Kenneth, loves satire and writings to spotlight others, but he also has an "addiction" so to speak, to dramatic and abstract/prose poetry.
Charge light, yon’ green hands, the sea is not happy with ye,
Mist, fog, and raging water act like black-cloaked assassins sure.
Us old mariners sitting to do our time, ne’er bother with me.
Young’uns tall and pure, stand proud, draw the line, and talk pure.
My wrinkles shiver to and fro and “Boney,” my pal, sits sleeping
I notice ye’ vessel, yes, I do. Such a bare beauty she is,
Young uns’ye’ have trouble such as I speak, ye’ got drops a seeping.
My girlfriend's name is Shirley Ann, nope, it is Carolyn Liz.
Ye’ best run, jam, and stop the leak with net, galley cloth and sail
With this storm, waves slashing your face, fear their terror.
Work swiftly. Say nothing. “The Queen Sea,” is not a tale!
Ye’ will feel the water, dark, and breath hot such as their fervor.
Oh, my old lady-a squawking like a raven ill, I smoke my Turtle back pipe
And grin, smile, and grin some more, you see?
I feel my years, I know my tears, the old body is not very ripe.
The yon’ young uns’ see them vanish . . .listen to ‘em talk the tripe!
Oh, sailors come and sing with us—see the skies how red and thin
Oh, mariners run and shake our hands—see how the oceans now still.
Yes, sailors of a doom or two, walk slowly tell of the phantom’s been . . .
Hmmm, young un’s talk . . .sing . . .dance the darkness away . . .
Take life at your fill . . .oh yes, young un’s . . .take life at your fill.
© 2020 Kenneth Avery