Nether Side
Below the Black Deck
The crew is entranced.
On the low ceiling,
The Black Deck's
Nether side as it were,
A painting is taking shape
From brushstrokes of one of the crew.
Nearby, another crew artist
With the more popular effort.
No ordinary brushes they use,
The bristles like chameleons,
And at each soft point's touch
The Black Deck responds
And depicts a tale.
Ishmael comes below to see
What's about.
Taken with admiration,
He councils the crew,
"Work needs your eyes too,
Don't make a habit of viewing these tales when work's to do."
"Who might they be?" he questions the crew.
"French!"
"Oh, from the Nautilus...
You two, what might your names be?"
"Delacroix, one word, three syllables, rhymes with Ha!"
"And you who can barely reach?"
"Fragonard, one word..."
"From the North, the Black Dragon
Flight!!",
From above, the masthead lookout's warning...
"All hands on the Black Deck!"
Ishmael commands.
The crew all reach above their heads,
And where their hands touch,
The Black Deck pearlesces,
Assigning each their combat orders,
The Black Ship's battle design.
Foraging
Along the night boulevard,
I sight a fellow with his knapsack
And his new black puppy on a leash,
The puppy sniffing, foraging for scents everywhere--
The sidewalk cement, the curb.
Arrived from the night main streets, home,
I open the fridge for the food, half can remaining,
Emptied atop the dry kibble,
Maya's, my dog's, late dinner
In the silver bowl she polishes and rings.
DolphinWords
Notes: Well, I wanted to get Delacroix aboard, and, why not, Fragonard too...the word 'stilted' keeps coming to mind!...but not everything can be poem formed 'on'...Whittier's 'Snowbound' is...the meter never failing, nor the rhymes, and both so smooth as to be unobtrusive...I read it at 'prose' pace...which is what's above too...hmmph...there's like some scale to this...the longer a poem is the more prose like it becomes...short poems often don't 'catch' the first time through, like not getting a joke...more readings are needed...Snowbound, Coleridge's the Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner, they trundle right along...I haven't looked at the Rhyme in a long while...brb...
quote
from The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner
See! see! (I cried) she tacks no more!
Hither to work us weal;
Without a breeze, without a tide,
She steadies with upright keel!
Hither to work us weal;
Without a breeze, without a tide,
She steadies with upright keel!
The western wave was all a-flame.
The day was well nigh done!
Almost upon the western wave
Rested the broad bright Sun;
The day was well nigh done!
Almost upon the western wave
Rested the broad bright Sun;
When that strange shape drove suddenly
Betwixt us and the Sun.
Betwixt us and the Sun.
And straight the Sun was flecked with bars,
(Heaven's Mother send us grace!)
As if through a dungeon-grate he peered
With broad and burning face.
(Heaven's Mother send us grace!)
As if through a dungeon-grate he peered
With broad and burning face.
Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud)
How fast she nears and nears!
Are those her sails that glance in the Sun,
Like restless gossameres?
How fast she nears and nears!
Are those her sails that glance in the Sun,
Like restless gossameres?
Are those her ribs through which the Sun
Did peer, as through a grate?
And is that Woman all her crew?
Is that a DEATH? and are there two?
Is DEATH that woman's mate?
Did peer, as through a grate?
And is that Woman all her crew?
Is that a DEATH? and are there two?
Is DEATH that woman's mate?
unquote
There's a bit from Snowbound I wanted to quote...brb...
quote
A careless boy that night he seemed;
But at his desk he had the look
And air of one who wisely schemed,
And hostage from the future took
In trainëd thought and lore of book.
But at his desk he had the look
And air of one who wisely schemed,
And hostage from the future took
In trainëd thought and lore of book.
Large-brained, clear-eyed, of such as he
Shall Freedom’s young apostles be,
Who, following in War’s bloody trail,
Shall every lingering wrong assail;
All chains from limb and spirit strike,
Uplift the black and white alike;
Scatter before their swift advance
The darkness and the ignorance,
The pride, the lust, the squalid sloth,
Which nurtured Treason’s monstrous growth,
Made murder pastime, and the hell
Of prison-torture possible;
Shall Freedom’s young apostles be,
Who, following in War’s bloody trail,
Shall every lingering wrong assail;
All chains from limb and spirit strike,
Uplift the black and white alike;
Scatter before their swift advance
The darkness and the ignorance,
The pride, the lust, the squalid sloth,
Which nurtured Treason’s monstrous growth,
Made murder pastime, and the hell
Of prison-torture possible;
The cruel lie of caste refute,
Old forms remould, and substitute
For Slavery’s lash the freeman’s will,
For blind routine, wise-handed skill;
A school-house plant on every hill,
Stretching in radiate nerve-lines thence
The quick wires of intelligence;
Till North and South together brought
Shall own the same electric thought,
In peace a common flag salute,
And, side by side in labor’s free
And unresentful rivalry,
Harvest the fields wherein they fought.
Old forms remould, and substitute
For Slavery’s lash the freeman’s will,
For blind routine, wise-handed skill;
A school-house plant on every hill,
Stretching in radiate nerve-lines thence
The quick wires of intelligence;
Till North and South together brought
Shall own the same electric thought,
In peace a common flag salute,
And, side by side in labor’s free
And unresentful rivalry,
Harvest the fields wherein they fought.
from Snow-bound, A Winter Idyl
John Greenleaf Whittier
unquote
Electricity was new to everyone then, and it's interesting to see how it appears in these old poems...Coleridge is beyond!
...three syllables, rhymes with bard...
...three syllables, rhymes with bard...
:)
DavidDavid
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