“The Mouth of a Sailor”

There was a calm before the storm 

and then being held in her eye. . .

“Mouth of a Sailor” (mixed media) by Katie-Rae Jean

Whale songs are not hushing       

                     lullabies for

                      your babes or  

                      good news 

                     gospels for      

your saints. They are survival shanties about missed harpoons and why whales only sing their blues among the nonchalance of drifters. . .  

Row Your Boat

Maybe next one’s gonna deal me a hangman and get me the hell outta this…

* * *

Third time’s a charm. Seeker in the ether.

  One of the argonauts.  The

  wildcard suspended from a   

 hawser; a  drunken

 sailor 

 disguised as

 the ferryman.  And wait…

 There’s a song churning on 

 the current.

Seen a man slightly dark for the work he done and the brim of his hat and his beard. Turbulent eyes glowed golden-green and amber-honey chestnut and then still got called hazel.

Kind of carmelized sugar girls go ga-ga for,

tumble into hungry and drown.

He brewed stormy until he smiled and light broke through his ominous cover of clouds.

“He used to be the Captain

he works the ferry now.” Reported a newspaper man.

“He’s still the Captain, but

he’s works the ferry for

now.” Said a crewman.

“He smelled of constant whiskey intake. Sweated it. Hurt for it.” Witnessed a barmaid.

He sang, “I will be an organ donor for the wind

and so forever breathe into you–” Reminisced a connoisseur…

If

Body and soul is an ark set to drift…

and I am the captain of my soul set to row…

If

O’ Captain! My Captain!

(the captain is dead on the deck)

 Then please-

 two coins

 for the ferryman

 and reward him for the show

 that guiding light

 through black and the fog

 the rudder hung up on bog

 The casting nets and

 this- a shelled Venus

 Treasured

 edible, pregnant

 with pearl;

 That grit

 that wound

 so polished well

 comforted into bead strung noose

 Hoist with Necklace Ahoy!

 Then Necklace Away!

 Garlands hung

 flesh into sails

 billowing eternal

 pushing forward the voyage…

“He’s a minstrel at heart.” Chimed a poet, “With high seas to embellish his story.

A tyrant’s command– when to swab or swoon and then he would have us weep.

Led over his tales of woe–

How we go, some little worried mothers.

And he he will play us all Home Sweet Home–

dancing on the Devil’s grave.”

So a soothsayer said, “Taking one– to know one.”

“How I died in his arms.” The poet lamented.

“Life boat to death shuttle–

There is a message in the bottle.” Sang the Argonaut disguised as a ferryman.

He took a swig of whiskey and belched. “Bring in the dancing girl and have you met my wife?”

“You in me now. Part of my DNA. Is that a website?” Screamed Hope.

There was this loneliness and this reaching out and this imagination and art became reckless when it showed off and admitted it’s voyeur and theft and it opened to be misinterpreted or reinterpreted and basically co-opted for communion. Is anybody out there? I love you. All to be rejected, at the expense of my chemicals, I love you.

The Bag Lady: “Face Time” #1, “Trail Head” #2,”Paper Cuts” #3, “Freedom” #4, “Ascension” #5, “Open Heart” #6 (mixed media) featured on Bitter Sweet Place a Fleeting He(art) Gallery by Katie-Rae Jean

“The Mariner’s Revenge Song” · by The Decemberists Picaresque ℗ Kill Rock Stars Released on: 2012-10-04 is being featured on Bitter Sweet Place, a Fleeting He(art) Gallery for No Commercial Purpose.

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