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Poetry Magnum Opus

Doodling


Benjamin
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I wandered where the dregs had little use for shame

and shivered my timbre; past

the blowsy whores from rogue-filled bars who danced

well, the raggety dance of life.

Cherry boy!” I heard one say, “he’s blushing. Bet he’s

never had it in before.”

And laughter filled tobacco air, rankled

my passage by the harbour side.

 

Horns wafted on the evening tide; echoed around

upturned cobles on the shore.

A meeting place for the wild-eyed girl who

was the harbour master’s daughter.

All summer long we’d frolicked and our secret trysts

had turned to love and longing;

but her father was a vengeful man with

a foul temper, unforgiving.

 

My plea of “good intentions” only made things worse:

To him I was but vermin;

fit only for fish bait in an ocean

where the lowest life forms wander.

But he approached me in the middle of the night

with weasel words of friendship;

and fool was I to ever let him in---

give him the benefit of doubt.

 

I drank his wine-- toasted him and his fair daughter;

and he looked at me and grinned

as consciousness evaporated-- drew

a veil across my fuddled brain.

Now-- offshore, cuffed to a row-lock, I sit and watch

his dinghy’s leaking clinkers.

To sink from life-- and pay the price of love,

for the harbour master’s daughter.

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Frank E Gibbard

A rollicking tale albeit with mordant conclusion awash with marine detail. Brendan has a rival for story-telling. Frank

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Larsen M. Callirhoe

great story telling indeed benjamin. all of a suden i am craving a molson ice beer. i think i too have been locked up in a real reality of being paralyzed too long. your poem explained my tale even better than i could.

 

victor

Larsen M. Callirhoe

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David W. Parsley

An old fashioned ballad straight from the wharf, Benjamin.

 

A pleasure.

- Dave

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I actually did court a harbour-masters daughter in my teens, but the closest he came to sinking me was to hoist my bike up a flagpole. I took the hint! :biggrin:

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Benjamin, I enjoyed the narrative. What a tragic ending :-)

 

Now-- offshore, cuffed to a row-lock, I sit and watch

his dinghy’s leaking clinkers.

"Words are not things, and yet they are not non-things either." - Ann Lauterbach

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  • 2 weeks later...

I sang a lot of folk songs when I was young Joel, they usually ended in tragedy. I didn't want to swim against the tide. :smile:

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