Odes, Tigris And Euphrates

Each thought you sound through your soft verse

I replay them to my ear

and each next line is to the first

a melody sweet to hear

as the seamless words flow with grace

they are whispered on my tongue,

you teach them all to mind their place

then commingle when their sung.

A simple truth needs complex care

colored waves complete in white

then what this simple truth I share

has no product, has no right,

on what rare tree does your fruit grow

as it stands between the two,

where Tigris and Euphrates flow

what I write, I write to you.

Envisioning your length, your reach

as you channel to the last

tributaries you seal and breach;

yet, forever in your grasp,

upon the apron of your lakes

can I but embrace them all

then nothing more my heart forsakes

as your fruit begins to fall.

Between the rhythms of your waves

life implants her tender seed

through sunlight’s procreating rays

each flowering plant will feed,

upon their leaves they drink the dew

which escapes the breath of night

within their hearts the nectar pools

and transforms the banished light.

What ancient land divides the two?

What history of her art?

Mesopotamia, to you

wedged between where rivers start

and flow their course, their race to sea

then empty with a searing toll

pins the basin with their mighty

surge and fills your Persian soul.

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Captain Cur Biography

Captain Cur Captain of the Malevolent. Profession, Pirate. I took an oath that binds me to the sea; I left behind all claims, all history, bundled with my fears I carry them no more from not the throat but from the plexus roar. The storm has raged and now a pensive lull; I string my flag, the crossbones and the skull, the sun has set the world a golden hue a spell is cast across the rising moon, in her glow I rest in magic sleep, the skies are charged, the world is in retreat. I dream and wander deep within her source to forbidden shores, onward is my course. On Poetry, Her passion’s voice more meltingly composed than liquid fire, soft words boiling over too hot for flesh to bear; mesmerizing, coming near, dancing slowly on her smile, waltzing flames touching lips, sweat, desire; in this age, in this time, I am to live through the blaze, heart in hand, my love to give. To the sea, Guardian of my heart! I trust in thee, enrich my soul and quell my boastful pride; vastness surrounds me, beauty pure and wide let these calm waters fill the days that be. My Lord! My Protector! O! Faithful Sea! One last journey, may faith become my guide; my sails are drawn by cold relentless time this path thou gives, this path thou giveth free to teach man till a greater good is won. May I not repent useless in my grave or count my deeds when all amount to none though flesh is weak I know the spirit brave; admire not power or the lowest shun; love gives me strength the weakest then to save! In these bold waters I raise my arm to thee, My Lord! My Protector! O! Faithful Sea! On love, Blossoming, a bed of roses dare I pick just one, and encumber it in words to compare its charm to her wakening eyes; from my hand to hers and leave its beauty in her charge. On death, I laid him down without wreath or flowers And gave his body as the currents stream; I said the words to our God the Father Reuniting his spirit with the sea. I cried out as if in some horrid dream For with all my powers so still he laid, shook him gentle as a child to waken, but no breath he breathed! No! No breath he breathed! By twilight in its transient haste, taken; To the deepness of the darkening shade, To the blackness of the voracious night, Pallbearers guided by an unlit sun Bringing him down to a cavernous grave Where years are counted in chime less hours And the grains of sand in the glass are stalled, Where greenness of the earth is planted under In depths to deep to feel the giving rain Just rumblings of the lightless thunder. Welcome to the Captain’s page! Poetry translated from his encoded diary. The spirit of Captain Cur has commissioned this translator, with the help of the Captain’s impish Muse, to give good account of his writings, loves and adventures. The problem is the Muse, who calls herself, ‘Baharia Msichana’ which means, sailor girl, but she prefers ‘Pirate Girl’ insists I write her love poems, which she will not allow me to publish, or she will not help me decipher his diary. Captain Cur inhabited this sphere sometime between the mid to late 1600’s and possibly the early 1700’s. His diary was heavily damaged after the wreck of the Malevolent, his exact date of death remains unknown. Allusions to his alter ego, ” the beast” is heavily layered throughout his prose. His tales of adventure appear to encompass both the real and spectral world. The Captain’s spirit continues to pen in his diary and has much to say about our modern age. It’s complicated, but fun. So I hope you enjoy the voyage!)