story.

 

THE TAUREAN – THE MOURNING

It is the mourning after the day before.

There is a vacant berth at the quayside in the harbour.

The Taurean is missing

Whereas yesterday was destructive in its wake with strong gusts of wind and torrential downfall of rain, today is infinitely calm.

A local reporter is quick to the scene.  He senses a sensational story

The local reporter can ask all the questions he wants but he will not get the answers he yearns for

I was once he, inquisitive, curious, fresh, ambitious, determined, brazen questing fame but I charter a different course now.

Freedom is a wonderful thing and you can only really know what it is once you have removed yourself from all the shackles which are placed upon you in a lifetime.

As a human or as a boat, you are as one.

In life, you do not choose where you want to go but the place inexplicably chooses you and you must allow fate rather than faith to blindly lead you..

Now I am totally free to go wherever I wish to go, with whoever I choose, whenever I choose and in whatever form I choose.  There are no perameters.

Believe me, I am a vessel at peace.

It was many years ago that I left my homeland and sailed to foreign pastures thousands of miles away to a place with a different culture and set of customs alien to anything I had previously experienced.

I have been accepted within the community of the harbour more for heritage and privilege than sociality because the locals boast of having an Englander in their midst.

We refer in life to baggage and I carry a burdensome cargo of three marriages and four children.  This is where my journey took me.  I can thank my lucky stars that I was blessed.

The woman who reported my disappearance yesterday to the local constabulary, has returned to the scene and is questioned by the reporter.

The bouquet of flowers she lay at the scene yesterday at day-break has long been blown away.

The odd thing is that she can still see the Taurean at its moorings.

The reality is that her vision is not shared by others.

That which has perished is still with the living world  and has become an onlooker to the mourning of its passing.

If a man can be a ghost, then why not a boat?

The woman loved the Taurean with all her heart and soul, offering humble sacifice in the knowledge that her rewards in so doing would never be just or tangible.

She sailed on the Taurean more times than she will ever wish to divulge.  She was his mistress in every imaginable sense.

Her children know not.  It was a well-kept secret.  For harmony sake.

How ironic is it that I cannot swim and that  I have had a fear of deep water all my life.

To be therefore a boat upon the ocean waters of the planet, there can be no greater contrast.

Or indeed any greater legacy.

Sixty years is a lifetime.  Photographs, letters,documents and a family tree are testimony to that fact and the marinology of life itself.

The realization is that my journey in life has not ended but that it has just begun.

The Taurean has entered a realm of eternal freedom and peace.

So much for the Mourning.

A CHRISTMAS DAY STORY (AN ANALOGY) (THE BOAT)

The boat has left its moorings at the quayside of the harbour and is drifting aimlessly out at sea, orientated only by the will of the wind and the grace of God.

Its absence from the berth goes unnoticed because everyone is too busy leading their own lives to even notice that the boat slipped out in the darkness of the night, that it was not secured to its anchor by those who are conscienable for the task.

The elements will take the boat to where it will ever go.  Sixty years more or less on the waters of the earth and it comes to this, thrashed in the centric cradle of the ocean.

It is a boat without a paddle, an udder, an engine, a sail, a mast or a navigator to bring it back,

Wishfulness, hope, play into the hands of despair on the wasteful wings of prayer.

When the dawn breaks, as it will soon, the craft will be no more than debris, sunken below the waves and lost to the world in which it once sailed, shipwrecked on the ocean sea-bed and never seen again.

And you come to wonder how did it come to this?

Whatever happened to the TLC (tender loving care) which was supposed to have been shown by a keeper, a guardian, a custodian, for such a loving vessel of these waters?

A boat is, after all, everything in life that we are as as human being.  It has a life.  It has a heart and soul.  It breathes the same air we do.  It reaches out to the heavens and touches the sky.  It sails the waters and it lives our dreams as we live the dream of it.

The family and friends of the boat are now in mourning.  The tears of inner-most terror raid out from a grey winter sky and a kindly woman with her three young children, suitably dressed for a church gathering on this Christmas Day morning, pass by the vacant berth in the harbour.

It is as if she knows this story but in truth she does not.  She lays a small bouquet of flowers at the quayside and walks away.  Her children gaze out to the open sea beyond the harbour, beyond the white house of the harbour-master and the distant shape of the lighthouse on the foggy horizon.

The boat has sunk and sixty years are but a memory to the ocean.

DELIVERANCE

I have no idea who E.S. Whipple is but I stumbled upon his quote in a school library. It was he who said that ‘a book is a lighthouse erected in the great sea of time’.

It is that quote which has inspired this poem.

Put a book into the palm of my hand

And I will be its reader.

Without any limitation to what I can readily understand

Or the fodder of the feeder.

 

Once just a thought, then written down, later published

To a waiting world not yet suspecting.

But in a thousand years could it ever be wished

That the prize of knowledge is worth collecting?

 

Books are, after all, the cradle of our knowledge,

If not a lighthouse erected in the great sea of time.

They are the benevolence of our cultured college,

Leading us to where we’re surely goin’

 

Without you, Book, as some part of my life,

I would be despondent and distinctly destitute.

Can there ever be a failing of mankind to permit such suffering and such outright strife

When the force and power of literature is absolute.

 

Gosh, I still remember that delirious day

When first as a young child, I could read.

How the blessing and good fortune of Gods grace came my way

And showed me difference between greed and need..

 

Books have an uncanny way of saying things

To you no human being ever can.

Deliverance is simply sourced from eternal springs

To every able-bodied man.

 

I see the lighthouse over yonder

As I stroll along the beach.

This is a moment to wonder

And feel a sense of destiny within my reach.

 

What if all the words ever written

Are no more than an inglorious monsoon?

Let rip the sudden storm,  unrestrained and unforbidden.

On this October afternoon.

 

The words have found me, as they will find you too,

So be gladdened and  heartily contented.

A poet must do what a poet must surely do,

Write passionate poetry unlamented.

 

And so I come to express my greatest gratitude

To that lighthouse erected in the great sea of time.

God has willed from me this mystical and marvellous mood

As I have put pen to paper and words to rhyme.

 

As I stroll further, I’m enveloped by a mist

But the shadow outline of the lighthouse remains.

I have written this poem now.  I have reminisced

And Deliverance reigns.

NEED A FRIEND

I need a friend who listens

And pays me due attention.

I need a friend who reasons

The rationale of my comprehension.

I need a friend.

 

I need a friend who reaches out

In every possible dimension.

I need a friend who is all about

The measure of my extension.

I need such a friend.

 

I need a friend who’s ears and eyes

To everything that I do.

I need a friend who can spring that element of surprise

And yet be so totally true.

I need that kind of friend.

 

I need a friend who laughs and cries

And on whom I can definitely depend.

I need a friend who is wonderful and worldly-wise,

I need that faithful friend.

 

I need a friend who sees what I see

And hears what I hear.

I need a friend who is everything to me,

Who’s honest, humble and sincere.

I need that friend.

 

I need a friend who’s the very fabric of my existence

And the essence of who I am within.

I need a friend who has zero resistance

To the gravity of my sin.

I need that friend.

 

I need a friend who touches a nerve

And feels as I do indeed.

I need a friend who’s possessed of veritable verve

To be my one true friend in need.

Oh how I need that friend.

 

I need a friend who represents an ideal

Of life itself on earth.

I need a friend who is not just real

But the calculation of my life’s worth.

I need a friend.

 

I need a friend who drives and motivates

As a spiritual pioneer.

I need a friend who thrives and necessitates

I need you now dear.

Friend, I need you dear.