Bora born
The sleeper in the sea _
The fireplace stoked by gnarled old hands
one elbow on his knee
old Moynahan the fisherman
slurps back his cup of tea.
Inside his eyes flames flick then dance
a delvish company.
The dog's asleep, grandchildren play
the old man taps his pipe
the warm hearth loves the fire he made
Jack Frost looks on outside
with one thing only on his mind
to try to get inside.
A mother's voice cries, 'Time for bed,'
the dog pretends to yawn
the bed time bard combs through his beard
as children climb aboard.
Too late too soon their bedtime call
the fire so cosy warm.
The two girls, pull loose rugs up tight
warm beanies on their heads
a kiss for each from Pop, goodnight
upon those woolly threads.
A simple plan, no trick or treat
to beat their ice cold beds.
They snuggle in, then say to him
“The sandman's still outside
Pop, tell us how the dolphins swim
can whales learn how to fly?”
They knew their Pop would play along
no sense to reason why.
Adventure tales of canvas sails
revive inside his mind
helped along by the growing gale
in the twilight outside.
The wind to howl and rattle doors
where other worlds preside.
The old man's breath growls deep inside
still tempered with remorse
as time sets sail on a flood tide
memories dead on course
back to a time when truth was seen
to ride on history's horse.
“Oh!, shivered timbers, stories tell
of whales that surely fly
when sirens sing to tolls of bells,”
the fisherman replies.
A tale he swore he'd tell all
before his time to die.
“A salty tale I'll tell you true
of Law beneath the sea
where sirens toll their bells of woe
to set lost sailors free
from wretched ships bewitched in sound
too late for some to see.“
“Oh wow,” the children gently sigh
the dog now wags his tail
all climb aboard, the tide still high
on moonbeams they set sail.
While still outside the mist rolls in
a witness to this tale.
“There was a time,” said Moynahan
“before you two were born
when creatures talked to fishermen
from divers depths unknown.”
Some bards would write of these lost times
when cabbages wore crowns.
“Such scary things with eyes like rings
on stalks with smelly legs."
The children guessed this tale would bring
things better left unsaid
in silent yawns to drift upon
the voice of Pop their bed.
“So listen close my little ones
to stories seldom heard
when Grandpa caught a killer whale
while fishing with his beard.
A tale of rites in ancient lore
with creepy bits so weird.”
He told them of forgotten years
in histories dim like glow
back to a time when sail was king
the children both in tow
while outside in the gathered gloom
the wind began to grow.
Blue black seas birthed the morning sun
a breeze now gently stirred
waves rippled about in welcome
slap happy to be heard.
Into his dream the old man slipped
the sea alive with birds.
The morning sun stretched fingers high
blood red clouds gave new birth
to signs you set the weather by
life's water for the earth.
A sailor's rite still told in rhyme
a weather watch in verse.
A tiny boat had drifted out
some distance from the shore
old Moynahan alone inside
asleep from last night's chores
as flocks of gulls in groups of three
drowned out his muffled snores.
His fishing line lay next to him
it circled through his beard
a fishy catch to pull his chin
would make a just reward.
A trick he'd learnt when boys were men
an old salt's passing words.
The boat was drowned in fleshy eyes
of fish with glazed filled stares
no welcome in their grin like masks
for pity seldom heard.
Seagulls dressed up in dinner suits
that's all they had to wear.
An eerie quiet now settled on
the old man's troubled snores
lost waves became a sea of grease
the quiet before the storm.
The gulls in turn grew deathly quiet
mischief to soon be born.
From underneath the fishing boat
a silent shadow crept
to rise up from those gloomy depths
where phantoms kiss regret.
The chilled flat sea near froze the air
the old man's time now set.
Without a sound the dark shape loomed
no warning came his way
the dream became a nightmare
from deep beneath the waves
where chants from wayward fishermen
still mark their watery graves.
It struck the boat below the keel
the timber cracked then yawed
all in the boat thrown up on high
all eyes soon left the floor.
No one to see the old man's plight
so far to sea from shore.
The briny brew soon sucked him down
to depths so far below
old Moynahan chased the shadow
his beard still well in tow.
Just luck the old man had the mind
to hold his breath for now.
Around and down the whirlpool wound
where divers find lost fear
one hand to grasp the thick cord line
no curse could free his beard.
A sense of doom now gripped his mind
thoughts muddled far from clear.
A fetal sound of bubbled blood
soon drummed inside his ears
then up and up the mad crew raced
the sea to free his tears.
His bursting lungs put up the fight
the surface drawing near.
The ocean boiled and broke apart
the old man in despair
a whale transformed the shadow's light
the creature's rage laid bare.
Where reason still should guess his fate
airborne through the air.
His fight near gone, his luck still held
to reach a neutral ground
he just survived the Orca's breach
the scene now turns around.
And what a scene confronted him
no sense in this he found.
The sea threw up a gathering
of creatures seldom seen
the old man's borrowed fragile luck
would test his nerve again.
“I've lost,” he cried, “my eyes tell lies
too much this mystery scene.”
Amidst the host the banshee wailed
increasing to a scream
the pitch to split his ear from ear
his stomach seaweed green.
The siren of the seas had sung
her sultry song again.
She mounted on the Orca's fin
crabs fiddled where they stared
phosphorous flashed, pearl beads of green
through droplets in her hair.
A body blessed in nature's gifts
to steal all hearts too fair.
A warbled voice soaked through his mind
no lips were seen to move
eyes flashed red fire, in swirl like mists
to sparkle lights in dew.
Her beauty rare in naked form
still treasured by the few.
“Now listen all,” the banshee wailed
“to what I say to you
this old man's final time has come
we're here to take him through.
I claim his life for evermore
this rite is mine to do.”
“Set by the scales in Neptune's keep
this was his last report
the greed of men still knew no bounds
to ravage nature's stores.
To those who need to challenge me
speak up or speak no more.”
His rattled brain would not lay down
the senses sharply keen
he soaked up all his inner strength
to waken from this dream.
Beauty so rare is seldom wrent
his mind bewitched it seemed.
“Tell me something, tell me quick, say
what grief has come to you
what bitter pill has spilled your way
I'll listen, tell me true.”
Old Moynahan now dug in deep
his luck might see him through.
By gift of tale or bitter greed
no sense found in remorse
a London bus can't cruise the seas
or ride on histories horse.
In life are only choices made
to chart a distant course.
Within the hearts of creatures all
does nature make demands
no memories there, of judgment found
to make defiant stands.
“Grant me some time,” the old man cried
“to soothe your heart so grand.”
The banshee cried, “It's time to die
polluter of the seas
your waste is made at our expense
your morals diseased.
Your mortal minds of selfish pride
bring our world to it's knees.”
“Your cause effects your leaky mind
no sense for free found here
your luck has lost, that's all there is
to fish here with your beard
surrounded by the lot you've killed
the glut your pride has reared.”
His shuffled thoughts began to shape
the meaning of her words
as other voices filtered in
all begging to be heard.
The rabble soon to sort it out
the banshee's eyes were flared.
Then all the creatures of the deep
in threes they came in turn
to speak of sorry tales of woe
within the hearts of man.
In tears of pain their stories lived
as memories rose again.
“You're known to us who gather here
as looters of the sea
the arrogance of fear filled minds
who judge all life for free.
Your anti-lives are simply where
no carnal mind should be.
'The day is lost,' cried Moynahan
one arm across his knee
one glove still on his bony hand
blood red for all to see.
A symbol of his wayward mind
now bared to all for free.
Seagulls patterned turquoise skies
white caps broke rank in form
the wind caught his mournful cry
gathered in by the storm.
A cry of grief to wake the dead
who've lost the right to mourn.
Beyond the veil his mind had slipped
to reach a deeper stream
of water running over choice
the child within him seen.
And in the child he found himself
still frightened, yet pristine.
In humbled words cold pressed by lot
to plead for life again
another chance to change his ways
to reach the hearts of man.
He knew this time their case was won
he bowed in fear filled pain.
From far below a rumble came
deep seated in the sea
Leviathans from ocean depths
sentient and still free.
A spiraled dance of bubbles vents
closed on the company.
Their tortured song rumbled on, like
an earthquake far below
the sea frothed up into a foam
to leave nowhere to go.
Within the ring the company sang
a welcome long and low.
“We feel your pain lost troubled soul
you creature of the land
the greatest gift was given you
who still don't understand.
” Now all the company closed on in
to gather close at hand.
“From dust you came, to dust you go
in histories ancient lore
the land is yours to guard all life
past Eden's sandy shores.”
A pregnant pause as all held breath
to add some weight to cause.
“Your rite is guardian of the land
as we still guard the sea
in spirit creatures know your lot
your sensibilities
and if you are in doubt of this
study your own dis-ease.”
Echoed wails from the righteous dead
consumed the old man's mind
past howls blown through the growing gale
lamenting their past crimes
through centuries of glut filled greed
still searching for good times.
The banshee wailed, the mist drew back
the host recoiled in turn.
Moynahan dropped in sorrowed grief
the numbing pain now burned
as desperate crimes slow birthed in hell
found jackal barks returned.
The companies lot became a rout
a comely riotous scene.
Their task complete yet in their past
no grief like this was seen.
Compassion for the old man's fate
soon found a home it seems.
The ancient ones in troubled tone
forgave the old man's crimes
then blessed him to retell their tale
each time a chance was won.
He swore to keep his solemn word
before his life was done.
The sea swept grey, the waves tossed steep
three creatures stirred in song
an opera bound in Neptune's keep
set sail the gathered throng.
Their cause was just, a righteous one
one left to right the wrong.
Remember us the chorus rang
we swim these slimy seas
the bell still tolled so on they sang
in perfect harmony.
A company bound for Neptune's keep
so deep within the sea.
The oysters all in unison
clammed shut before they cried
Turtles clapped hands without a sound
with flippers held up high
and all the while the mist moved in
to witness their goodbye.
On a sandy beach, high and dry
with seagulls in his hair
old Moynahan came back to life
three children found him there.
A knotted cord still in his beard
a distance to his stare.
Far off the beach where white caps form
where creatures roam the sea
came the toll of a distant bell
the bell that tolls for thee.
A sound to make old Moynahan
fall down on bended knee.
By gift of grace the mists roll back
night skies soon clear outside
The girls are blissfully fast asleep
the tale has passed them by.
The sandman left to witness, the
tear in the old man's eye.
- O -
© may 2011 _ Nhawrr yirrpa
An adult fairy story ....... with an a,b,c,b,d,b rhyme scheme _ 8 and 6 syllables / line.
written in a similar form to "The Walrus and the Carpenter" by Lewis Carrol
one elbow on his knee
old Moynahan the fisherman
slurps back his cup of tea.
Inside his eyes flames flick then dance
a delvish company.
The dog's asleep, grandchildren play
the old man taps his pipe
the warm hearth loves the fire he made
Jack Frost looks on outside
with one thing only on his mind
to try to get inside.
A mother's voice cries, 'Time for bed,'
the dog pretends to yawn
the bed time bard combs through his beard
as children climb aboard.
Too late too soon their bedtime call
the fire so cosy warm.
The two girls, pull loose rugs up tight
warm beanies on their heads
a kiss for each from Pop, goodnight
upon those woolly threads.
A simple plan, no trick or treat
to beat their ice cold beds.
They snuggle in, then say to him
“The sandman's still outside
Pop, tell us how the dolphins swim
can whales learn how to fly?”
They knew their Pop would play along
no sense to reason why.
Adventure tales of canvas sails
revive inside his mind
helped along by the growing gale
in the twilight outside.
The wind to howl and rattle doors
where other worlds preside.
The old man's breath growls deep inside
still tempered with remorse
as time sets sail on a flood tide
memories dead on course
back to a time when truth was seen
to ride on history's horse.
“Oh!, shivered timbers, stories tell
of whales that surely fly
when sirens sing to tolls of bells,”
the fisherman replies.
A tale he swore he'd tell all
before his time to die.
“A salty tale I'll tell you true
of Law beneath the sea
where sirens toll their bells of woe
to set lost sailors free
from wretched ships bewitched in sound
too late for some to see.“
“Oh wow,” the children gently sigh
the dog now wags his tail
all climb aboard, the tide still high
on moonbeams they set sail.
While still outside the mist rolls in
a witness to this tale.
“There was a time,” said Moynahan
“before you two were born
when creatures talked to fishermen
from divers depths unknown.”
Some bards would write of these lost times
when cabbages wore crowns.
“Such scary things with eyes like rings
on stalks with smelly legs."
The children guessed this tale would bring
things better left unsaid
in silent yawns to drift upon
the voice of Pop their bed.
“So listen close my little ones
to stories seldom heard
when Grandpa caught a killer whale
while fishing with his beard.
A tale of rites in ancient lore
with creepy bits so weird.”
He told them of forgotten years
in histories dim like glow
back to a time when sail was king
the children both in tow
while outside in the gathered gloom
the wind began to grow.
Blue black seas birthed the morning sun
a breeze now gently stirred
waves rippled about in welcome
slap happy to be heard.
Into his dream the old man slipped
the sea alive with birds.
The morning sun stretched fingers high
blood red clouds gave new birth
to signs you set the weather by
life's water for the earth.
A sailor's rite still told in rhyme
a weather watch in verse.
A tiny boat had drifted out
some distance from the shore
old Moynahan alone inside
asleep from last night's chores
as flocks of gulls in groups of three
drowned out his muffled snores.
His fishing line lay next to him
it circled through his beard
a fishy catch to pull his chin
would make a just reward.
A trick he'd learnt when boys were men
an old salt's passing words.
The boat was drowned in fleshy eyes
of fish with glazed filled stares
no welcome in their grin like masks
for pity seldom heard.
Seagulls dressed up in dinner suits
that's all they had to wear.
An eerie quiet now settled on
the old man's troubled snores
lost waves became a sea of grease
the quiet before the storm.
The gulls in turn grew deathly quiet
mischief to soon be born.
From underneath the fishing boat
a silent shadow crept
to rise up from those gloomy depths
where phantoms kiss regret.
The chilled flat sea near froze the air
the old man's time now set.
Without a sound the dark shape loomed
no warning came his way
the dream became a nightmare
from deep beneath the waves
where chants from wayward fishermen
still mark their watery graves.
It struck the boat below the keel
the timber cracked then yawed
all in the boat thrown up on high
all eyes soon left the floor.
No one to see the old man's plight
so far to sea from shore.
The briny brew soon sucked him down
to depths so far below
old Moynahan chased the shadow
his beard still well in tow.
Just luck the old man had the mind
to hold his breath for now.
Around and down the whirlpool wound
where divers find lost fear
one hand to grasp the thick cord line
no curse could free his beard.
A sense of doom now gripped his mind
thoughts muddled far from clear.
A fetal sound of bubbled blood
soon drummed inside his ears
then up and up the mad crew raced
the sea to free his tears.
His bursting lungs put up the fight
the surface drawing near.
The ocean boiled and broke apart
the old man in despair
a whale transformed the shadow's light
the creature's rage laid bare.
Where reason still should guess his fate
airborne through the air.
His fight near gone, his luck still held
to reach a neutral ground
he just survived the Orca's breach
the scene now turns around.
And what a scene confronted him
no sense in this he found.
The sea threw up a gathering
of creatures seldom seen
the old man's borrowed fragile luck
would test his nerve again.
“I've lost,” he cried, “my eyes tell lies
too much this mystery scene.”
Amidst the host the banshee wailed
increasing to a scream
the pitch to split his ear from ear
his stomach seaweed green.
The siren of the seas had sung
her sultry song again.
She mounted on the Orca's fin
crabs fiddled where they stared
phosphorous flashed, pearl beads of green
through droplets in her hair.
A body blessed in nature's gifts
to steal all hearts too fair.
A warbled voice soaked through his mind
no lips were seen to move
eyes flashed red fire, in swirl like mists
to sparkle lights in dew.
Her beauty rare in naked form
still treasured by the few.
“Now listen all,” the banshee wailed
“to what I say to you
this old man's final time has come
we're here to take him through.
I claim his life for evermore
this rite is mine to do.”
“Set by the scales in Neptune's keep
this was his last report
the greed of men still knew no bounds
to ravage nature's stores.
To those who need to challenge me
speak up or speak no more.”
His rattled brain would not lay down
the senses sharply keen
he soaked up all his inner strength
to waken from this dream.
Beauty so rare is seldom wrent
his mind bewitched it seemed.
“Tell me something, tell me quick, say
what grief has come to you
what bitter pill has spilled your way
I'll listen, tell me true.”
Old Moynahan now dug in deep
his luck might see him through.
By gift of tale or bitter greed
no sense found in remorse
a London bus can't cruise the seas
or ride on histories horse.
In life are only choices made
to chart a distant course.
Within the hearts of creatures all
does nature make demands
no memories there, of judgment found
to make defiant stands.
“Grant me some time,” the old man cried
“to soothe your heart so grand.”
The banshee cried, “It's time to die
polluter of the seas
your waste is made at our expense
your morals diseased.
Your mortal minds of selfish pride
bring our world to it's knees.”
“Your cause effects your leaky mind
no sense for free found here
your luck has lost, that's all there is
to fish here with your beard
surrounded by the lot you've killed
the glut your pride has reared.”
His shuffled thoughts began to shape
the meaning of her words
as other voices filtered in
all begging to be heard.
The rabble soon to sort it out
the banshee's eyes were flared.
Then all the creatures of the deep
in threes they came in turn
to speak of sorry tales of woe
within the hearts of man.
In tears of pain their stories lived
as memories rose again.
“You're known to us who gather here
as looters of the sea
the arrogance of fear filled minds
who judge all life for free.
Your anti-lives are simply where
no carnal mind should be.
'The day is lost,' cried Moynahan
one arm across his knee
one glove still on his bony hand
blood red for all to see.
A symbol of his wayward mind
now bared to all for free.
Seagulls patterned turquoise skies
white caps broke rank in form
the wind caught his mournful cry
gathered in by the storm.
A cry of grief to wake the dead
who've lost the right to mourn.
Beyond the veil his mind had slipped
to reach a deeper stream
of water running over choice
the child within him seen.
And in the child he found himself
still frightened, yet pristine.
In humbled words cold pressed by lot
to plead for life again
another chance to change his ways
to reach the hearts of man.
He knew this time their case was won
he bowed in fear filled pain.
From far below a rumble came
deep seated in the sea
Leviathans from ocean depths
sentient and still free.
A spiraled dance of bubbles vents
closed on the company.
Their tortured song rumbled on, like
an earthquake far below
the sea frothed up into a foam
to leave nowhere to go.
Within the ring the company sang
a welcome long and low.
“We feel your pain lost troubled soul
you creature of the land
the greatest gift was given you
who still don't understand.
” Now all the company closed on in
to gather close at hand.
“From dust you came, to dust you go
in histories ancient lore
the land is yours to guard all life
past Eden's sandy shores.”
A pregnant pause as all held breath
to add some weight to cause.
“Your rite is guardian of the land
as we still guard the sea
in spirit creatures know your lot
your sensibilities
and if you are in doubt of this
study your own dis-ease.”
Echoed wails from the righteous dead
consumed the old man's mind
past howls blown through the growing gale
lamenting their past crimes
through centuries of glut filled greed
still searching for good times.
The banshee wailed, the mist drew back
the host recoiled in turn.
Moynahan dropped in sorrowed grief
the numbing pain now burned
as desperate crimes slow birthed in hell
found jackal barks returned.
The companies lot became a rout
a comely riotous scene.
Their task complete yet in their past
no grief like this was seen.
Compassion for the old man's fate
soon found a home it seems.
The ancient ones in troubled tone
forgave the old man's crimes
then blessed him to retell their tale
each time a chance was won.
He swore to keep his solemn word
before his life was done.
The sea swept grey, the waves tossed steep
three creatures stirred in song
an opera bound in Neptune's keep
set sail the gathered throng.
Their cause was just, a righteous one
one left to right the wrong.
Remember us the chorus rang
we swim these slimy seas
the bell still tolled so on they sang
in perfect harmony.
A company bound for Neptune's keep
so deep within the sea.
The oysters all in unison
clammed shut before they cried
Turtles clapped hands without a sound
with flippers held up high
and all the while the mist moved in
to witness their goodbye.
On a sandy beach, high and dry
with seagulls in his hair
old Moynahan came back to life
three children found him there.
A knotted cord still in his beard
a distance to his stare.
Far off the beach where white caps form
where creatures roam the sea
came the toll of a distant bell
the bell that tolls for thee.
A sound to make old Moynahan
fall down on bended knee.
By gift of grace the mists roll back
night skies soon clear outside
The girls are blissfully fast asleep
the tale has passed them by.
The sandman left to witness, the
tear in the old man's eye.
- O -
© may 2011 _ Nhawrr yirrpa
An adult fairy story ....... with an a,b,c,b,d,b rhyme scheme _ 8 and 6 syllables / line.
written in a similar form to "The Walrus and the Carpenter" by Lewis Carrol
Comment On This Poem --- Vote for this poem
The sleeper in the sea _
The sleeper in the sea _
