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HMS Styx And The River Raise A Question By The Almost King

HMS Styx hove too afore my dock,

And dispatched a boat containing,

HRH Albert Edward, the Prince of Wales,

Destined to be our rightful king –

Eventually.

I had on my grand uniform,

But paled in comparison to the amount

Of gold braid upon HRH.

He had arranged this meeting

By the last naval ship,

That came through the port.

So I met him, and presented the

Only other loyal subject

Upon Partridge Island,

Paw, my cat/kitten,

Black as ship’s tar.

With one white mitten,

But absent any braid..

HRH was quite pleased,

And asked to hold the cage.

And then he asked me

(Which was the reason for his visit)

How these Reversing Falls worked,

For he was to take a boat up river

To the Capital.

He did not want to appear ignorant

To the locals so,

He wanted someone local

To explain it to him.

So I told him how the

Power of the ocean,

Pushed back the flow of the river

At high tide.

“So the river really

Reverses?” he asked.

“It does”royal,royalty,cat,island,poem,poetry,history,navy,ocean,river,nature,naval,, I assured him.

With that, he then asked

If he could pat the cat,

Which Paw appreciated.

Then back to the HMS STYX

Went HRH,

And departed to the

Awaiting crowds.

I doubt I’ll be made

An Admiral,

But Paw . . .

Oh, dear, will I have

To salute him?

I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2022 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

DE BA. UEL

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A Right Royal Time On Partridge Island

Shiver me timbers

And call me Aunt Hattie,

Prince George of Wales

Is coming to the Island.

He requests (that is – orders)

A look-around

On his way into port.

I know not why.

Maybe to adjust his sea legs.

Before he meets his Loyal subjects.

At any rate, I must

Tidy and fuss and putter,

And wear my fancy uniform,

And present

(This is my own idea)

The one other loyal subject

Of this whole domain,

Paw, my cat/kitten

Black as Davy Jones locker

With one white mitten.

I’d best spruce up his cage

Yes – I must.

I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2022 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

DE BA. UEL

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The Sky Turns To Anger And Danger

It is one of those strange skies.

Strange morning light,

Not silver,

Not copper.

But both at once.

And the morning started so sunny,

Promising a fine fine day.

But now,

Even Paw, my cat/kitten,

Black as a midnight sky,

With one white mitten,

Is backing up

With a hiss.

Is the ocean going to throw,

And pound,

Our island and our lighthouse,

With storm and waves,

Wrack and ruin?

Or will it pass us by,

Like ghostly ships in the night?

I’m going to take Paw in

And give him meat.

I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2022 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

DE BA. UEL

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Dead And Drowned And Waiting To Go Home

It was another body,

Washed up,

On the rocks.

There are a number every year,

Coming in on the waves.

A fisherman by his garb.

You can’t tell anything

From his face,

Or extremities.

Food for fishes.

I put up two flags,

For assistance

And for death.

Some incoming boat

Will heave to,

And take the remains

To port.

I used the  peavey, 

To get him out of the water,

And rolled him in a tarpaulin,

And left him in the trench

I’ve dug

For just this reason.

Then I sang

“Nearer, My God, to Thee“,

Because,

What else can I do?

I wished Sister Darling

Was here,

To say proper prayers.

I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2022 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

DE BA. UEL

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Who Found The First Flowers Of Spring First?

I don’t know if

It was Paw, the cat/kitten,

Black as the night

With one white mitten,

Or Sister Darling of

The Rarefied Church of the World (reformed),

Who is as lithe as Paw

And as inquisitive.

When I joined them,

On the sunny side

At the base

Of the Lighthouse,

On Partridge Island,

They were equally enthralled

Each in their own way.

Paw had his nose inches

From the white petals,

While Sister Darling leaned

Forward to brush her fingers

Against them

But

Instead

Patted the cat/kitten.

I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2022 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

DE BA. UEL

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It Is Pot Of Stew Day For The Blessed Arrival Of Sister Darling

Sister Darling, of

The Rarefied Church of the World (reformed),

Will arrive

On the Sunday tide,

To help me on the way

To Heaven.

So, I will prepare,

And let simmer,

A rip-roaring

Pot o’ stew,

To warm her up,

(As she warms me)..

Turnips & parsnips,

Carrots & potatoes,

Onions & garlic & a trove

Of seasonings.

All to augment,

And enhance,

The liberal chunks

Of venison.

It will simmer overnight

Much as will I.

She will bring bread,

And pastries,

And a jug of red wine,

Though she is more than welcome

If she arrives

Empty handed.

I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2022 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

DE BA. UEL

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The Almighty and The Elephant Share Poems on World Poetry Day

The elephant was contemplating his muse.

He was lying beside the river, trailing one of his big feet in the water.

He watched as the current rippled and sparkled past, and noted the occasional
leaping fish with bemusement.He looked across to the other shore with a sigh,
and then closed his eyes to more fully experience the race of the river against his toes.
After indulging himself in this manner for awhile, he flopped onto his back, so he could
look at the trees.

He traced their outline against the blue sky with his trunk, and followed

the curve of some branches overhanging the river with interest. He even smiled benignly as a family of monkeys clambered up one tree, leapt through the canopy of leaves, and

raced down another.

He suddenly slapped his forehead with his trunk, rolled over with such force that

he jostled a boulder with his flank, and began to emote.

“The monkeys, in the trees,

“Cause a breeze, when they sneeze.”

“Pardon me?” said the boulder.

“I nudged the boulder with my shoulder.

“It was older, and much colder.”

“Oh boy,” said God.

“I am a POET,” said the elephant.

“Oh boy, again,” said God.

“It is a stone, which has grown,

“In a zone, all alone.”

“Would that I were – alone, and away from the voices.”

“I’m expressing myself,” said the elephant.

“That is a statement of truth,” said God, “which does not contain the whole truth.”

“It is a thrill, to have free will,

“That is until, others say `nil’.”

“To be fair,” God stifled a chuckle. “You seem to have grasped the concept of

rhyme – although your reach sometimes exceeds it.”

“But that’s what heaven’s for,” pointed out the elephant.

“You’ll get,” said God, “no Browning points from me.”

“That’s not my last, don’t be so fast,

“My muse to cast, into the past.”

“You’ve heard about too much of a good thing?” asked the boulder, giving a nudge of its own.

“Yes,” said the elephant.

“Well – this isn’t it.”

“You don’t like the way I make the words dance?”

“I’d rather sit this one out.”

“In the misty morn, he sat forlorn;

“He wouldn’t adorn, the dance floor well-worn.”

“Oh boy,”said God.

“As you can see,” said the elephant. “I provide a lot of bon mot for each and

every occasion.”

“Such a threat is enough to make a boulder crumble,” said the boulder.

“The rock of ages, dissolved in stages,

“And proved the sages’, `noblesse obliges’.”

“Oy veh,” said God. “I’ve become a straight man for a stand-up elephant.”

“I could pack a hall,” said the elephant.

“You could pachyderm,” pointed out God.

“It’s just a guess, I do confess,

“That more is less, in the wilderness.”

“This could go on forever,” said God.

“You’re the expert there,” pointed out the elephant.

“Then I think I’ll repair to the forest,” said the boulder.

“He stood, in the wood,

“Where he could, do most good.”

The boulder rumbled with a voice which filled the jungle.

“Poems are made by fools like thee,

“But only I can make a tree.”

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The Biggest Crow In Christendom Lands On Partridge Island

The biggest Crow

I ever did see

Is roosting

On the tallest tree

On Partridge Island.

I’m guessing for a day,

Or two,

Of rest.

Wingspan beyond belief.

He won’t find much

Winter fare to eat,

Except carrion.

And they do like clams.

But their choice of seeds,

And nuts and berries,

Is not available.

Nor insects,

Though they’ll dig for them.

But a taste of a small animal,

Might be very tempting.

So, I will keep

Paw, my cat/kitten

Black as a crow

With one white mitten,

In his carry case

Whilst the crow visits.

And,

You know,

My cat/kitten

Has not made one

Complaint.

I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2022 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

DE BA. UEL

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Sister Darling Saves My Soul And Ignites My Coal For Valentine’s Day

Sister Darling, of

The Rarefied Church of the World (reformed),

Stepped onto the dock of

The Partridge Island Lighthouse

This Valentine Day morning,

From an outgoing fishing boat,

To spend the day (and night)

On behalf of my religious studies.

Provisions she brought, beyond

Usual Lighthouse Keeper fare,

Incl. chocolates and bottles o’ wine.

There were even finely cut

Fresh fish fillets for

Paw, my cat/kitten,

Black as soot

With one white mitten.

And when my religious instructions

Were done,

And before our festive feast,

We greeted each other with

Such enthusiasm,

That her hair-holding bun

Became undone,

And cascaded across her shoulders,

Giving Paw, the cat/kitten,

A place to hide.

I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2022 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

DE BA. UEL

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