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Sunday, June 20, 2021
Audacity in Blue
It was “haze gray and underway”,
a mantra from my youth,
that turned me to this retrospect,
to lessons learned, in truth.
I was 19 years and counting when
they first sent me to sea.
I’m lost for words to tell you, mate,
just what it meant to me
to walk that pier and board that ship.
My heart was filled with fear
the first time that I saw her from
the Alameda pier.
Though more than fifty years have passed
I can recall it still
as if it happened yesterday.
It took near all my will
to climb aboard, salute the flag
and face that grizzled Chief
who took my papers, sized me up
and offered no relief.
“Stand fast a minute son", he said,
“does mom know you're about?”
“I’ll call the watch in radio,
we’ll sort this here s*** out.”
“Come down and claim his a**”, he said
into the duty phone,
“Ya better hurry, mate, he's much
to young to be alone.”
That chief was near to God himself
to this, my younger self,
but I’d survive, report aboard
and find my "rack", a shelf
up near the metal overhead.
With “fondness”, I recall--
I slept in Sailor heaven twixt
a steam pipe and a wall.
A “bulkhead”, not a wall, I know,
at least I know it now.
I learned this fact and others but
don’t ask me when or how.
The mists of time hang round my head
in lost and foggy lines...
the dark exotic ports of call,
the taste of foreign wines,
the days at sea, the months and years
of salty sailor lore,
the ports and bars I can’t recall--
or won’t. A distant shore...
a sea of stories heard and told,
of truth and blatant myth,
I've scant recall of ocean's crossed,
of mates that I sailed with.
Across the years the ocean breeze
has filled this sailor's sails
with gratitude and in the end,
in truth, it never fails
to fill me with amazement that
the timid lad I knew
was turned into this salty swab...
audacity in blue.
~Dean Neighbors (USN ret)~
The Drinking Gourd
The Drinking Gourd
So, I am back from a week camping with 130 sixth graders (I survived). Not much rest up there...but lots of stars. Some explanation for this poem/story:
In the old south, the star, Polaris, became a symbol of freedom to slaves as well as a guide star. As soon as they were old enough to understand, slave children were taught to locate Polaris by using the stars of the Big Dipper. (The two stars at the end of the bowl of the Big Dipper point over to Polaris, the North Star, which is the end of the handle of the Little Dipper.)
Instead of a fancy metal dipper, slaves used a hollowed-out gourd to scoop water out of a bucket to get a drink. So they referred to the Big Dipper as the Drinking Gourd.
Slaves passed the travel instructions from plantation to plantation by song. One of those songs…. a song with many various words and verses, was “the drinking gourd song”.
With some big butterflies and with wide open eyes
he ran off the first chance that he saw
for the freedom that lies under cold northern skies…
there was no time for tellin’ his pa.
With his fears held inside and inherited pride,
when his mamma’s goodbyes had been said…
he would walk as he cried, with a field workers stride
and the drinking gourd song in his head.
“Run to freedom, young man, when the sun comes on back;
when the quails return south in the spring.
You be holdin’ on tight to your old gunny sack
and the thought of what freedom will bring.”
Now, it’s been twenty years and his runnin’s long done
yet he hears his Ma’s voice at his leavin’.
“Ride the railroad, my son, flee the whip and the gun,
run away without stoppin’ or grievin’.”
“At the end of the handle, a glorious light;
no book-written map could shine bolder.
“Keep you eyes on the gourd in the far northern night;
let the south wind blow over your shoulder.”
More information on the drinking gourd:
click here
Edited by: thewebsailor at: 10/6/03 2:19 am
Against the odds
We’d read the script but didn’t know our parts,
two understudies wearing sweet disguise
but hope was grounded firmly in our hearts
and pure and simple love shone in our eyes.
We were too young to know we were too young,
the truth was bitter truth on this account,
as fragile love lay silent on our tongues,
an obstacle that youth could scarce surmount.
The music and the poetry agree,
if voice can set a reason to a rhyme,
if stars can lend their beauty to the sea
then who are we to quibble with the time.
Our wishes ruled the world and dreams came true...
you’re still in love with me… and me with you.
Friday, June 18, 2021
Another Path To Sundown
the cowboy reins his mount
and, from his shirt, takes out to read
his Mother’s grim account.
With worried mind he sits astride
his one and only friend,
then lets her pick her to find
a shelter from the wind.
Down among the trees there is
a camp they’ve used before,
an Aspen meadow memory
along the river shore.
He stakes the horse and settles in
to contemplate the sight,
the ever changing splendor of
a Rocky Mountain night.
In sweet familiar solitude,
he ponders by and by,
in council with the summer breeze
the mountains and the sky.
He drifts upstream in memory
to where he’s been of late,
then down the stream of time he rides
to contemplate his fate.
Tomorrow's track may bring him to
a rapid or a fall.
He wonders, should he chase his dreams,
or heed his mother's call?.
the massive guards of nature's realm,
eternal, posted yet...
to host the seeds of what's to come,
the redirect the wind,
to shunt the raging river flow,
and force the stream to bend.
In nature's own cathedral,
underneath the Milky Way
he makes a choice to ride for home
before the break of day.
Another path to sundown, to
the peace for which he's yearned,
he's found his way but isn't yet...
the prodigal returned.
~Dean Neighbors~
08 June, 2021
Denver, Colorado
Monday, June 14, 2021
Drink of Life
but all of that matters so little. It’s true
because of the fortunate presence of you.
We’ve matching insanities, perfectly synched
we stare and we stare then together we blink
Compatible vices, no reasons to hide
with hearts on our sleeves we will stumble in stride.
When life gives me lemons, I know what to make,
I’ve gallons and gallons, I’m filling a lake.
And wasn’t it fortunate, nearly a sin
that I should meet one to whom life would give Gin.
Words
Inspired by “The Story of English” by Robert McCrum, William Cran and Robert MacNeil.
Our words surround us like the sea
The words we hold, perchance discard,
On Dublin streets, in Kingston bars
the sum of all that man has wrought,
© 2006 W.D. Neighbors
The words surround us like the sea
and, as the dark abyss will peak,
will ebb and swell with mystery,
so will the language that we speak.
The words we hold, perchance discard,
will differ with the where and whence,
yet English grows with each new card,
homogenized by common sense.
On Dublin streets, in Boston bars
the speech will sing its odd refrain.
Our language bears its local scars
yet stays intact and shall remain
the sum of all that man has wrought,
his precious words, his common thought.
© 2006 W.D. Neighbors
Sunday, June 13, 2021
Etchings
a hero of the legendary screens,
but never saw him scared enough to puke,
and never heard him grunt behind the scenes.
The military called them to a man
except the golden children in reserve
whose Daddies knew the secrets of the plan
and all the students grading on the curve.
Opposed were led directly to the blame,
the dead were on the news before us all.
Survivors had to live or die with shame
for not becoming etchings on the wall.
- the forward part of a ship below the deck, traditionally used as the crew's living quarters.
- HISTORICALa raised deck at the front of a ship.
Wednesday, June 9, 2021
Drinking from My Saucer, by John Paul Moore
I love this poem. It's maybe the most understated, subtle positive thing I've ever read. "I'm drinking from my saucer 'cause my cup has overflowed."
John Moore was a Manx poet and privateer of the late 18th Century. Originally from Camlork, in Braddan, Isle of Man,[1] Moore later settled in Bride, where he owned an inn. It was here that he came to be known as “John the Tiger” due to his often singing the song describing his time as the privateer on board The Tiger.[2]
I’ve never made a fortune and it’s probably too late now.
But I don’t worry about that much, I’m happy anyhow.
And as I go along life’s way, I’m reaping better than I sowed.
I’m drinking from my saucer, ‘Cause my cup has overflowed.
I don’t have a lot of riches, and sometimes the going’s tough.
But I’ve got loved ones around me, and that makes me rich enough.
I thank God for his blessings, and the mercies He’s bestowed.
I’m drinking from my saucer, ’Cause my cup has overflowed.
I remember times when things went wrong, my faith wore somewhat thin.
But all at once the dark clouds broke, and the sun peeped through again.
So God, help me not to gripe about the tough rows that I’ve hoed.
I’m drinking from my saucer, ‘Cause my cup has overflowed.
If God gives me strength and courage, when the way grows steep and rough.
I’ll not ask for other blessings, I’m already blessed enough.
And may I never be too busy, to help others bear their loads.
Then I’ll keep drinking from my saucer, ‘Cause my cup has overflowed.
~John Paul Moore ~