Merry Misadventure Poem by H.L. Dowless

The islands are callin', I got that endearing feeling,
the fish are biting and schooling, it's hurricane season.
The bohemians are gathering to paint, ponder and glorify
those hidden dimensions of life and the justifying reasons
for us to sanctify them.


Even at the time of the yuletide, those fine dames are a pining
for us swash-bucklers to give the them endearing company.
Just off the coast a bit the surfacing whales are a whining,
the dolphins are a leaping, merrily trumpeting
as our jon boats ease along netting snapper and grouper.
They all swim and leap along beside us in happy bequest
for our scraps, small delicacies and tidbits for their supper.
If any remains from our wanton feast, then we'll surely give them what is left


Aye- the glinting gold hiding deep in those limestone caves is a waiting,
embracing our advance as we ease along for the taking.
The limestone cliffs rise high for our long range spying,
so the enclosed harbor conceals us from any threatening eyeing.
The sea sloshes into the freshwater creek that winds ecstatically
back into the depth of the limestone cliffs.
The rise of the sea seals off the caves to emphatically
close off our cave hideaway from any imposing skiffs.
The retreat of the sea allowing our exit back along the beach
for morning time trapped fish and fresh oyster delicacies.


Thus unto my fantasy I am forever sold,
only to roam distances in search of wealth sitting inside
huge wrought iron chest untold.
In the meantime I shall take my pleasure from those thrills of indenture
found in bold
island adventure.


My eyes gaze into the horizon of the rolling sea,
my embrace as my body doth forward move is toward Poseidon,
my soul glides forward beyond to embrace Ares.
In mortal life my body knows no pause, only a life of moving, sailing, gliding,
searching for that special place of secular paradise that my contentment needs.


They all stand in astonishing wonder as I only pause in my move
to where I can net the most return on my plunder.
I venture on in pursuit of the need to groove
like a rolling stone during the time of monsoon rains, fire and thunder.


It is Poseidon, that magisterial spirit of the high seas
who has contrived to posses my mortal soul,
thus I am compelled to satisfy that need,
the seed for thrilling adventure and chances taken that are so bold
as to astound my descending generations for ages untold.


My desire is to experience those untouched island lands,
populated by those who are motivated
in the arts of deductive logic and reason. People who exist in untainted bands
such as those of some yet undiscovered Thule, whose arts of deductive philosophy shall titillate
even the toughest analytic gruel.


In my eyes I envision those grand monuments so majestic
that they shall loom forward in glittering example of supreme creative best.
The industry buzzing, but to the unmotivated may just appear hectic,
though they all move forward with open hands out stretched in bequest
for the ultimatum that they can offer out of imposing compelled generosity.


So thus I shall sail away on the wind and the tide,
with the perpetual movement and rhythm my soul shall abide.