simple little poems

all hands on deck
all eyes on the horizon!
the ship sails steadfastly on
through ocean blue water
as we, her willing passengers,
unfettered by the bonds and shackles of reason
line the rail looking for whales
but see only plastic and trash

but down in the hold
where no one looks
I’ve been given a glimpse
of the festering bile we carry forward
and with quaking hands
I dip a jar, to bring up into the light of day
a bottle of this sordid soup
to observe what skitters and shrugs
and scuttles within

Holding a flashlight in the dim galley,
I lean in close
and hear the strains of musicians
playing accordions,snare drums,
tubas and a saw
and watch the tiny acrobat
dressed in white dancing shoes
and pink frill riding proudly
bareback on twin seahorses
around the arena
while the ringmaster lights a hoop of flame
and looks at her expectantly.

I like your poem csharpe. I like the way you blended the sea and circus imagery in the last stanza. I can hear the band playing!

Tripped by Brownies, would you care

Falling down a velvet stair

Caught by fairies, sprites and more

Just feet above a quilted floor?

Grecian Limericks- (I wrote these just for fun)

There once was a woman from Sparta

Whose lovers all knew was a farta.

And each one would gasp,

As more gas was passed,

Sure the next one would blow them aparta.

There once was a young man from Crete

Who's manhood was measured in feet.

Though his conquests were many,

Complainers, weren't any . . .

(Because the young man was discreet!)

A young girl that lived in Phillippi

Had a figure that most folk called "hippy"

And wherever she'd walk,

The old women would talk,

"You remember when that girl was me?"

There shall be no more sea,

All of the fish will die,

Do you care about the fish of the sea?!

                                      Terror on the High Briny Sea

The Captain called "All able hands!"

"Man the deck! And spread the sand!"

We jumped from berths, and up the stairs

Into the sun and cold crisp air.

We knew the cause of the alarm,

A pirate ship that meant us harm.

We'd slipped the noose (or so we thought)

It now appeared that we were caught.

"Dirk!" he ordered. "To the nest!

(Of all us salts, Dirk's eyes was best.)

He cursed the wind, and called for sail

Then leaned against the pilot's rail.

He lit his pipe, and drank his beer,

(And hoped bravado'd squelch our fear.)

He cast his gaze about mid-ship

And loosed the cutlass at his hip.

He checked his powder. Counted shot.

Then checked again. (Like he'd forgot.)

He checked the sun against the glass,

Then checked the shadow of the mast.

He glanced at maps and shuffled charts,

(No lead could fathom his deep heart.)

He found a prayer from long ago,

"To God, commend this ship and soul."

And when the wind whipped up at last,

(Twas then the threat of danger passed.)

And when we knew that we were saved,

We cheered our Captain, Proud and Brave.

Aw... Divine Intervention? I wanted a swashbuckling brouhaha!

I was going that way . . . when God stepped in . . .

 What was that all about?

Bryan, that may have been your most concise and easily understood post...

                                               EVER.
                                                  

 lol!

deep night sky
a billion burning stars
pierce my eyes

cold winter sleet
a million frozen shards
slice my skin

humid summer night
a thousand screaming crickets
shred my eardrums

rush-hour subway train
a hundred acrid odors
burn my nostrils

street vendor takeout
a dozen alien spices
blister my tongue

greeted back home
a couple special souls
make me whole

Good one Writch.  Simple yet interesting.

Nice poem Writch.

Death looms over the unwary world as night.

Brandishing the swords that is Armageddon...

Simple? Yes.

Cheery? Notsomuch.

Looking back at this topic,

Seeing longer poems,

Longer than, say, 6 lines,

Wondering why they are here.

Sometimes being whole-brained is fun,

sometimes isn't fun,

can you see why I'm writing this poem?

None know when the poets pen

Will choose to start or when to end.

And if his lines count more than two

Should we then gag the errant Muse?