Tuesday: Sea Shanties. Share what you love about seas and shores #NationalMarineWeek 25th July- 9th August, more like two weeks poetry and artworks challenge. What do the seas and shores mean to you? Final Seven Days: Saturday: Beachcombing, Sunday: Rocky Shorelines, Monday: Mermaids And SeaMonsters, Tuesday: Sea Shanties, Wednesday: Ocean Vegetation, Thursday: Deep Sea, Friday: What Should We Do For Sealife. Please submit your poems and artwork by DM to me, or send a message via my WordPress “The Wombwell Rainbow” contact screen or my FB “Paul Brookes-Writer and Photographer” Today Tuesday: Sea Shanties

Indian Empire

Indian Empire

What will we do with ocean plastic?
What will we do with ocean plastic?
What will we do with ocean plastic?
Early in the morning
Early in the morning.

Delays so slow we need something drastic.
Delays so slow we need something drastic
Delays so slow we need something drastic

Way Hey we’ve found the answer
Way Hey we’ve found the answer
Way Hey we’ve found the answer
Early in the morning.
Early in the morning.

-Paul Brookes

The Ballad of Israel Hands
(Sung to the tune of The Ballad of Sam Hall, traditional)

Oh me name is Israel Hands, bless yer eyes, bless yer eyes
Me name is Israel Hands, bless yer eyes
I sailed across the sea with me cutlass on me knee
Bless yer eyes

Our captain’s name was Blackbeard, bless yer eyes, bless yer eyes
His beard as black as pitch, bless yer eyes.
He’s a captain good and true for he’s kindly to his crew
Bless yer eyes

We plundered from our foes, bless yer eyes, bless yer eyes
We plundered from our foes, bless yer eyes
We stole silver, spice and gold and we stowed it in the hold
Bless yer eyes

We collected many ships, bless yer eyes, bless yer eyes
We corralled quite a fleet, bless yer eyes
We captured ‘em at sea and we robbed them with some glee
Bless yer eyes

Oh and when I was ashore, bless yer eyes, bless yer eyes
They made a trap for Blackbeard, bless yer eyes,
Maynard’s men burst from the hold and my captain’s life was sold
bless yer eyes

They threw his body in the sea, bless yer eyes, bless yer eyes
His head hung on the bowsprit, bless yer eyes,
I got off scott free, the king’s pardon was on me
bless yer eyes

So Blackbeard’s pirate days were over, bless yer eyes, bless yer eyes
Flintlocks, grenades and irons couldn’t save him, bless yer eyes,
Farewell to the glory days, at least he went out in a blaze
bless yer eyes

I often think about him, bless yer eyes, bless yer eyes
And the times we put to sea, bless yer eyes,
Now I drink my tot of rum and wait for death to come
bless yer eyes

Note: Israel Hands was a crew member of Adventure, ship captained by the notorious pirate Blackbeard.

=Angela Topping

Monday: Mermaids And Seamonsters. Share what you love about seas and shores #NationalMarineWeek 25th July- 9th August, more like two weeks poetry and artworks challenge. What do the seas and shores mean to you? Final Seven Days: Saturday: Beachcombing, Sunday: Rocky Shorelines, Monday: Mermaids And SeaMonsters, Tuesday: Sea Shanties, Wednesday: Ocean Vegetation, Thursday: Deep Sea, Friday: What Should We Do For Sealife. Please submit your poems and artwork by DM to me, or send a message via my WordPress “The Wombwell Rainbow” contact screen or my FB “Paul Brookes-Writer and Photographer” Today Monday: Mermaids And Seamonsters

Resources:

https://www.livescience.com/61229-weird-sea-monsters-of-2017.html

******************************

Mermiad Rachael Ikins

Once You Were a Mermaid

Now it is your hand in mine, fingers a clutch of frail feathers.
Not much left but spines. Autumn apples, asters’ powder sweeten
evening’s breeze. The last crickets, those that survive
frost in crevices chant their sleigh bell monotone.
Skies open, a coverlet turned inside-out,
satin, silk, coral, a gray soft as ashes. Then, heavy. Then the rains.

Rains lift you, carry you to the sand, leave you on ocean’s porch.
You, little more than a sodden bird within reach
of wavelets’ chuckle. Private conversations water
holds among all its selves. I hear it in your paintings: waterfalls,
pool, ocean, a glacial lake. Moon slices sky silks,
shivers a path upon the water. I release your fingers.
Your luminous eyes glow in the dark.

” Go on…” I whisper, urging you while water smacks,
its lips, silvers your old, old bones. My palms, clams.

I scrub my eyes, salt-itches, sea-scent confuses me,
your feet, frail fins, your legs to tail. At the moment
when the water and fear have risen high in both
our hearts, you realize, once, so long ago you can’t remember,
you were a mermaid, and I, your water baby.

Water closes over your head. Your gills blossom.
Phosphorescence trails your passage.
Everyone knows you can’t cling to a mermaid,
just for a moment, then you feel her slip into the sea.

-Rachael Ikins

By Onemorething

Sometimes we look for monsters

in the wrong places or

perhaps the problem is

that we are searching for them at all;

earth rent, we want to peer into scars,

we wonder what new abyss to descend,

and here are ghosts and fangs enough,

so many vents of fury

sulphuring the blackness.

Yet we journey on by fathoms,

compressed, water weighted –

we see dark stars, but what if

we find that there are no real demons

lurking at these depths after all,

no stinging trail of malignancy?

Then we might uncover the brightness

of ourselves and discover

the expanse of other creatures

who light up this permanence of night

with their strange beauty.

-Rachel Deering

I Found The Loch Ness Monster By Neal Zetter

-Neal Zetter

A Mermaid by John William Waterhouse

The difference between us

She’s looking at me, I’m looking at her. She’s posing for the camera ,see?
You know how the story goes; boy meets girl.

I first saw her, out at the Rocks, tail wrapped round her like a cat, basking in the afternoon sun. She was combing her hair (no doubt to get all the seaweed and sea salt spray out). Not with a normal comb, no; with a cuttlefish bone.

She was singing, a strange sort of sound, as if the Ocean was birthing a new wave or life form. Not a tune I recognised, at any rate.

I knew the risks, had heard all those tales about the siren calls, sailors being lured to their deaths, smashed on the rocks.

But she was on the land and so was I, so I was safe.

I won’t go on about how gorgeous she was, because , well, you can see that from the photo-all nacreous skin, hair that went on for miles.

She wasn’t much of a conversationalist .But she liked her bling, had it all laid out, treating the shore like it was her boudoir or something! So not so much different to the girls I had been out with before, in that way.

But yet, so very, very different…

I was already thinking of where I should take her on a date whilst we made small talk- the new fish restaurant on the Quay, maybe?

She said she couldn’t commit to man or land, said that the difference between us wouldn’t work.

Still, she let me take the photo anyway, and we left it at that.

But I could tell she was curious.

-Roshni Beeharry

Street Mermaid from Outer Space

Chunks of cheap comet ice
fall from her shroud. Unwinding,
she revives (as in the mythic cycle),
she stands, she melts parts of herself:
dead, living, alien, marine.
Sandy tail, pearl-plastered,
half-human, half-mackerel,
she stirs up red and blue spirals,
ungraphable numbers.
The street mermaid from outer space
travels through perception
in stages,
disembarking from her flying saucer,
hovering on the boardwalk,
becoming the sea.

—Tucker Lieberman

Mermaid sbm

‘the mermaid’

is written, is said, may be sung,
another day. a smudge is all it takes
to start.

once started move on. it may be the wrong
item, it is, just, what it is now, a label.

it rained most of the day ,the roof leaked.

a friend returned that evening.

i will draw the mermaid, with a fish.

-sbm

The Sea Monsters Lesson.

Welcome to dry land class.
Today we’re learning about similes.
Smiles no chance like.
Sea monsters pictures
See?
Now describe them using the words ‘as’ or ‘like’.
Like what?
Something you think we’ll know.
Who will drown first?
Governor Blobfish
Karen Kraken.
Section 18 toothed shark.
Parking Catfish.
Creeper Octopus.
Leviathan Judge.
Mother-in-law Jellyfish.
Officer Hydra.

Mixed metaphor warm-up.
Come up for air.
Some people see monsters.
I see humans
Life lines on rafts.
Salty lipped lies told by others before.
Far from shore
Certain to go under
Without noticing.

-Kate Mattacks @mypaperskin

 

Mermaid Paul Brookes

-Paul Brookes (This first appeared in Visual Verse)

Fishman

She loves him.
though he is water.

Her mam says When I gift you
a fishes tail it will hurt
every time you use it
to and fro like a wave.

It will seem to him
a beckoning.

I will give you a tongue.
Every time you sing to him
you will drown a little more.

You will have each other,
but I will lose you.

-Paul Brookes

Sunday: Rocky Shores. Share what you love about the sea using #NationalMarineWeek 25th July- 9th August, more like two weeks poetry and artwork challenge. What do the seas and shores mean to you? Final Seven Days: Saturday: Beachcombing, Sunday: Rocky Shorelines, Monday: Mermaids And SeaMonsters, Tuesday: Sea Shanties, Wednesday: Ocean Vegetation, Thursday: Deep Sea, Friday: What Should We Do For Sealife. Please submit your poems and artwork by DM to me, or send a message via my WordPress “The Wombwell Rainbow” contact screen or my FB “Paul Brookes-Writer and Photographer” Today Sunday: Rocky Shores

Rocky Beach

-Over the Rail Out to the Irish Sea by Paul Brookes

We picked our way down
to Peppercombe bay,
where the cliffs are paprika
and the grey stones wait
quietly, to be ground by the surf;
through the green hush of trees
to the place where there’s only
the wide sky and the salt sea.

-Sarah Connor

jagged teeth of rocks
black spikes along the shoreline
the slow hush of waves

-Bronwen Griffiths

Obsession

The sucking hiss of the indrawn breath of the tide
draws the land closer, grain by grain,

stealing, in tiny increments,
the gift it takes for itself and piles back on the shore.

This compulsion I know: drawn to the granite edges of you,
again turned aside.

Close as the heart’s core, or as far away as the moon,
are the sources of the timeless force that binds you to me.

Age by age;
tide by tide;
by the dark magic of gravity I take you now.

I am the ocean and you are my shore.
You will come to me.
Grain by grain, you will come to me.

-Yvonne Marjot

Precariously,
between slimy sea rock pools
I see it scuttles

-Paul Brookes

Sand clouds billows blown
hide fresh prey from predator
who waits all to clear

-Paul Brookes

In isolation
pools await the next tidal door
into the wider sea

-Paul Brookes

Saturday: Beachcombing. Share what you love about the sea using #NationalMarineWeek 25th July- 9th August, more like two weeks poetry and artwork challenge I’d love to hear all about your favourite marine wildlife, the actions you take to help our sea life, and what the sea means to you. Final Seven Days: Saturday: Beachcombing, Sunday: Rocky Shorelines, Monday: Mermaids And SeaMonsters, Tuesday: Sea Shanties, Wednesday: Ocean Vegetation, Thursday: Deep Sea, Friday: What Should We Do For Sealife. Please submit your poems and artwork by DM to me, or send a message via my WordPress “The Wombwell Rainbow” contact screen or my FB “Paul Brookes-Writer and Photographer” Today Saturday: Beachcombing.

Beachcombing.

Useful resources:

https://www.shorelocalnews.com/the-beginners-guide-to-beachcombing/

https://www.countryfile.com/how-to/outdoor-skills/beachcombing-guide-things-to-find-along-the-seashore-and-best-beaches-in-the-uk/

https://www.mcsuk.org/blog/post/gillian-burke-plastic-

__________________________________________________________________________________________

John Hawkhead The BeachJohn Hawkhead BeachcombingJohn Hawkhead Purlescent shells

-John Hawkhead

Beachcombing, Lower Largo

Forget the kite surfers, the holiday makers.
The Forth’s sailing boats will be there, all day.

Keep your eye on the shoreline.

Look, one hundred years of sea glass,
a tumbler on the ocean, ground smooth,
frost-gems recycled by nature.
They call it drift glass,
those fragments in your palm,
once a beer bottle or fruit jar
from another’s life,
a remnant of some shipwreck,
now a gift of earrings.

-Maggie Mackay

Saturday beach combing

Beach roses
Make me cry

Pickets washed bare
Dune’s graceful curves

Hidden horizon
Hope offered

Silver foam
Chases plover

Chase me
I submit

I feel the smell
Of sailors yells
And maiden’s tears ashore

Laid my back on rock
And watched the clock
Of night sky rolling in

As sun sinks down
Below blue line
Dark silhouette
Embraces mine

Sea frost caresses me
Moist cold lustily
Grabs my bones

Grey mist expanse
you are now home

Gull screech
Soul search
I think I will die
If not here

-Laurel Joy Graceson

Beachcombed rocks

-Karin B

Collecting Sea Glass with Janis

for Janis Smith

We could be people in a painting,
two women arm in arm, laughing.
A sudden slap of sea air and sand

and still we laugh as we continue
our walk along the beach recalling
silly superstitions handed down

from our mothers: Never cross knives
or put shoes on a table. I confess
I once walked under a ladder.

‘Sea glass is the answer,’ Janis reassures,
‘find frosted red, rare pink or
kelly-green and wear it for luck
on a necklace of seaweed like a mermaid.’

-Catherine Graham (The poem was previously published in Reach Poetry magazine)

.instruct’d .

Posted on August 24, 2018
There will be a cotton hankie and a bag of beach combed pieces.

Some are very tiny so I tips them onto something white to see. Set up is lining them into rows onto the hankie. I make up categories for the rows and use even the tiniest bits too.

instruct'd 1 SBMinstruct'd 2 SBMInstruct'd 3 SBM

-sbm

Beach Combers

All the decades we wandered the beach
my hand in yours, driftwood, fossils, shells
cracked-open, trickle to an end with sun’s
Autumnal roseate set. The sea
claims you.

It was always the sea, even after you clawed your way
from tail fin to legs, bare feet stamping a pattern
along soft, wet sand. The sea sighed, let you go,
promised to return to lay claim.

Mind muddled by mermaid song, you rest
on your pile of pillows like a small child with
stunned, round eyes. ” How did I get here?”
You ask me while the waves roll in, tide rises,

licks at your feet. Skin the color of storm skies.
I answer ” You got old.” Because it is truth.
Denial, no more. Sea-salt corrodes everything,
dissolves castles we built from upended buckets of sand.

Water rises inside you, sponges soaked from lungs
that once held air enough to shout.

I draw your name in the sand with a stick.
Your face coalesces from the shadows, you and me,
that photograph last April, me, a princess, you,
our castle’s queen. Then you laid your body upon the beach,
bones and wrack yourself. Translucent skin, opal eyes,
waiting for the water.
Waiting for the water.

-Rachael Ikins