Event DreadPoet Storytime -- Official Story Thread

Ghost Ship, and Flying, Soaring, were presented by Ben Gone at Story Time, 9/18/2017


Ghost Ship

Deep is the night though lit by full moon
Closed in as a blanket, the doldrums did swoon
Wispy like waifs of low fog embrace
Light stirring dark seas, this silvery lace

Silence as silent as the ocean can reap
For untold centuries, the secrets to keep
The mists damp the sounds to a hushed, whispered muffle
The small wavelets subdued so the clack just a snuffle

Across the dying moon,
-----Across this dead, glass sea
Hails a ghostly-like ship, a specter glides free
So yellow this moon dipping to the sea
It outlines this ship, as black as can be

No living hand on its board, to show it a way
No life to be found to hold it in sway
Adrift, it is, with no direction or scheme
Deserted by all, or so it would seem

No sound did it make but a creak and low groan
No emotion or thought was found in the tone
No breath did escape past the hush of the night
Thus holding its peace, its weariness outright

Mournful, despairing, its long journey past
Gone are the glories of battles amassed
Abandoned, forgotten, by its maker’s strong hand
Left to the tides with none to command

Long looking in silence for the port of its dreams
No hand on the tiller, so lost as it seems
No hand to guide to a last resting place
No maker but human to bring long-lasting grace



Flying, Soaring
-a Petrarchan sonnet-

Billowing! Billowing! —stretched taut the sheets,
tensioning the blocks in vibrations singing,
as the masts scrape the clouds while gallantly swinging
and the helm is held steady as it windwardly beats

Surging! —past brine in unfloundered feats
with the spray flashing past in storm showers stinging
while it surfs the waves that nature keeps slinging
and frothy white foam hurtles past and retreats

On snowy-white wings the ships will set sail,
gliding smoothly across the rolled restless waves,
as graceful as seabirds go soaring in flight
And, with every breath that the wind will exhale,
the prow meets the surge —in helms direction, it paves —
as flying engines drive forward with power and might
 
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Neptune's Trident
By Dread Poet Roberts 9/18/2017


Neptune’s angry Trident swirls wind wrath and foam

The seas an angry purple heading form my home

Tossed and turned the monster eye

Fates in the heavens to live or to die



The rain stings upon my face

Pierces the mountain protection

Detritus

The world shrinks as each shard ripped away

A giant toddler enraged smashing everything in its path

Flinging human sized legos into the air

Shatters with a resounding snap and crash



Instinctively I dive

Beneath the mattress I close my eyes nightly

My only respite

Lashed against the train howls of the storm

Bear down upon me

Blood Orange the sky

Now opened up in the roof above

Vanished



A thin line between heaven and hell

The calm of the stars above

Momentary respite

A chance to feel

To live

In the moment before all is snatched away

Violence in beauty most plain

All that we see

All that we know

To the heavens they all go

And we who are not vacuumed away

By the wind and the fury

Live to face another day

The desolate landscape forever changed

God’s winnowing hand

As we ourselves are changed

Released of the prison of things

We live again and that is all that matters

When in sweetness that last raindrop falls

From Neptune’s Trident
 
Memory Mirror
delivered by DreadPoet Roberts 9/18/2017


Memory Mirror


A proud looking glass am I,

Sentry of morning hues

Brilliant first rays of day

Recording a multitude of memories

Of all we do and say.a


When first I met you

So tiny and small

I must have seemed gigantic

Plastered on the wall


My golden frame shimmers

As you silently pay peek-a-boo

Reflecting your smiles

A new friend for you.


I stood by as you matured

Mom’s makeup and dresses tried on for size

Too big for now

But I witnessed the magic in your eyes

Effervescent reflection transformed.


All your hopes and dreams,

Fill the corners of my frames,

I revel in your images,

And quickly passing fame,

Each wish a shooting star,

So brilliant and so alive,

Silently recorded in my silvery reflection.


The dress fits perfectly now,

As you prepare for that big day,

A doorbell ringing in the distance,

To take you on that big date.


Worry not I whispered to you,

He’ll like you just the way you are,

I’ve stood here for watchful years,

Calming all of your hopes and fears.


A new face in the mirror today,

A bride in white,

A groom in black,

Together you stand,

A thousand new memories ready to be born,

I go with you to this special place,

Silently recording all you say,

Memories of a new family started on this day.
 
The River Styx was presented by Canon Bluefire at Story Time, 10/2/2017

As Dante has said:
“O Muses! O High Genius! Be my aid!
O Memory, recorder of the vision,
here shall your true nobility be displayed!”
The “Inferno” not staid…

The River Styx

Oh, humans so bold and so fearless,
so clever and cunning by name,
listen well and do not be careless
of a story that would rankle the sane
in a plummeting thread of afflictedness;
an eternal perturbation of pain…

Four black horses, with chariot drawn,
heed their masters desire and wish,
and slog the ground where demons spawn
in unyielding frenzy with their tails a-swish
Feared and loathed is the sight thereon
where Hades rides; and hopes all squish

A well-traveled road, to the jaws of the portal,
of dusty desolation through a waterless maw
Then, through to the river for bound souls immortal,
a journey for the darned, who cannot withdraw
And there stands a demon who has cause to chortle,
and thus stands a sight inspiring feint hearted awe

Foul in garb and abhorrent in sight
and nourished on anguish without a care
Haggard and unkempt, this bearded fright,
with untrimmed masses of rat-nested hair
Hellfire burnished and tempered vile blight
Poxed skin stretched thin, where bone is not bare

The bones that extend beyond your sleeve,
crooked in intent and silent in might,
point at me as though to thieve
and steal away with darkness of night,
and leave me lost to moan and bereave
with utter destruction, my souls great plight

And so, greedy Charon, your care for a coin,
a coin you require of travelers to ferry
across the Acheron and later Styx, enjoin
with no time to question, ponder or tarry
A demon allowed no soul purloin,
with the judgment of the darned,
…you must be merry

The woeful sounds on the Acheron’s bank,
of those you cast glazed eyes aflame
and will not ferry (as though a prank),
beg to cross and end the shame
of being undead, and sourly dank,
and visiting the living as though to maim

Haunting the earth for a hundred years
as a phantom specter of tortured distain
in a ghastly limbo of torrid tears
as loved ones curse with quiet refrain
The debts well paid and not arrears,
dreaded ferryman, release the pain

And so, the Acheron, which many shall gain,
the river of woe, begins its stiff draw
to the hell-burnished proper of Hades’ domain,
to the land of desolate abominable flaw
Loud is the howling in hideous pain
to which grief ascends till the senses go raw

Opportunists once absorbed in a self-centered vein,
condemned for their crime and punished for their pursuit,
of not good or evil, but intense personal gain,
are now chased by wasps who swarm to pollute
and cause blood and vile pus to flow freely and drain
and drip from fingers and toes in befoulment acute

Around and around will they stumble and fumble
and rise up again in the most certain of terms
But, as they blister and boil, their stomach shall rumble,
and their throat shall swell closed as their vomit affirms
the spoil of their innards as they cower and crumble
and disassemble to the glee of squirming maggots and worms

But for those who would not linger here,
compelled by Minos command and fate,
those with wrathful and sullen sneer,
shall ferry the Styx, the river of hate
And gleeful Charon, who with vision clear,
sees the blights that yet await….
 
 
Ghosts of the Cove Presented by Charlotte Ironphoenix on 10/02/17

Tonight I share a tale from my own adventures. Mark you well what I say and know that every word I speak is truth.

I remember it was when I was a young girl, a new sailor still with raw hands, that I first heard the stories of Raven's Cove. Of how after three days and three nights of the East India Trading Company and Jolly Roger's armies fighting, the island was laid bare, the citizens slain and naught but ravenous ghosts and ruin left in their wake. Possessing a curiosity that is both unfitting for a woman and unhealthy for the heart, when I came into command of my own ship I eventually desired to look upon this island and see it for myself.

Asking for the heading at the King's Arm, I was nearly laughed out of the tavern. Aye they told me it was death to go to that place alone. But I was advised that if I went through with my madness I should go in the day and leave the place well before nightfall.

Though I left early in the morning before even the bakers had risen from their beds, Raven's Cove was still a long ways away and it was noon before I reached it. I rowed my little dingy from my ship to the ruined wharf and from that first step onto the gray, rotted wood I was filled with dread.

The place is as dark and grim as all the stories say. I was greeted by human bones at a destroyed barricade by the harbor and for a moment I considered leaving right then. But I did not. I went forward, my footsteps crunching in the dirt seeming impossibly loud, but aside from the quiet thrum of the ocean and the throaty croak of distant ravens, there were no sounds but the ones I was making.

Yet still I was careful to stay as quiet as possible, ever wary for whatever thing might lay in wait around the next corner. I explored the abandoned town, astounded by the eeriness of a once lively place now barren of life. It was a clear warning of what would happen if we pirates failed against Jolly Roger. For a moment I saw Tortuga quite clearly, the buildings turned into charred husks, the streets empty except for the bodies of the slain and the ravens that were picking their bones clean.

It is not a sight I ever wish to see again.

I turned around the corner of a building and with a restrained shout I came face to sword with another pirate. He had a weathered face and half mad eyes,

"You aren't a ghost," he didn't put the sword away as he said, "why are you here?"

"I am only exploring," I said to him, "I wanted to see for myself the place that is so forsaken that not even Jolly Roger wanted to keep it."

He took a few steps back, "Suit yourself. No one will save you when the Red Ghosts kill you." He turned then and ran off in the direction I had come from.

A chill climbed up to my neck. Were the stories really true? I had never seen a ghost and had been told often as a child that they were naught but fantasy.

God condemn me for my bloody curiosity. I was warned, fervently, that I must leave Raven's Cove before the sun set and it was nearing dusk now. But I would not be such a good pirate if I was a coward easily scared by only words. I made the decision to stay.

Secreting myself into a hiding place by the ruin of the jail, I sat down to wait, my loaded flintlock tucked into my sash and my naked sword laying across my lap.

And I waited.

A fog crawled through the rocky crags that the town of Raven's Cove had been built into and the moisture made my clothes stick to my already clammy skin. I had never seen such a darkness as the black that filled that place and the moonlight scarcely touched the ground. It almost felt suffocating, as if the night was pressing on me, trying to smother me with it's inky mantle. Yet out of the black I saw a faint glow forming, fiery red but transparent.

And then I heard the wail.

Such a sound I have never heard! It turned me to ice on the spot. I doubt I could have roused my body to move if I had tried. My eyes were glued to the eerie glow. The red light hovered as if it were a mist, drifting aimlessly about. All was fine... until it started to hover slowly towards my direction.

An electric jolt of fear shocked feeling back into my body and I jumped to my feet. In my panic I took out my pistol and shot the thing once right in the middle of it. The ghost screamed and I saw that it's empty eyes were locked on me as the mist coalesced into the shade of a man.

"You shouldn't be here," he moaned.

I turned tail and ran as fast as I could, all thought of fighting gone as my pulse thundered in my ears like a ship's broadside. I heard the outraged ghost shriek again right behind me, far, far too close.

In my mad haste I did not mind the placement of my feet. I tripped over something and fell, only to find myself laying in the withered lap of a bony corpse, it's face forever frozen in it's dying scream from where the still embedded blade pierced it's heart.

Again the red ghost howled and I knew I was caught. In a second I rolled over so that I could at least face my death with dignity as the wraith fell upon me.

The bones next to me flared blue and an icy chill swept through my body. I blinked away the light in my eyes and found a second ghost standing over me. With a screech of pain the red ghost stopped as the second specter swung a phantom cutlass through it.

I did not stay to question my fortune. I scrambled back on hands and knees, grabbing up my sword from where it had fallen in the dirt as I fled. In the pitch black and my blind fear I did not find the way back I had come. Like a cowering dog I dove into a crumbling building and hid myself inside a barrel.

I sat there hugging my sword and quaking at the bottom of a half empty cask of what smelt like rotten salt cod, wondering what to do. Assuming that I wasn't followed, the safest thing certainly seemed to be sitting there and waiting for sunrise. Unfortunately, the blue glow creeping over the top of the barrel seemed to disagree with this plan.

"You that braved these cursed shores by night, fear me not." I heard a reedy voice say.

I certainly did not trust the voice but I was discovered all the same, so I slowly stood. In front of me was the blue shade. I could make out the features of a middle-aged man with a placid face, but by the faint glow I could also make out the shape of the room right through his form.

"You came here not seeking treasures nor to weigh your strength against tortured spirits. Why come then?" He asked of me.

Somehow I found my voice behind the lump of fear swollen in my throat, “I... I wanted to see. To s-see if the stories were true,” I swallowed, “it's worse than I imagined.”

The ghost stared me down, “Take heed this warning and spread it among the brethren pirates. The power that Jolly Roger sought was not here.”

My breath hitched, “but... the cursed blades...” I whispered. All the stories said that was what Jolly Roger had been after when he invaded Raven's Cove.

“A distraction... a means to an end, aye, but not what Jolly truly wanted. Do ye think for a moment, that if Jolly Roger desired their power that badly, that if he feared their strength that much, then he would have let even one leave his hands? No. The power of those blades... it lays not within the metal they were forged from, nor the curses they carry. “

The shade continued, “Their true power lays in their ability to cause discord among the living. For is it not so, that since their discovery, many a pirate has done nothing but search them out and quarrel with his brothers over them? Even the terrible price of wielding one has done nothing to dissuade many a man from desiring to own one. I fear Raven's Cove may have had the best fortune in the Caribbean. Do not let our deaths be in vain. Heed this warning. The cursed blades are not the end.”

“But what does Jolly Roger want then?”I asked him quickly.

“The power of the Heathen Gods. Not just the power over life and death, but the power of creation and destruction itself.” No later than he finished speaking did the ghost wink out of existence.

I sat there in the dark then, mind churning with thoughts until the dawn broke over the island. I am only one pirate, so I come to you all to share this specter's message. Sharpen your steel and ready yourselves, this be the calm before the storm. Too long have we turned a blind eye to Jolly Roger. Ye can be sure he is ready for us, we need best be ready for him.

/bow
 
The Wishes

/bow
An old pirate sat in a darkened room.
The air was thick with smoke and the scents of burning herb and spoiled meat.
He stared down at his hands and saw they were wrinkled and old,
covered with callus and thick with muscle,
/hand
They were stained with blood,
both very fresh and very old,
as were his palms, his fingers, and beneath his nails.
/primp
His fingernails belong to a working sailor,
chipped and broken, caked with pitch and tar.
He held a child's rag doll in one hand and a lock of auburn hair in the other,
and the sight of both brought him great sadness, though he knew not why.
/sad
His old body ached from age and abuse.
/tired
His ribs, from where they were once shattered by a musket ball.
His back, torn by the lash countless times.
His soul, cursed by voodoo and sin.
His throat, stretched and scarred by a clumsy hangman's noose.
His lungs wheezed with sickness,
and his face was damp with tears.
/cry
His skull ached, and old blood had soaked his scalp,
making his hair thick and sticky.
But strangest of all...
he had no memory of who he was
/frown
or how he had come to this darkened space.
A rattle of bones caused his head to turn, and he saw a dark woman step around him.
She was stunning in her mature beauty,
her hair was as grey as crematory ash,
her silver eyes glowed with knowledge and power.
Her burlap dress was stained with blood and potions and other more terrible things.
Her body was adorned with necklaces and jewelry of bone and twigs and dried flowers.
She leered at him, knowingly, expectantly.
/wink
"Who are you?" the old man asked, his voice sounding tiny in her presence.
"Ah be Mamah Tombrose, meestah," she replied, showing no surprise by his question.
"What am I doing here?" he cried.
/sigh
"Ahhh," she sighed. "Thees be the kine o' quest'ns man comes ta Mamah Tombrose fer answers, aye?"
/grin
She grinned broadly, and her teeth were stained red, their enamel engraved with runes.
She extended her hand, her finger pointed at his heart.
Its nail seemed unnaturally long and sharp.
"Now, fer ya THIRD weesh... Wha it be?"
"Third wish?" The old sea dog was baffled.
/confused
"How can there be a third wish if I haven't had a first and second?"
/nod
"Ya 'av 'ad tow weesh a'rea'!" the vodou witch said with a smile,
/smile
"but yah SECON' weesh was fer me ta return ev'rythin' ta the way it was befo' yah had yah FIRS' weesh...
Tha' why yah kin rememba' nathin'...
Ev'rythin' be the way it was afore yah made ANY weesh..."
He raised the hand holding the lock of hair and touched the wound on his scalp.
Pain blazed through his skull anew.
/laugh
She laughed at the pirate.
"So it be yah ha' one weesh lef'."
"Very well," said the old pirate through his tears.
He looked at the child's doll in his grasp.
One eye was missing.
Her dress was dirty and stained with blood.
Some of her hair was singed.
"There is one thing I wish. I wish to remember."
/cackle
"Ah hah!" said vodou queen laughed.
Extending a hand, she blew a cloud of brown dust into his face.
As she disappeared into the darkness of the hut, the memories rushed back on him.
And her last words hung in the air.
"Ahh," she said,
"An' that had been yer FIRST weesh too..."
/bow
 
Ocean Adventures, and Sail Away, was presented by Ben Gone at Story Time, 10/16/2017

Ocean Adventures

Out of the swirling, dark mists, a faint, distant light;
a glistening shining through vapor-soaked air.
A flicker, as banks of fog slowly wafted past.

Our ship, rocking slowly to the quiet creak
of the chain and tackle, in peaceful rest
in the envelope of darkness surrounding us.

Our own lanterns hooded so that light shown
outward, and not to blind us. The warm and wet mist,
eddied as slowly as only a vapor can,
swirled around them in clouds of obscurity.

But, then a stench crept through the night,
although no sound protruded beyond
the gentle lap of becalmed, still tide.

And, though rocking comfortably,
as in a warm cradle,
our skins began to crawl
with steadily rising unease
as though the beginnings of an ugliness
was to overtake us.

If there be such a thing
as peaceful dread
then that is what
came over us.

But, then…
a foghorn…

as a tramp steamer slowly passed.


Sail Away

Setting sails on a setting sun,
all coalescing to a large, orange One
Billowing slowly to a gusting, light blow,
the sails carry the ship in a gently-held tow.

Parting the waves, sent rolling past,
steady is the helm, being held fast.
Striving for destiny on a distant, lone shore
—adventurer’s compass, forevermore.

The smell of the salt, the shish of the sea
free to the horizon as far as can see.
A bubbling froth of sparkling white foam
rides with the ship, but fizzes back home.

The deepest of blues on sea bedded deeps.
The span of the skies the albatross keeps.
Immersed in the elements spent on your making,
a refreshing light tonic now free for the taking.

Betrothed to the sea, the shore left behind,
the quest well clears the winds of the mind.
 
SEA WITCH was presented by Ben Rotten and Bad Apple at Story Time, 11/01/2017

SEA WITCH

A night as dark as the devil’s keep
The stars not showing, the mists run deep
Damp and heavy, cold and dense
But nothing to foretell what would happen hence

On the masthead, a flashing glow,
though not unusual at night
But this not the usual glow,
the color a ghastly white

St. Elmo’s Fire as usually seen is
blue in color, hissing mean
But never a sinister sight
—No spirit-candles were seen

An ooze of bright effluence
dripping down to the deck
A crackling, popping, hissing,
with breathing—down the neck

The crew did wonder at this encounter
That this was mischief, there was no doubter
For nothing about it boded so well
The devil’s own work it might well foretell

Then spawned from the light
a dark shadow was rent
A vaporous cast, a
catastrophic portent

Dark hair and dark skin
from what you can see
But, then, the white highlights
brought substance to be

A featureless dress
covered by cloak,
deep-hooded and long,
could be seen in the smoke

Eye sockets deep,
foreboding and dark
Large pools thus hollowed for
dread eyes, oh, so stark

Eyes flashing wildness with
malevolent intent
Snarling teeth bared
Carnivorous the scent

High, stern, round cheeks
Cavernous, strong jaw
Hungry for feast
Voracious the maw

Filling all voids
Everywhere she seems
Jealous mad rage
Joyous, she screams

She hovers about
for victims to find
The heavy air billows, as
she glides on behind

Her size seems to vary
to fill up the space, and
with it her strength
with which she’ll embrace

We’d heard of this witch, this afflicted malaise
Its unwholesomeness wanton, a fire in her gaze
Of jealous intent there is little to doubt
Of human virtue, wanton to rout

Once, quite human and considerably fair
The gods did rejoice in her presence, with care
But vanity overwhelmed, her vainness amassed
Then the gods realized, her mischief surpassed

For all of her beauty no virtue was found
They told her she was hideously unsound
She’d tricked them and deceived them for favors to spare
And now that they knew her, the devil may care

She was cast to the underworld to burn with a flair
But with her powers, she would not stay there
Occasionally she managed to find her way out
Then, revenge on the humans, their virtues stamped out

Of the fires of hell henceforth she came
To the seas of the earth to put out the flame
Of the land and the heat she avoided with care
Singed as she was, with pain she’d not dare

No thoughts of redemption or changing her way
Only thoughts of destruction would hold her at bay
No cage could confine her she couldn’t traverse
Her victims she’d find them with a scourge and a curse

Humans she blamed deep down in her core
Her insanity thinking she’d even the score
And bathe in the blood, the flowing red gore
The gods would have humans to rejoice in no more

YES, let jealousy’s befoulment garner her soul
Let humans stand aghast and take fast the toll
YES, venomous the poison of obsession complete
Cringe will these humans in appalling defeat

With the gaze of a demon
she freezes her catch
Of mortal humans
there is no match

Her shriek of great rapture, the
gratification of terror
Unsatiated revenge,
appeasement an error

No halt, or pause,
or thought to amend
The witch is well driven
Man’s heart will she rend

No real attention
No cause to reflect
No thought for kind mercy
It’s time to collect

The ship well stands dark in
a cloud of emotion
Strung high as the fires;
ecstasy’s devotion

Of the men on the deck,
she catches with ease
No thought to run,
they stare in a freeze

Their brains did not freeze
them in shock at her sight
For they were already
petrified by the light

Their eyes glazed over
without a sound
The screech of the witch
was well nigh profound

The fast-beating heart,
the target to tear
The seat of all virtue,
too much to bear

With quick-driven thrust
her greed-driven hand
drives under the rib cage
with efficient command

Blood-thirsty long fingers,
with ravenous nail,
cut through the tissue,
the heart to avail

The warm heart she clasps
It beating like thunder
It palpitates in fear
as she pulls it from under

Accentuated pops
Arteries asunder
Well stretched beyond
any rigid wonder

Blood showered the deck
as the heart was ripped out
She ate it still beating,
her craving devout

Where once there was forty, now there but one
Of fine standing men, just one left undone
The boiling, vile feculence; depravity still here
And probably will be ’til dawn’s light is near

My journal I leave here for all who would see
The only one left on this cursed ship is me
By the grace of the gods I’m still of sound mind
A long-journeyed sailor, the last of my kind

addend -

How frivolous we take of the mores of the past
Thousands of years these developed to last
How brazen we tinker with traditional norms
Not fearing the onset of emotional storms

By grace and integrity we stand tall and true
A gift of the heart from each one of you
Comes honor, discipline, and humility in thought
Thus love can transcend on a base that’s well wrought
 
 
Ship of Souls

It is said, a ship with a death in it can never be bought or sold.
It can only be borrowed from the dead.
In a remote part of Boston harbor reside the ships no one has use for.
Derelicts, hulks, and unwanted prizes.
There, a brig is anchored, an ancient, dark wreck in the black water.
In the early evening, a young sailor pulls upon the oars as the Ship's Master steers.
"She was decommissioned to a private owner," the Master says. "Once it was a pirate vessel before it was captured by the Navy.
But the current owner purchased it before they could scuttle her."
The boy looks over his shoulder as the brig draws nearer.
"What's to be done with it?" he asks.
/shrug
"The owner hopes to refurbish her and set her free once again. To a pirate lord, he hopes."
The Master takes a swig of run from a flask. The Boston night is chill.
/thirsty
"He calls her the Ship of Souls."
Climbing on board, the Master takes the boy to the Navigator's cabin.
Table, chair, bunk. A chest for his few possessions. A bag and jars with a few days' food and water. Some books.
"Make yourself comfortable, boy," the Master says. "It's an easy job. Keep your lantern lit, so others know you're here.
"Don't start no fires, and don't let any get started. Make sure no looters or vagabonds come aboard.
"I'll be sending workmen out over the next couple weeks to make repairs. If you see anything amiss, let me or them know."
/nod
The boy wanders the ship's decks and cabins. It is old but seems well cared for at first glance.
But a scratch at the varnish reveals deep rot beneath.
It creaks and groans on the harbor's waters.
Its anchor chains grind against each other like bones.
The hawsers snap and pull.
Strange knocks echo through the cabins.
The boy tries to write letter to his sweetheart, but his lamp extinguishes.
When he manages to light it, he finds his ink well overturned. Ink spilled across the desk and onto the deck, fouling his pages.
/confused
Was there a rogue wave in the harbor? Odd, that he didn't feel it.
/shrug
It was there, the death. On his first night he felt it, but he could not see it.
Not yet.
/no
In his explorations, he finds one especially large cabin, nearly as large as the Captain's.
And especially dark. It seems no light can pierce it, and the boy becomes uneasy exploring it.
Against one wall, he finds a patch of mold growing on the floor.
As the days pass, the patch grows.
No work crews ever come, but the next time the Master returns, bearing food and water, the boy reports the patch of mold.
The Master seems unconcerned when he inspects it. He pokes at the mold and then wipes his fingers off on his trousers.
"It's cosmetic versus structural. Ugly, but shouldn't affect her seaworthiness."
/frown
"What is this room?" the boy asks.
"This was the owners' cabin, reserved for their use when they were aboard.
"This ship was built a hundred years ago, twas to be a gift from a shipwright to his new bride.
"They hoped to sail to the New World and start a merchant concern in the Caribbean.
"A day after their wedding vows, they disappeared, having never set sail even once.
"The townsfolk and dock workers must have shook their heads and wished them well. Some people are just not suited for life at sea.
/shrug
"And so the ship laid in estate until it was sold for a pittance to a pirate captain, where she served her captain well.
/nod
"So this cabin was never occupied by the owners. During the life of the ship, it served as storage and occasional lodging for honored guests. Nothing more.
/sigh
"I'll have workmen come. They'll remove this bad wood and replace it."
And so the Master left again, leaving the boy alone with the ship and its memories.
The boy is drawn to that cabin. Deep in the night, when he cannot sleep, he finds himself standing before it.
At times, he thinks he sees a white figure standing in the darkness of that cabin. But he never dares approach.
/search
The walls and windows of this ship are as thin as bones. Almost as if one could walk right through them.
Is that what happened? Did she fall through the walls when the candlestick crushed her skull?
Did her new husband seal her up with wood and let the mold grow over her?
/curious
Rains come, and the patch of mold grows.
The workers the Ship's Master promised never come.
Sometimes the boy wonders if the Master has forgotten him entirely.
/confused
How does one forget their own death? It is such an important thing.
Who would kill a loved one? So recently wed, so young and beautiful?
/sad
How could such a thing come about? Memory is a tricky thing.
/agree
One night, the ship's silence is broken by knocking, and the boy rises to investigate.
/search
In the darkness of the great cabin, he sees an even deeper darkness on the floor.
Where the mold had grown, the deck planks have been pulled up and neatly stacked to the side.
He peers in the darkness under the deck and sees curled bones shrouded in a rotten nightgown.
The skull is crushed like an egg shell. Beside it, a heavy bronze candlestick.
The boy is shoved, and he tumbles into the hole.
He struggles, trying to free himself, but his limbs become tangled in the old bones, as if they clutch at him, holding him down.
/scared
Dust and ancient rot fills his senses.
Then the planks are placed over him, and he hears the nails driven in.
He struggles. He struggles.
He struggles.
He is still.
/tired
The next day, the Master rows to the ship to check on the boy, only to find he's absconded from his post.
Once again, he must hire another.
/bow
 
There Was Once a Girl

There was once a girl,
she was held by her mother,
amid screams and fire and smoke.
The world rocked and tore itself apart.
The ocean rushed in through shattered wood.
Her mother cried and held her close.
She pressed herself against her as they clung to a scrap of wood,
and in the distance, their ship burned angrily before slipping beneath the waves.
Her mother wept and whispered prayers and promises.
Her arms were strong and held her tightly.
Until they let go...
/sad
There was once a girl,
she sank beneath the blue depths,
feeling the icy cold clutch her flesh.
Down, down, further and further she sank.
The weight of worlds pressed down upon her,
and the darkness grew heavier and heavier.
Her lungs ached and burned,
her ears thundered with the beating of her heart.
Her eyes grew dim.
Then she felt cold arms fold around her,
and dead lips press against hers...
/sleep
There was once a girl,
she stood upon the wave tossed rocks,
bare amongst the rain and lightning,
arms outstretched to the passing ship.
The storm lit her slight frame as she beckoned.
Drawn by her cries,
the sailors shouted and pointed and raised the alarm,
but when their ship neared for the rescue,
savage reefs reached out to tear at their hull.
And when they sought refuge in their long boats,
slender arms rose from the waters, to claim them as well...
/hungry
There was once a girl,
she lived in darkness,
she drew in the innocent with the pretext of rescue,
she held them as they struggled
and watched them drown in terror.
Her big sisters laughed with sinister glee,
as she presided over their feasts,
and they eagerly reminded her that
while her mother's arms dropped her,
it was theirs that caught her
and gave her life.
/sigh
There was once a girl,
she had a dream of swimming in the deep,
with gossamer fins and rainbow scales.
Round about, round about she swam
until she found herself in a bowl,
and a woman stood nearby looking down upon her
with dark skin and grey hair and flashing eyes.
She smiled as she drew a doll through the water
with seashell eyes and seaweed hair.
The girl could not resist and grabbed at the doll,
but when she did, the woman laughed and yanked her from the water.
/laugh
There was once a girl,
she one day saw small ship approach her reef.
She stood upon the waves with outstretched arms
and watched it lurch and jump across the rocks.
The sound of rending wood rang across the sea.
She slipped into the water and sped towards the wreck.
She embraced the boat's only occupant and sank into the depths.
Helpless in her grip, the woman clutched a doll,
with seashell eyes and seaweed hair.
As her sisters rose to the feast, the girl looked into the woman's face
and saw her mother.
/gasp
There was once a girl,
and she had to make a choice.
/bow
 
icy lead trigger
desperate lone figure
huddled in darkness
behind rain-soaked stone

fear lingers wet
in the smell of sweat
in the taste of blood
in the desperate gasps

distant footfalls crack
pupils ripple black
mind screams PANIC
lips only pitifully murmurs

billow of staggered breath
sharp ring of steely death
a splash of crimson dew
echos across grey brick

glint of silver light
gleam of teeth clenched white
cold metal cleaves deep
into yielding flesh

wispy steam billows forth
vengeful blade no remorse
eyes glaze and mouth agape
pounding heart...
grows...
faint...
 
Two Foes was presented by Coron Ach at Story Time, 11/20/2017


Two Foes

Two warring chiefs, a tribal grudge,
a score to settle sore
These neighboring clans of seafaring folk
all had been to war

And now that fragile peace was made
with English and Scottish lords,
the clans of all the Irish coast
had taken up their swords

The galleys they manned to settle disputes
had one sail and many an oar
And swiftly they fell to battle it out
to end it at death’s door

These galleys they sailed had swivel guns
placed between these oars
And matchlock muskets and arrows and darts
enough to even the scores

One caught head-on, the decks were raked,
from bow to stern they tore
This one then swung dead fast abeam
and their guns let loose a roar

Many holes appeared in sail and gear,
and shrouds and blocks did fall
And masts were splintered and men were shredded,
so effective was small shot and ball

A child did stow on board one ship,
deep within the hold
The son of the captain, one warring chief,
only six of years, all told

A Gaelic son, a leader born,
with kindness at his command
With flaming red hair and freckled face,
well he bore the brand

The boy was famed throughout the land
for his courage of friendliness
But a little warrior brave and true,
his father would say, no less

By his own, a child of charitable goodwill
with honest upright sheen
To all near clans, friend and foe alike,
his spotless innocence well seen

The child did finally run up from the hold,
his concern for his father born strong
But not only this, but the noise and the sound,
foretelling that something was wrong

On the deck he did scramble, so blindly aghast,
the sight on the deck was abash
He stood in a stupor, the crew tried to shield him,
as the galleys were going to clash

A broadside was bore, both sides set the roar, and
the child’s head was fatally smashed
He fell to the deck in a pool of red blood,
and to him his father thus dashed

The father and crew stood deathly dead still
at a sight that they could not abide
A tiny frail boy of innocence well loved,
a wooden sword and shield by his side

The captain father did close his eyes
and with his hair he did rend
And opened his mouth as if to wail
For his mind, nothing to mend

Silence did settle upon the deck, and
the colorful clan flag was struck
The white flag was hoisted in silent distain
In total distress they were stuck

The father did lift the child of his blood
above his head straight armed
To show the captain of the other ship
the child had thus been harmed

The captain of the other ship did see
of what great harm had come
He would rather have been blessed with hell
than seen what had become

Loud he howled in rage and grief
for a boy who would make all proud
The wound was far too deep to bear
The gods should not have allowed

He ceased the action and struck his colors,
and raised them upside down
A sickened ship in great distress
A dirge in funeral gown

The crews did stand and the ships did part
in a bitter, strangled weep
They never were to engage again
Their hearts were burdened deep
 
On 11-20-17 in Barbossa's Grotto, I offered a haiku (5-7-5), inspired by the last potc movie's focus on the stars, authored by me and my gf. I also offered 2/3 of a haiku (5-5, no 7 in the middle) authored by me and a brilliant artist named LordScience Universal (google him) who likes to paint owls (the first line is his, the second one is mine, the muse failed to tell us what the middle 7 line should be). These poems, unlike this introduction to them, clearly have the virtue of not being long-winded. Beyond that, I dunno.

A Pirate's Escape

Through my old spyglass
I escape the black sea for
An ocean of stars


Nocturnal Wonders

Jaded hipster owls
Critiquing the moon
 
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I was going through my files and realized I never posted this. this poem was presented in mid October at Fort Charles.

The Curse

A sallow moon casts a sickly hue,
The world washed in shades of chartreuse
As foul winds portend evil means
By which to commit our deaths old Roger deigns.

Where pallid moonlight meets land unbroken
And unlucky mortals tread beneath it's rays
An ancient curse wroughts a nightmarish scene,
Where life becomes death and chaos reigns.

Supple flesh withers to an ashen shade
Putrid and rotting, from raw bones it hangs
Lips stretched taught over teeth in a mimicry of mirth
And hollow eyes see naught but slaughter 's worth.

Each soul is robbed of free will's choice,
Bloodlust commands them to raise their swords
And loyalties lay broken by dark magic 's blight
As pleas for mercy ring out through the night.

Yet fortune ever favors the pirate's side
The moon cannot forever hold full,
Dawn's golden fingers lift back night's shroud
And the pirates declare victory with a joyous sound.

So be glad today that the curse is lifted,
That Death surrendered it's eternal claim
But beware, new winds whisper of terrible schemes
Of ill intentions as of yet unseen.
 
Brief Announcement

Dread Poet has kindly asked me to host next week's Story Time on Dec. 4th.

The place and time are currently set to the usual unless otherwise stated:

Barbossa's Grotto / Poderoso Server
10:30 pm EST

If you're a poet, jokester or story teller and wish to take part, by all means reach out to me directly to schedule a slot.
 
No Man at the Helm was presented by Coron Ach at Story Time, 12/4/2017

No Man at the Helm

The windward shrouds so taught they’re playing
the devil’s tune with glee
as the leeward shrouds go flapping madly,
the ratlines well torn free.

And she is fraught to the weather gage,
the nearby land to lee,
with no constellations up above
nor visible fix to see.

Bow-on to the storm, the sea-anchor drags
but the ship does backward fling.
Swelled surges smash in smiting wrath;
the ire of an earthly king.

Backwinded are the sails, not blown,
the sheets are trailing ‘way.
Some cordage tangled and tossed about,
some spars and rig thrown ‘stray.

But all that’s seen are pocks of light
from lanterns still tethered and lit.
Blurred glimmer through the howling rage
as dark as the devil’s spit.

Waves pile on waves in blundered confusion
to slam with shuddering thud.
The towering onslaught too much to stand:
The scuppers lie drowned in the flood.

There is no division that one can see
between the earth and sky.
For, the clouds are piled upon the sea
and billowed up on high.

Flash! Flash! —the light of lightening’s blaze
highlighting the perilous plight.
Toiled to demise, the struggle is over
—crew drowned, no longer a fight.

Through howling and sissing in turmoil’s roar,
and iced froth and smothering sleet,
a man at the helm stands steadfast and fixed
in the rein of death’s calming defeat.

His eyes a shade of milky-gray glass
in steady fixed gaze, long dim.
Feeling no bite, his skin bluish-white
with a crystalline crusted rim.

By winds and tides she brings sea life
by rules that hold no whim.
The laws of Nature are strict and merciless,
and what’s unfit she’ll trim.
 
Recently, I overheard a pirate arguing with his rebel gf by the big Bell in Fort Charles on Port Royal. She wanted to lead a rebellion on the island and to seize the fort right then and there, but he was trying to convince her to choose the life of a pirate instead. Paraphrasing a bit, I repeated what the pirate said on Dec. 4, 2017 for story time in the Grotto. Here it is:

The Rebel's Way or the Pirate's Way?

If we should take Fort Charles,
Then what would be our plan?
Emancipate the peasantry?
Aye, wouldn't that be grand?

Shall we free the beasts of burden?
Let them graze on open land?
Or rescue flow'rs beneath the ice
Along the Northern Strand?

Can we right the wrongs of Nature,
So the lion spares the lamb?
Or liberate the Universe
From God’s uncertain plan?

Yes, I mock, but we will fail
If here we make our stand.
Where are the other rebels?
Where are your kin and clan?

Our swords, however angry,
With no army to command,
Will lead us to yon gallows
To die and then be dammed.

Let's choose instead the pirate's life,
We'll sail the open seas,
Travel the ancient water ways,
Ignore the king’s decrees.

On a pirate ship there are no kings,
No duties to the State,
No soldiers storming down the street,
Inspecting every crate.

On land, with luck, we'll own a house
Surrounded by a hedge.
At sea we'll sail beside the stars
Along the world’s edge.

So leap with me from land to sea,
Be brave! Be quick! Be bold!
Swim stronger than the fishes
Through water dark and cold.

For just beyond the harbor's edge,
A pirate ship awaits
To take us from this fettered land--
Leap now through Freedom's gate!
 
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The Prince of Pirates presented 12/4/17

Tonight I will tell the tale of a man, legendary pirate who's name should be remembered in the same breath as Blackbeard or Captain Kidd. So my hearties, raise a glass and drink to the memory of this most notorious of pirates. /drink

Samuel Bellamy had long raven locks,
Worn proudly the powdered wigs it did mock.
Called the Prince of Pirates for his merciful hand,
From his ebony hair he earned the name of Black Sam.

Not yet captain when he sailed to La Florida banks
Where off the coast by hurricane a Spanish fleet sank
The galleons carried a wealth of fine silver plate,
And now it was free for any man to come take.

The crew of treasure seekers found little prize,
So to piracy did they turn their eyes
They joined a captain, Benjamin Hornigold his name
And his first mate, Edward Teach, of Blackbeard fame.

Yet in time resentment filled the crew,
For attacking British ships Hornigold would not do,
These men took a vote to make Hornigold deposed
And the election of Bellamy as captain went unopposed.

Black Sam sought great wealth at sea
For back in Cape Cod a girl fell in love with he,
But her parents scorned Sam the poor sailor
And they forbid that he should be able to wed her.

Of riches he amassed a substantial sum,
Three and fifty ships he looted during his piratical run.
The sight of his fleet filled men with dread
But merciful Sam left few actually dead.

Then came a magnificent prize, a ship named the Whydah
A mighty galley heavy with gold they saw
Carrying wealth beyond a sailor's wildest dreams,
To take it themselves they had the means.

They captured that galley and took the captain to Sam
Where the choice to join them he did offer that man
Yet the captain found his conscious would allow him not
And to this day Black Sam's words have not been forgot:

“They vilify us, the rich scoundrels do,
And between us only this difference holds true,
When they rob the poor, the law's protection they are under
And by our courage alone, the wealthy we plunder.

“I am a free prince, and this I shall claim,
My authority to wage war on the whole world is the same
as he who has a hundred sail of ships at sea
and this is what MY conscience tells me!”

A year at sea and Black Sam became the richest pirate of his time
Yet this great haul of wealth would his plan undermine.
He turned his sails north to Cape Cod again bound
But poor Sam would never again set foot on that ground.

Close to midnight as the ship neared the Cape
There a terrible storm over the ocean did break
A violent nor'easter fueled a gale of harsh wind
And the waves rose high, thirty feet to their end.

The three masts on deck were ripped asunder
And the Whydah bloated with gold rolled over.
Sixty half ton cannons tore that wooden ship to shreds;
Four miles long the wreck dragged on sandy beds.

One hundred and forty six souls battled with the tide
But of them all only two are said to have survived.
And Black Sam Bellamy on the Whydah ship did drown
Aged all of twenty eight, his body never found.

So here ends the story of Black Sam... perhaps.
Of the story retold there are found a few gaps.
Legends have claimed that Sam's love was a witch
And that night on a cliff she stood and watched his ship pitch.

Oh some say it was she that caused that terrible storm,
That the wind and the waves were a curse by a woman scorned.
Or others will tell you she went mad with grief
And that morn on the beach over pirate bodies she weeped.

But the ending that hope will hold to be true,
That Samuel's dear love over the wind flew
And saved him from an unmarked watery grave
After which happily together they spent the rest of their days.
 
Last night, over a dozen brave souls performed a piratey version of a classic holiday tale in the streets of Port Royal Poderoso. Led by our resident bard, Dread Poet as the miserly Cap'n Scrooge, the tale unfolded before a welcomed audience around various parts of the old town.

I wanted to take a moment to thank not only the Cast of Characters and our Candle Guides but also those who attended and observed. Thank you for your patience and wonderful reactions to this experiment. I know it's encouraged many in the cast about doing another such performance in the coming year.
 
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