

Α Π Ω Θ E Σ I Ω N Ω K E A N Ω Y

____________

THE APOTHESION OF THE OCEAN

With the Author's
Introduction

ADRIAN GRZEGORZ PONIATOWSKI

Smashwords Edition. Copyright 2012 by Adrian Poniatowski.

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Ad legate

Once upon a time, far out in the North Pacific Ocean, there was a brigantine, brilliant and sailing downwind under full stack of sail to the golden coast of California. What happened on that vessel, on our Bobby, will not be understood by the world, though we may say it whole thrice over. For it was a time and place of such joy as boundless as the ocean, and such work as furious as the waxing and waning storm, that you had to be there to know it. It was a time in our youth, that best of times, when we had nothing save ourselves and Bobby, and no concern save the one concern for ship and shipmate that governed our lives.

But enter, Reader, into our world. Mix with this elite that crossed a pelt of globe to see the wonders the Lord keeps in ocean's depths. Come aboard and smell that whiff of salt, of biomass, of life that filled us every morn. Let that holy faith, that Catholic faith which steeps each word, glow with your own, as we together look towards that one Font, and one Source of all good and happiness. This work is a poetic diary of that month between June and July in the summer of '12.

Let my friends and teachers remember these happy days I lock and keep in heart. Thank you to Captain Rick Miller, Chief Scientist Deb Goodwin, the Engineers Thomas Howland and Max McClure, the Steward Abby Cazenault, the Mates Molly Eddy, Will McLean, Sarah Herard, and Scientists Greg Boyd, Chrissy Dykeman, and Adam Traina, and my Krewe, Dana White, Nadya Shlykova, Isabelle Hatfield, Blaine Darrah, Julia Glennon, Sevag Mehterian, Addie Peterson, Annie "Bananie" Peterson, Jessica "Tutor" Maloney, Everto Guiterrez, Benjamen "Jamen" Donnelly, Jessica "Gazelle" Gould, Alli "Gator" Del Gizzi, Rebecca Trinh, Christina "Little Fish" Wei, Tina "Turtle" Mullen, Morgan Turner, Sarah Witcheter, Becky Slattery, Diana Perry, Lauren Roemke, Anne West, Chelsea Carlson, and the Sea Education Association of Woods Hole, Massachusetts.

Fair winds, o Reader!

I am, your most humble and devoted servant,

Adrian Grzegorz Poniatowski

Ad alumnis

Dear friends and fellow alumni!

I set upon the Californian shore having far surpassed in reality the thrill, the agony, and the ecstasy of the image of my mind, painted in anticipation of my voyage. Why ought I waste words of poor description, attempting to speak that which lies inscribed by the sea upon all our hearts? Let it suffice to say that nowhere else, save home and church, was I closer to God and to man that that 135 feet of ship plowing through Pacific waters.

I would like to extend my heartfelt thanks to you who have made this trip of discovery possible for myself and for others. Words of prose cannot describe the pearl of priceless value you have procured for me, for what will seem a token price in retrospect. You, who know well the golden memories of youth upon the seas, need not look further to find affirmation of this sentiment.

Such is the hallmark of a true education: that it is a journey of both soul and body, an odyssey of life whereupon we change ourselves and arrive back home more human than when we left it. O happy academy of work and school of leisure upon the boundless ocean! What I cannot hope to repay I pray God will return with interest in reward eternal – for was not Bobby just a step away from Heaven's bliss?

I assure you this: if God Almighty should find it fit that fortune should smile upon me because of my industry and talents, your kind generosity will not be far from my mind. Then I shall remember the kindness which blessed my youth with so majestic an adventure, and my generous coin shall not be far from the common cash that, as much as wind and water, makes the ancient brigs sail upon the teeming waters. May my bit of worldly treasury hopefully serve as second jib sheet, that together with willing heart moves the ships into the setting sun.

Ubi nos unum, nos omnes ibimus,

Adrian

Brewster, New York

Feast of Saint John the Evangelist, 2012

Dedication

To my God and Savior,

to my Mother, to my Father,

to Konrad, Julian, and Adam,

to the Mother of my Mother

and the Father of my Father:

behold this finest work

and chronicle of finest month.

Introduction

Nostra aetate!

Nostra aetate, nostra aetate,

videmus salvationem nostrum

in Deo Patre, Filio, et

Spiritu Sancto Paraclito. Amen.

Invocation

Veni Creator Spiritus,

mentes tuorum visita,

imple superna gratia,

quae Tu creasti pectra!

Triune God in splendid Glory unapproachable,

made bearable by cloth of poor humanity

made triumphant and incorrupt in Christ,

let my tiny prayer but touch Thine ear,

as the worlds wheel perfectly beneath

Thy governance, and hear this prayer

I raise from deepest depth of soul and heart.

For I, Thy bard, am anointed to awesome task,

to blue shadow lay upon these white pages

of Thy Creation, oh my God, the perfection

that defies all taming, all rhyme and rhythm

of human hands, and limit what is limitless,

marshal the ever-changing, fickle waters,

the fury of storms and quake of startled

hearts, when they see again the Temple

of Thine Glory!

But remember, o my God,

the purest womb and perfect virginity that

once bound You by Your Will to the Earth,

and thus restored it to perfect innocence.

Though so lacking, possess the darkened

places of my mind with uncreated light:

with touch so mighty as to sanctify the

unworthy, make me again Tabernacle

of Thine Spirit. Humility sharpen to

face Thine Oceanic servant, pride

and all dullness dispel with fresh love,

renew my eye and ear with curious,

piercing fire, and thus hand empower

to command the world be bound

in the epic of the ocean. Stella Maris,

Mary! Pray for this conversion with

whole host of heaven, Florian first

among them. Rank me in thy noble

heritage, the fishermen of souls and fish,

and guide my hand with steadfast supplication

upon the swath of white and sapphire, both

unforgiving, and both steps to highest heaven.

Calliope, where you faint before the daring

task, let the angels take us both above heaven's orb.

Vision come and prophesy the happy gospel

Armed with skill of divine fear and gentleness:

Now burn soul, and speak in tongues of fire!

Book I

The Shore

Return to the Sea

Upon entering Woods Hole... Dedicated to Little Fish.

Why doth my spirit shake so?

What distant echo has it heard,

to make it quake with holy joy

and anticipation? Did whiff of air

bring that ancient scent of salt

that doth recall memories of old?

What sight doth cloth the eye in

wet tear, yet unseen but felt by heart?

Can Mercy of God be so great as to

fulfill the prophesy and hope of yesteryear,

bring me after long journey home to the sea?

The happy sight! Oh the happy sight I see

even in the foggy midst of clouds conspired

to hide the wide and swelling majesty:

the sea! The sea doth call with joyful roil

with gentle crash and foamy wash upon

the beach-head still in the summer morn.

Good God! The blood within me calls

to the azure blood of Earth, in equal

proportion attesting to the primal

mold of man from sand and stardust

long ago, to kneel and meet, sink

within caress yet cold, but tender

of the ocean-sea within its fold.

The kiss of tears, of salty drops I press

and squeeze with bliss from heart I let

fall and mix with the coming surf, for

it to take away my greeting to the world

I greet again. A world yet unknown and

secret, as the Face of the Father, covered

not by star and cloud but depths unconquered

and not provoking man, tiny wonder.

I missed thine sight, being landlocked

so long by snow, by day's swift journey

and scholar's duty. But now free, I augment

my freedom to knowing you, my ocean.

Wash my face and bless me with the Touch

of God that quickens life within thy waters,

that first received the Breath of God in the world.

Oath of the Sailor

Every mariner entering a ship's company was required to subscribe to a series of articles constituting the fundament of life, reward, and punishment aboard the vessel. This particular oath is made to God, the surest guide and Captain. Dedicated to Sarah.

Who shall teach me to walk across

waters amidst men? They who perfect

heart and perfect faith to well command

a light, not lead-heavy, heart filled with

sure breath of heaven are not found here

to teach me step that flies. Even amidst

the salt so sharp in judgment could not

glide but a bit above the swelling seas,

that more than driest desert in ice bonded

test their strength, though wisest. What

wind shall know my fear and take it

with gentle touch and ray of sun,

then last bit dispel the residue to

swiftly pull me as high as aided men

do go, and when the squall doth squeal

bloody death to all, stand as if on surest

mountain on tiny grain of faith? What

line will bind and spread this heart

of rock as freest sail of whitest cloth?

Stella Maris! Virgin Mary, sweet and

guide, enlist for me the aid and captainship

of God! Lord, grant me purity of mind,

let fall the shackles of my pride, become

as child blameless and blind to division

of known and unknown. For I know

nothing, and thus see everything as

gem of wisdom to stow in tiny treasury

of soul. Upon this shore I break mere

excellence, where I jumped but once

my height on earth, that I may though

fall in trough twice my length, then

rise on crest thrice more closer than

I've ever been to sky. I bind myself

to happy king and vicar of God upon

these waters, and under hand, though

human, behold yet living unbearable

and awesome countenance of my Lord.

And in daily grind and grumble may

the angel of God send me peace, not

stopped and hindered in this domain

without highways of dirt. For this is

needle that pierces space for divine cord,

to wide set heart and thus propel spirit,

though stretched at first then walking

lightly in the gale made breeze of Holy Spirit.

The Great Peace

It is a fiction to divide the arts and sciences, for both are two sides of the same coin, and both must work to be conduits of enlightenment to humankind. Dedicated to Nadya.

I stand upon the calm and sunny edge

of ocean, where continent of sea meets

its complement in land, the waters lightly

lapping upon the sandy gravel. The little

waves are pushed by light, delightful breeze

cooling and refreshing in the sun, playing

about my face and hair with cheerful chase.

But I feel this one breath as if speak with

double force, one slower and more constant,

the second faster and more variant, and as

they whip about me in sweet dance, I stand

as if mast and hull and spread my mind as sail

upon the sea far beyond the reach of eye.

There both are magnified to dread or

powerful wind, and they seem to toss

the tiny skiff, as if one in jest and other

in direction of far-off land, as if in contest

of command over this particle of life. One

is history and humanity, shaped by past,

known, unknown, yet fixed in stone,

one course and one pilot preferring

through journey. The second is science

and sphere of nature, so changing and

untamed as if violent, demanding five

attendants by vastness of fickleness.

Thus one pushes port and second sucks

starboard, as they race in endless circle,

the slower lost by swifter long ago.

Skipper stays in desperate calm, tense

with coming clash of force unstoppable

and object immovable – a dreadful squall

to wipe him and ship into the ocean sea.

Crew and captain surrender to divine

lieutenants, hoping that obedient humility

to what seems chance with interest invoke

upon these awesome breaths. Strange,

as if they mind in spirit had, the faster

caught the slower far ahead, trodding

past where the swifter would walk

corrected, and they made peace

with each other, seeing true trek

of first and swiftness of the second.

Thus mixing two, they wheeled back

to ship abandoned, enticed by frail

and almost false concord, as man

of letters and man of science hid

in fear and hostility by danger

tempered. And coming with light

step, one to push the raffee, one

to guide the keel, as if two hands

together touched the helm with ease,

the men forgot their tiny excellence

in ignorance of this new science and art,

which traced so far and daring loxodrome

upon the unknown globe of blue fields.

Both sat as scribe and judge, as mate

alongside wheel: all had right to sacred

quarterdeck as pupils of Lord's angel,

sent at last to exchange the talents

hoarded by greed and selfish comfort

that to darkness threw the Earth so long

ago commanded to be crawled upon and

wondered. Thus again reduced to student

they matched and conquered themselves,

scientist-artist, artist-scientist: gentlemen all.

Pierwsza Akademia

Poswiecone mamie.

Daleko stad moja matka stoi nad brzegiem

Baltyku, patrzac w dal na Hel i wody morskie

ktore pamieta ze swego dziecinstwa. Czy

stojac tam nad falochronem mysli o nas

z tesknota za naszymi twarzami? Czy z

babcia bedac, ktora pamieta dobrze moc

i przemoc stworzenia tego, odchodzi cialem

lecz nie dusza od brzegu swiata za spokojnym,

powolnym spacerem z Pusia?

Swiety Oceanie,

do Boga swym spokojem swietym i gniewem

sprawiedliwym, bo zyciodajnym, bardziej

niz ja, mizerny czlowiek, podobny, czyz nie

w twym gronie znajduje sie i Baltyk, unia

niebieska zlaczony? Czy nie kropla tu wylana

lzy nie prysnie na skalch pomorskich perfumem?

Czy nie szept i dotyk niesiesz i spisujesz w kazdej

muszli i kazdym owocu twego biskupstwa? Badz

wiec laskaw, i stan sie aniolem: daleko nies ma

milosc i troske, pamiec twarzy tej i oczow

matki mej. Bo milosc jest jezykiem morza

dawno temu tchem Boga nauczony przez

te wody, przed poczatkiem swiata wzburzone

w chaosie. I one nauczyly glaskac zycie i

jako skarbnik strzec ewangelie Pana.

Dajac jej me wzdechy daj jej tez pokoj,

ze ja nie zgine, lecz znajde dobrym trudem

klucze szafirowe by otworzyc skarb lask

Boskich, schowany w sercu twym: pokore

i zdumienie. Bo kiedy znajde w tym polu

kupionym zetonem perle bez ceny, jak

gwiazde piekna, wtedy wroce ze swietymi

lepiej zlaczony, by mame i tate usciskac.

A Sailor's Epitaph

Inspired by our visit to the Bedford Bethel, a memorial not of stone or bronze, but of poesy to the multitude who found their final rest in the teeming waters. Dedicated to Julia.

See the pink of sunset in the West

and the waning light in East reclaiming

the blue of sea. Holy quiet, far removed

from men's bustle, that permits thoughts

of wind and water, of men lost long ago

and yesterday upon the sea's expanse.

These pebbles still remember touch of

widow's foot, that long looked into the

black of night with prayer for husband's

and father's safety, that son and daughter

may see their unknown father, winning

their bread and salvation upon the fields

of water. But they found their cross in

waters of third baptism and this world

claimed its citizens in overzealous wave

of air or spray. The first caught his soul

in the Lord's net while water served

as shroud and sepulcher to hide his body

till the final day of God. He joins the

countless scores of men most noble

whose ashes mix with the wicked wiped

before Noah from the Earth, and feeds

now the fish that fed him and his family.

And behold what monument God raises

to his children, commanding wind to

endless paean sing in place of inscribed

stone, blessing the teeming fish and forest

to weave living relics from their hearts.

Thus the seaweed sways with the dance

they made upon the swaying decks of ship,

and the whales sing in depths with longing

note the mariners of God sung beneath the stars.

The creeping things arrange their bones

into swirling shells and cups to serve as home

made in this desert richer than rainforest,

and the plankton rise touched by gleam

of Moon to living floor lay beneath the

vault of heaven to complete the basilica.

This sacred domain I enter, destroyed

and raised in single day, to fleeting shine

of sun catch and envelop as if in flaming

fire the shell I find and bless as candle,

prayer, and token of my memory calling

to the silent multitude of saints and sinners.

Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine.

The Ancient Fiction

An apology against a selective reading of history that aggrandizes particular nations over others.

You fools that pick an choose from song

of Clio, once spoken and spoken once again

for likes of you! Why doth thy lie and ancient

fiction perpetuate of thine worth? One would

think that the cluster crowned by Britain did

hold sway over world, and thine fitful skirmish

did write and determine destiny across the seas!

But even Britain, so proud and spread over

quarter of the earth and sea, did not last more

than four generations, to be given without

fight to its first rebellious child. The kingdom

of Genghis Khan laid rule firmer over swaths

of solid earth than the outposts that meant

to India subdue and with it ocean-sea.

Oxford and Harvard stand as first temple

and refuge of learning in thine mythology,

and men before did not think or wonder.

But Maecenas was early thirteen centuries

to raise and patron Virgil to Roman glory,

and August governed an Empire more united

than that which scare, unwilling founded

these tiny croppings in the array of world.

Be taught instead and know that royal saint

discerned and donated pious gift of Jagiellonian

learning that shares the ancient heritage with

papal academies and the libraries of Baghdad

whose wisdom preserved of Greeks did dye

Euphrates for half moon beneath Mongol pillage.

Truth faithful to the muse doth dispel the

darkness of the plebs, that lays as heavy chain

of humiliation on heroic peoples forgotten,

links of pride on those inflated by hubris.

My pen purchases the freedom won already,

recalls geniuses from oblivion, and raises

to equal rank and brilliance all the peoples

the Lord has summoned and knit by sea.

San Francisco

Rewriting a familiar shanty to fit our purposes...

In New England I was born

Heave away, haul away,

in New England round Cape Cod,

bound for San Francisco!

Heave away you sweeping sails

heave away, throw away,

heave away to heavens high,

bound for San Francisco!

When I got on this big brig

heave away, haul away,

Captain said she'd never sink

bound for San Francisco!

Heave away you sweeping sails

heave away, throw away,

heave away to heavens high,

bound for San Francisco!

When we rounded Maui's shore,

heave away, haul away,

you'd wish to God you'd see the stars,

bound for San Francisco!

Heave away you sweeping sails

heave away, throw away,

heave away to heavens high,

bound for San Francisco!

I wish I was on Long Beach Shore,

heave away, haul away,

with my girl and Keystone keg,

bound for San Francisco!

Heave away you sweeping sails

heave away, throw away,

heave away to heavens high,

bound for San Francisco!

Speck of Life

A fantasia, if there ever was one, considering that moment when you suddenly find something resembling a spider on your arm. The third stanza refers to a curious incident that happened to my party while camping in the environs of Ithaca, New York, id est, a full-scale reënactment of the clash between Russian and German forces at Odessa.

I lay upon the windswept beach in the

fading glow of afternoon sun, which

lends its warmth to some other part

of world, and leaves me to draw from

sand raging heat of noon against the cool

of breeze. As I loaf, the waft brings some

specks of grass or weed, that seem to

dance and tremble upon arm as living thing

that burrows to find refuge in warm being.

It startles me, as if spider, that once

found I dare not release from eye, lest its

presence fill the room with monstrous

mystery and terror. The test torments

my spirit of whether I should suffer to share

this corner of the earth with thing of unknown

ability, or with press of finger dispatch its life

and quash the little thing, crafted by divine

hand to contain and prosper a crumb of God's

might. Devil in one, blasphemy in other,

I looked to see the fleck in rest standing

listless, then fly away again, as if tiny bird.

Does this remind me of those times, when

we stepped back in time, in forest found some

hidden track to Odessa's mighty clash! And

when the battle four times done was finished

the Russians asked us over, and sang some

Irish song round the blazing fire. Then as

bimber flowed like river down to quench

their thirst, I gazed into the living radiance

that sent forth embers into the night sky

in brilliant horde and constellation fading

instant after it was born. Yes! Then too

did they seem to draw strength and living

from our revelry, to climb high into heaven

and claim their spot alongside older brothers.

And even if they forgot their shine in the

swifter, colder airs above, they did retain

in their charcoal sweet memory that doth

a higher realm join, and mixes with the

soil that fed the trees round us and yonder.

So I lay in sand that adventure of the night

keeps in joyful silence. And if it whispers,

it tells in dance of grass-blades the secrets

we alone from the living know and keep.

Song of the Sea

Dedicated to Isabelle.

Long after we are gone, the waves

will roll and crash upon the rocky shore,

as before men were, and after men have gone.

Wash my feet, o ancient water, as when

God incarnate washed the feet of his friends:

wipe the toil and sand from them, cool

the hot discomfort in thine surf so pleasing.

In the waves I hear the faint grunt and

exertion of the sun and moon raising

and pulling the waters upon shore,

anointing and adorning daily the Creation

of the Lord, who piled high this island

of sand with glacial roll, when Nimrod's

nation already began to scatter across globe.

One Lord of all created all this, all the

worlds that cram upon this planet, all

the worlds that hang far above us in

celestial globe. If this world is so beautiful,

what lush haven are we to imagine that

could shadow be of perfection, unbroken

by taint of sin? Such astounding beauty

figures as common currency, that man

would think the world's awash in gold

and scarce in iron! Both man, so wonderful,

and the playing waters tumble in glee

of children and the old, daily giving

thanks and worship to the Lord in frolic.

This is the song of the sea, the notes

so oft placed and repeated in twisted

shells: horns without the breath of man,

tiny trumpets sounded by blow of siren

unseen, yet there and pining with honest

affection and holy invitation - it is echoed

in the great whales and pods of dolphins

that traverse the water-tracks. The sea calls

me once more to where life was born

in far more frightful tempest, and I yield

to her enchanting voice that harps upon heart.

Then I join in silent chorus of the soul

that looks across the waves into unknown.

The Crush

I wonder why they call it crush, when

some angel wafts across the world and

teaches you a beauty that far surpasses

poor needlework and knitting of mind.

No, there is some otherworldly splendor

to this arrow point, of love or jealousy

of agony or ecstasy, that as world is old

has touched the hearts of men in single

word and feeling that made streams of

notes and words fall from epic lips and

humble spirit alike! A mighty wind now

rustles me, and urges to fly on new and

unsure passion of the spirit: as chick in

blasting gust tossed, I right my wings

even to this torrential force and soar.

For even in dreary day her hair shines

with streak of morning summer sun,

and all the world in bleak miasma may

stew and weep rain to wash its face.

But I will trace with eye the subtle

flow and elegance of every strand that

falls from her crown upon chest, as

supreme crown of gilded grass gathered

from the dewy fields. Here eyes as prize

sapphires set by God doth peer with

sparkle and gaiety, rising from modest

bowing head to meet her companion.

Her skin, softened and bronzed by

skies less hostile to the star of day,

doth her living statue make more

excellent that Pygmalion's marble spouse.

And I relish in her sight and speech,

that makes me smile with joy unreal,

unfelt for so long I would have guessed

I was destined to be alone on Earth.

I prod and test, spy her every word for

precious clue into her past, who she

is and what she wonders, who she dares

to be. Unsure if already one more lucky

has already laid lien upon Psyche's heart,

I resigned myself to meek and silent

admiration, and return to previous station:

then I heard she's free, as virgin terra

nullius, alone left unruled by any nation

yet choicest realm of all! What wonder

and what fear doth seize me at this wild

untamed glory, that raised high as many

men to glory as it lay low in deep despair.

The beating of my heart in her presence

would make one think I am king and captain

of a nation and about to declare my war

upon strange and unknown foe. The oracles

fall silent, save for one of heart, and one

of mind that greedy stops and chills me

in my track, reminding of the ancient

blood and heritage, of my mother tongue

and sacred religion. All that I was and am

is held as ransom for this spirit, as bond

binding yet uncertain, lest my heart be

wrong. Christ have mercy on my soul!

I am as whaler latched to possessed monster

stirred to frenzy by tip of Eros' harpoon.

Prayer for Elizabeth and Thomas

Written to honor the auspicious union of our teacher and her fiancée as we were away at sea, celebrating with equal mirth. Dedicated to Liz.

Lord! Look with favor upon this union,

forged and tested, worthy of the seas

of life and swells of test, that crash into

it, but wash off as harmless sprinkle past.

Let them look together at one star,

guide the skiff of family with single sail,

catch with jib of sacrifice the mighty

wind to bring them safe to harbor-nest.

Bless them with humility and wonder

in their ways and in their faces, ever

changing and ever blending into one

soul and body, one house firm and lasting.

Let their home be sweet abode from world,

let gentle speech and tender touch replace

the sting of enemies, and fill the walls in time

with joyful cry of children playing and hiding.

Teach these teachers love sublime, that

summons angels to a place not different

from the clouds above, for heaven's air

is with charity's perfume suffused and brightened.

And let their old age see many a squall

cleared, the ship, though tattered, swiftly

rightened and repaired to brave the journey

completed in return of peace to old home.

By then they will be rock of gold, not

dimmed but brightened by two and half

score years of marriage: a shining model

for us to carry in heart and loving action.

Letter to the Commandant

A tribute and token of gratitude for the unsung heroic work done daily by the Coast Guard in the United States and by the coast guards of all nations. Dedicated to the men and women of the Coast Guard.

Guardians of the deep, watchmen of the sea,

when will thy appointed task come to end?

Thy ships sail in endless voyage, ever vigilant

for men and animals in distress upon the ocean.

Who will speak or mark thy toil and exertion,

make good thy selfless effort? Let me join my

voice and epic song to the chorus of men returned

from water-grave, and raise your humble service.

Men do not notice Atlas, or note the hidden heroes,

for brother and world expects the best of fellows

to spin the Earth. But you are the blessed – the brother

keepers, who rank with saint as first servants of Christ.

Truly you are angels of the waters, swearing life

to life-giving ministry – you are the echo of mariners

replying from beyond the gale, flying swiftly

to meet with refuge those lost amidst the waves.

No winter chill, nor frightful frost doth sway

your iron will to set high the price of human life,

and fulfill divine compassion with superhuman

effort, standing foot away from helmsman's call.

You as constant as the northern star are, one

sure promise, as the sway of surf: you are the hands

of God that calm the tempest with embrace

of rescuer, and console the widows of the sea.

Even when heaven itself hides its face, you light

stars upon the waters, sound the mountains men

fly over, and the valleys where the scallops teem,

protected by just law and salty, daring enforcers.

And in the crashing moment when hell sets loose

upon the waters, dashes against crags life's work,

by your presence life is extended or ended, alone

from men you find strength to move Atropos' blade.

Editors of destiny, messengers of mercy, who

bring the light and guide the ships of nations!

Indulge in but bit of my poor praise, before you

board your craft and again defend the fatherland.

Letter to Captain Slattery

When parents visit bearing gifts, miracles happen. Dedicated to Becky.

O blessed Captain, harvester of oceanic groves!

You who ply Peter's ancient trade and gather

what God has sown amidst the deep –

welcome to our abode, and hear our ode.

O skilled tradesman, you fill with joy

our day and house, and your love for child

doth endow us with simple sweetest cheer

of frolic with Nev and captivating chatter.

Picking clam clusters you seem the vinegrower

who raises high, picks, and caresses choice grape,

bursting, juicy fruits of the sea to be pressed into

freshest dish and memorable meal with friends.

You command my wonder, when I see

how God blesses His servants that grapple

with death and jealous sea for living gold and

fare of kings: lobsters, scallops, clams, and crabs.

To sound the depths that hold them amidst

rolling waters, you marshal the stars to light

your way there and back home again to shore

abounding in gentle graces of love, peace, and hope.

Truly to you God grants the treasures denied

to rich and famous men, and frightful famine dares

not cross the threshold defended by vigilant man, who

mastered morning sun, and shook the bonds of slumber.

Your hands seem more like Christ's anointed

by mud of Siloam that wipes blindness and boredom

from our eyes, by honest sweat that coin and

currency is to purchase happiness and friendship.

O, God of all Creation! Receive our thanks and

prayers, bless this Captain with bursting nets and

sunny days. Let every sunset see his return to men

until You call him to increase Heaven's merry company.

Blessing for the Voyage

A supplication of divine guidance that, surer than all vigilance and technics, guides the homebound ship to its final port.

Inscribe upon my mind, o Lord, these

words forged from brilliance of blue cloth

upon diamond shore, encircled by azure

sound and sky, breathing with relieving breeze.

O Starmaker! In my hand I hold thousands

grains of sand, so much outnumbered by the

countless stars that hang above, fixed in sphere

of universe: we ask but of one more crafted world.

For we beg You to turn now Your effort, take

our crumb of society and make it into state

well-rounded and perched upon kingdom

of water instead in castle of land or the air.

Savior! Make safe the ship for sea with

Your blessing and benediction. Fortify with

holy friendship these oaken walls, which plow

through rough and calm equally undisturbed.

Guide us with sublime bearing towards

the shores of California, and even when

our ship must cleave far denser waves of dirt,

let the boards and nails of our vessel quit quaking.

If we so long survived and thrived upon shore,

let us thus be worthy of Your guidance, God,

You who made both changeless ocean and

fickle human heart – raise us in compassion.

For this is only law that can resist the pounding

of gales, relief give in unstirring airs, and bring

our little Commonwealth to fortune's embrace

in the far-away Golden Gate of earth and heaven.

California, California

Another hymn to add to the river of poesy and prose about the fabled land. Dedicated to Morgan.

O California, golden California! Your myth

glistens with sun's splendor in my mind, of land

crowning America, yet slipping her grip, republic

found and established ever in its right and independence.

What glow of promise you exude that guides men

through ages to the Pacific shore? What metal gilds

the gate that limits and encloses vast, worldly port,

that speaks of a new nobility soon to be unlimited?

It would seem ancient Arcadia far outshines you

as land of Socrates and Plato, and Hesperia ranks

far above you as father of Cicero and Caesar: men

who ruled the world or watched it fall apart in chaos.

Yet some destiny is written for you in yellow ink

with diamond grain upon Cilo's still unrolled book,

a prophesy of prosperity to rival all of China's might

an oracle of power magnificent to shrink the whole Pacific.

Does Civilization's progress end at this end of world

that greets the sinking sun? It seems it is here she took

sand and taught men to craft it into machine to unite

the world in unseen link, perfecting science and art.

Will she take up in Sacramento's valley long abode,

or soon move upon the waters to the islands? Make

great circle or return again by way she came, enticed

by the universities men build for her luxurious palace?

Perhaps she will prefer California as her throne

and rich domain, grant easy loaf to the scores that

toil beneath the burning noon, and not rise until

her work is done, or cut short in war by men's mania.

Perhaps the east of this empire will fall, and this best

or only part shall remain as last promise and mystery,

rise as second Hyperborea to match and excel the

legends of the past. God alone can speak the verdict.

Plus Ultra

Familiar as the motto of Spain, it refers to an even more ancient warning inscribed, according to legend, upon the Pillars of Hercules (the modern day Straits of Gibraltar). The said inscription, "Nemo plus ultra," warned the mariner that there was nothing further beyond the Pillars and that he ought to return. The motto, which dares the mariner to ignore the warning and see what is beyond the limits of understanding, is quite appropriate for this poem, celebrating celestial navigation. Dedicated to Kapitan Rick.

Pour forth a ray of Your brightness, Lord, into

our vigilant eyes and keen souls! Speak, o stars,

for now we listen with patient hearts and knowledge

well regulated to the very second. Such discipline

do you demand, jewels of the spheres, to guide us

upon the world's wide expanse, round the pillar

of unearthly light you let land in antipode of Earth.

But to those who persevere then coax from this

celestial clue circle to round encircle planet and

find us sailing at its tangent.

O art of angels! For what

other can command such power leased from Urania

for token of rigor and labor as to pause the sun itself

in endless track, hang the stars and suspend wheel of

heaven in space, while patience is repaid time over

to place us upon the globe? What other art doth let

fly so high and long the arrow-point of sight so as to

touch and ask the ancient orbs the way back home?

The star frenzy gleans in mathematic cipher the flight

of Helios and Diana on zenith-line and divine loxodrome,

that combined gains admission onto cosmic curve

and heaven's highway with freeze of tiny watch.

Thus the zodiac procession halted, our ship seems

to glide onto sea-path with breathless stir, and disturb

but specks of stars in diamond wake. Whole host

of heaven greets us with joyful twinkle and the vessel

seems be made of sterling gold, blessed with the

Master's grace. This patch of ocean is not reached

by wit and luck alone, but by teaching and obedience

that rises as sweet smell and well pleases our God.

Seeing willing hearts and firm foundation, even upon

the waters the Lord let's heaven's glow reveal His City

upon rushing, rising floor of plankton, beneath universal

dome, and bring the Seamans closer to Purgatory's shore.

For here is true learning and firmest education, that

does not shine behind haze of theory, but guides men

unscathed upon the earth, and lifts them to heaven's vault,

showing from fraction height of saints lands and worlds

further, beyond the horizon and safe waterbreak of harbor.

List do Taty

Prezent urodzinowy mego ojca. Dla Taty.

Tato! Ty i Mama jestescie jak gwiazdy polarne,

wokol ktorych zycia nasze sie wroca swietlna

szybkoscia zycia. Jedna gwiazda trzyma globus

swiata w miejscu, a druga popycha ziemie,

slonce, planety, obszar wszechnocy wokol nas.

Tato, ty jestes jako wiatry morza, ktore wokol

osi matczynnej podazaja nad wodami i wsrod

zagli rodziny, prowadzac nas do nowych krain

i czasow. Tak! Moja szkola przebyla million mil

na oceanach po pol wieku, a ty w polowie czasu

okrety te i Odyseusza wyprzedziles na ladzie,

gdzie gory wysokie i granicza ludzkie do

dystansu dodaly dni i godziny cale.

Stado dinozaurow

spaliles pewnie, pokonujac piec razy odleglosc

dzielaca ksiezyc i ziemie, ale siedzac za kierownica

maluchow i minivanow nauczyles nas jaki piekny

swiat jest poza domem rodzinnych, jakie cuda

czekaja na podroznika daleko od chalupy Popowej.

Tys nas nauczyl isc w dal z groszem w reku,

z wiara, nadzieja, i praca zwawa, budowac z

powitrza i dobrej woli dom, rodzine, dobrobytek

trwaly, i tracic ostatni bez wiekszego smutku.

Bo zycie nie jest mierzone masa zlota ni srebra,

ni liczba samochodow czy statkow, lecz usmiechem

dzieci i liczba dzieki sladanych bohaterowi naszemu:

tacie jednemu, ktory zna tylko milosc wobec rodziny.

Ojcze Przedwieczny! W ten dzien wigili chlopcow

bierzmowania, blogoslaw tate ktory mnie znalasl

w prysznicu, i ktory znajdzie nas lepszych ludzi

i lepszych ojcow, prawie doskonalych jak Ty i on.

Prayer for Relief

It is a particular pain of the ambitious to suffer incredible pangs of envy.

O JESUS, dear Jesus! Your Name is like raft,

a firm hold and sure rock in the crushing melancholy

which like doldrum heat burns and twists me from

all sides, as if to cook me till well done. The torment

accomplished half its dreadful work and brought my

blood to boil, bathed mind in blinding haze so that

I can scarce cleave fact from fiction. Imagined right

demands defense of honor, imagined enemies with

slight gaze challenge me to duel. Imagined wrongs

and obscenities multiply demented show, a dark

theatre in my head of scenes that frighten me, as if

the stage and actors were shadows of another kind

than mine. All this is envy's terrific exertions, to

commandeer my imagination, turn its course from

sky and happy place and crash it beneath the earth.

O God, this apparition of pride gnaws, drills,

carves into my heart with merciless incisor, defacing

Your Word and Law. It eye scratches and judgment

warps, distorting all beauty I see into some challenge

to surpass it rather than enjoy. Thus gift becomes

debt and obligation, and what is in my hand seems

poised to grow wings and flee away. So, my God,

You who are true foundation and constant light,

I feel as if all the world lays on unsure and wobbly

fundament, all seems fragile and ready to burst

to cloud of dust for want of trust. That devil

whispers that You are fickle, that fortune sways

Your Will and perfect order, and without fight

or heavy tribute she will toss the whole to waste.

But in this whirl I cling to you, o Jesus, and beg

but crumb of holy faith to serve as cornerstone

of house. Though sea and wind my test the walls,

wash away the glass and stones, this bit of confidence

shall be meet to rebuild anew and higher, in unique

way. Lord, let me indulge in rhyme of my life's epic,

instead to sneaking and looking to another: for then

I shall see it reads as much as others', and deeper

yet, till they all converge in single end: paradise

and crown of righteousness.

Take my mallet, Judge

Most Just and Merciful. Let me switch role and

be the light I so long judged and tried to make

my own. Make me a tiny ray of light unseen before,

to mix in brilliant rainbow, and confirm with mine

the place of all, singular and keystone in the world.

Druga Akademia

O hawajskiej krainie, ktora tyle ma wspolnego z Polska... Dla Rybki.

Ilu jest braci i siostr Ojczyzny naszej,

krain raz swietnych, mocnych w obliczu

nieprzyjaciol, ktorych kleski zbrodznicza

reka dopadla, i posiekala na rozbiory male?

Patrz, nawet tu, daleko od Europejskiej

ziemi, wsrod Oceanu Spokojnego jako

szczatek raju edenskiego tkwia Hawaje

soczyste w zycie roslin, zwierzat i ludzi,

i czasu jakby przed grzechem i zaraza.

Tutaj lud kwitl zdobiony obrona nieba,

zapomniany przez imperia i zazdrosc

ludzka – w ciemnosci przed angielskim

okiem slyna w cieniu pokoju maconym

tylko bitwa pomiedzy wodzem a wodzem.

Ale przyplyneli glodni ludzie z dalekich

brzegow witanych jako bogow, ktorzy

za pokarm zaplacili niewola i choroba.

To byl poczatek glebokiego skoku w

ciemnosci ciesnin morskich, i w sto lat

plemie zaborcy bialego wobec krolowej

podnioslo reke tchorzliwa. Rozplenilo sie

ich gniazdo, tych ktorzy heretycka wiare

wszczepili, i pieniadz zuchwale pocza.

Wtedy to zdarli korone jej, i zakluli w kajdany

hawajski majestat, podporzadkowali pod

jarzmo amerykanskie ojczyzne spladrowanych.

Dzis zas co jest lepsze, ze olbrzym broni

Port koronny swej wielkiej marynarki gdy

Mniejsze stany tona zapomniane pd wodami

Morza? Czy lepsza jest dziwna wolnosc,

Znana dotychczas jako czesc imperium swiata?

Byc moze ludu nie ma, by wyrok swoj wydac,

Zmieszanym z okupantem ktory ojcem jest

Dzieci obu narodow. Ale taka jest wola Boga

By pokoj nastal poprzez potomstwo ludzi

W milosci ktora nienawisc niszczy zlaczonych.

Oto Bog raz jeszcze swe klejnoty kladzie

Na te wyspy i lud wieczny ktore je pelni.

Ballada marynarza

Jaki swiat wielki i szeroki

gdzie nie pojde, tam Polak

i braterski czlowiek, ktory

nocami spiewa o ojczyznie

i lasach swych ojcow, o borach

dziew lisciastych na tych borach

oceanskich.

Hej! Juzci oni

bo hamakow sie biora, do

kolacji po dnu dlugim, przed

wczesnym rankiem, ale ja tu

swa melodie nuce, slyszac nute

morskiej fali pod lsniacym niebem.

Kto spac moze w cudnym czasie,

jakby zolnierz podczas walki

w ktorej Rzeczpospolita sie

obronila, i Europe Chrzescijanska!

Na tych wodach wszystcy jestesmy

bracmi, z jednej matki: Oceanie,

z jednego Ojca w niebie i jedna

stolica: serce tetnace z falami

i z wiatrem w plotnie zagli schowanej.

Ale mruzy sie oko. Widocznie cudo

wieksze w glowie tkwi juz sniacej.

Zupa w zoladek i Zdrowas Maryjo!

Dobranoc, w kolyske sie znow klade.

Colossus quondamque futurus

A reflection on the greatest nation in the world, tied with Poland. An appropriate piece for future Independence Day celebrations.

The cynics show the tarnish settled upon

the lady's bronze arms, gilded green with

money's color. They show the perversions

admitted by doctors, bankers, teachers, to

spread disease, theft, and ignorance, that

bind Liberty in heavy web and grinding chains,

from private anguish to hellish spectacle by

glass eye converted, all-present and controlling.

And though the golden door seems more

battered by rams made at home, by storms

that needed not wreck the house, divide it so,

though the hinges seem to creak with painful

groan, that speaks of long neglect and selfishness:

yet still the multitude of world crams the door

and noble threshold of this land.

Yes! Still the

citizenship of this republic has the weight of gold,

and gleams as gem holy and unknown: key to

privilege enjoyed by none other, to belong to

and be defended by the greatest sword, longest

trident of the world. Though tarnished in our

eyes by constant stream of grime and filth, the

millions seek and see the Dream of father's lore,

that is between the silver stars and blue of seas,

in the earth that raises wheat oceans and promise

of beginning.

Hope long abandoned as child's

play, as story to shroud the sad state of things,

is gathered as treasure, as Christ's pearl and

close to heart caressed, to serve as balm, sweet

reminder when those here already fling abuses.

Thus my father twenty one years mixed his toil

with this land, made it his own by work of hands

and constancy of heart. Here he founded with

mother our family, and within short time matched

those at home in happiness and prosperity. Such

power did God give to this nation, to use mere

widow's penny as foundation of empire! O Lord,

I still feel the heat, if see not the fire, of this star

amidst the nations - if misguided, then slowly

righted, and with it the rest of nation-family.

Let Liberty remember her mother, Charity,

and honor her father, Justice, with shake of

shackles, that loosen old and dreadful bonds.

For if she but liberate herself, she will ope wide

the solemn portal she guards of shining future

for the poor and forgotten of the world.

The Third Deadly Sin

The avarice of some knows no limits, and fears not even wrath of Heaven.

You perverts! What limit does your greed find

that it will not cross? None, tough it come with

mortal cost, for your weakness is by silly pride

so masked, as to make you daring beyond all

tolerance.

The stink of your demand offends

heaven itself, that you should stoop so low as

for peek into child's ear demand week's pay!

But not all thought it so stupid, for some foolish

bureaucrat though it best to give you nine tenths

of your made up bill. So handsomely paid for

sad joke and mockery of medicinal art, you ought

slink away into your hole, content with the thirty

silvers given once again in exchange for backstabber's

kiss. But no, it was not enough, and you forsook

all parody of least compassion, said you cared

not for affliction nor reason, and assaulted justice

with slap of face.

Poor bitch! You know not yet

the fury you have released, that matches your

swagger with fearlessness! By God Himself aided,

replying to this insolence against Holy Spirit with

tremendous majesty and heaven's justice, even

the devils flee as they will on final day, to spare

themselves the final annihilation. O, now you

will face vengeance sealed by solemn oaths that

drove Hannibal with horde of elephants to sow

all Hesperia with killing salt. For a mother wronged

knows no limit! Where you, though your greed

tarnishes the very stars, are punctured by the public

eye. You, long protected by mantle of paper, by

Yale's plebian prestige, will soon crumble beneath

heap of outrage.

An army of lawyers, with tribunals

bought by bribe and interest, to twist in Greenwich

sense and mission of blind Thetis will not suffice

to stop pen or sword from reaching heart. Forsooth:

now you shall pay with pound of blood for every

ounce of silver you dared extract from child's

affliction and suffering, so help me Jesus Judge!

The People's Judgment

This was composed on the eve of the Greek vote that eventually approved a government ratifying asphyxiating oëconomic restrictions on the homeland of Odysseus.

Today ten millions judges cast their vote,

today the nation long forgotten speaks with

voice unswayed by sad argument or dread fear.

Today the people again take the mantle of power

and judge the fetters laid upon them as just and

necessary, or as criminal and killing the weak.

Long the technocrats assumed obedience from

the people who brought democracy into the world,

who founded upon firm fundament the civilization

of the West, and now were surrendered onto ruin.

With pens and sly agreement they forged in paper

heavy chains of slavery, believing as much as sun

rises in East and sets in West that the people

would accept the fiction and pay for silly faith

in blood.

But woken by convulsion of the old

familiar tremor, of coming press of Turk and

Teuton, they rose with fire and with terrific peace

as they entered the secret chamber, where they

whisper to Atropos where to end the ordeal.

Again the Greek oracle is hinge of destiny that

wipes with war or peaceful exit the tyranny

of printed money and interest by greed dictated.

And should poverty visit before the German armies

they will by industry repel her scepter, and learn

by exertions of politic how to wage war against

the weak masters of the world: say no, and let them

foreclose upon the house of Agamemnon with fake

decree of markets, against the lion-men that spoke

the final reckoning of God: vox populi vox Dei est.

Book II

The Sea

The Captain's Speech

A poetic interpretation of Kapitan Rick's advice. I beg the Reader allowance for artistic license.

A fine statesmith is the Ocean, my crew,

my friends to whom I show all my art and

knowledge, still yet increasing after decades

on the waters. We cross on our track wide

and strange kingdoms that gyres cut and shape.

These are moved in million year march, like

the masses of land, by deep water that last

saw day a thousand years ago. Our craft

will tread through stellar splendor, like the

ships that dip their wings high above the airs

of heaven, but only if we work as one selflessly.

Beware of the Sword of Neptune, not the mere

lead by coward's hand fired into you - the

sea still coats my eye in tear, in dread awe

and dread fear. But you shall yield it well

and avoid its heavy blow – I will let you not

be dispatched without a fight that sets highest

price for breath of man on Earth. Here but

two factions, two borders divide the affairs

of men, life and death, and you shall be the

third division to exalt one and fight the other,

till you reach refined perfection in sight of God

and fellow mate. Here is the home of water

and fire, here empires were won and lost in

single day. Yet the sea remains as kingdom boundless,

resisting the borders of men.

Remember,

I am second after God. the Master of the Sea,

but I am on constant vigil, just as Jesus is.

I am here to live and dine with you, to taste

the best spices in the world: true hunger

and generosity. Remember, I have chosen

you, not you me, and I trust you with my life.

Live and write furiously, for should even all gale

press upon the sails, the gates of hell will not prevail

against this blessed piece of heaven, worthy as she is.

My ship is yours, the boundless ocean your abode.

Be not afraid, and take the helm: guide her home.

Embarkation

My heart swells with silent awe

as I spot the masts amidst the

smoking pillars of fishermen's tows,

a ship unlike any other, taken straight

from fable to the shore, where blue

crystal laps gently against the white hull.

Mates never seen before greet the

weary traveler, as angels meet the

soul flung to Heaven's gate, and purchasing

my way into the brave new work

with knot, man's first invention,

well weaved to Chiron's satisfaction,

I cross the wall that sea and land divides

over clanging gangway to cheer of friends.

Once in bosom of the ship, strange trade

and skills are demanded of me: to dance

with pig poised beneath the string of death,

hanging as sword of Damocles above my

awkward steps. Then I mist as spider

climb and crawl onto fighting deck, where

more fighting happens with wind and self

than any poor sap that quakes alongside.

Down into the belly of the ship, where

muscle of steel grinds and grumbles as heart

pushing fuel and water – we must squeeze

without losing limb or head to be nurses of

sweet Bobby! All this and ungodly wake

in morn, yet still in harbor, moored fast

and sure. O God, help us when we pitch

and roll. Hands, be ready to soothe our

girl's fearsome tantrums in foul waters.

Departure

All hands congregate for solemn assembly,

all awake, all present in mind and spirit

wait for the Captain. The mates proceed

with the orange badges of their office

and even engineers from sky fall

and lair rise to meet Hawai'ian sun.

Steward stands and right behind her

Kapitan takes command of quarterdeck,

mounting beside Lieutenant and Chief

the helm of the ship. He looks about

and judges his crew, dividing his life

amidst the thirty four, and feeling

secure his life in hands of each, he smiles,

accepting us all. Here begins our weal

public upon our trusty ship, firmer than

whatever boat Odysseus sailed, a precious

treasury of human life. So long as we steer her

well, she will double our flight against

wind, storm, and pouring rain, and aid

the watchmen of night and rosy dawn.

Cast off! sounds the command that

new life infuses into limbs bored by wait.

God and man bless us on our way,

the Lord with wind and the guard with

permission to swing out, barely miss,

then turn round our pier. Between

hulks far larger than our brig we weave

to the tower that stands watch over port

and gateway to the world. As the

ship approaches the limits of our home,

even the leviathans fade as mere speck

in the limitless ocean. O happy watch!

that first felt the gentle bob of swell

kissing and gently placing our ship

against the sea's bosom, as father

plays with daughter, rocking her to sleep.

Gentle bounce that put the world to play

set us on our way, with rush of

joyful noise from sails set loose from bond

by us. And they with grace far

surpassing ours catch the boreal

breath, and even sun rays seem to

stay and spread, pull the flying sails.

Bobby is as if soul and body reunited

and infused with living will and mind.

The whole is perfect, mixed with perfect

creation, needing only love and constant

attention to mix seamlessly with dominions

of Heaven.

Bow Prayer

O God of all Creation, I come in vigil

waiting to greet Thine endless presence.

I in this at least surpass the drowsy saints

who succumbed as slaves of Morpheus

in Passion's hour. I come as sinner

before Thine awe, armed only with plea

made loud and pleasing by Jesus' Name.

Lord, I surrender my song onto the wind –

make it secret, and in quiet privy to You

alone, o Captain of my soul. Let no sad

misadventure find us upon the rolling waters,

let Your angels bless and guard the hull against

the fatal swell of night. Let Your guardians

pour into our sails the gentle Zephyrs

that flock to gate of gold, and in the hour

of the dread test, let Your Spirit alight on

our deck, mollify the storm with touch of grace,

and still the waters as Christ did and does.

Let me now depart and count with rosary

beads a bit of the stars amidst the endless

blessings You sow for us to behold, that we

may know and by bit increase Your infinite Glory.

The Quarterdeck

Mighty wind that pound our ears

with yell of unrelenting bomb, sapphire mountains

that rise and fall with instant's bite!

Such forces conspire to wrest my Bobby

and hijack my mind in confusion.

Even below the waters something lurks,

a fickle troll if any, that at once jerks then

leaves alone Bobby's rudder. This so disturbs

my living infant that she sways from

one side to other against the clouds,

about to gybe and wreck sheer havoc.

But I firm hold and mind have against

the stern, to resist and calm my child's

tension, bring her back on course.

Wishing to see last bit of island city

before its towers sink beneath the sea,

before the spray shrouds its mountains and

horizon subsumes the residue, I peer

back at Honolulu's outline far away,

then I jerk back to growing shriek

of ship and mate. Thank God I check her

roll to West in time! I am here, my dear!

Just fly as you do towards the great Pacific

Gyre, and for every track's mile you brave

with me I will sing you line of epic song.

But I sneak a sight back and find the land

stubborn to disappear into the ocean nowhere

to be found. Do not confuse stupidity

and laziness with wickedness, my friend.

Flower Blessing

Dawn with her rose red fingers greeted

us, the watchmen of the night, and she

arrived with entourage of Notus's sons.

In her wake the stars join the sweeping

clouds, subsumed into the polished blue

that crowns the last mountains we will see

peeing from the waters. Past this haven,

which kept us safe and unmoving within

firm shadow of caressing cove, wind

and wave endless await until these be

checked by California's rocky coast.

No forests like the shrouds of Kilauea,

nor flower like those of Mauna Kea,

lie about to pluck from depths too far

for anchor's scratch. But we must

cross the waters with a blessing, with

good will and thanks for hospitality.

Dawn's gracious show we return

once the four lowers fly again as royal

train above our ship. When the bulk

of Dawn's kingdom is far removed,

so that at last its will to float can resist

no longer the weight of growing distance,

and at last Oahu and her sisters fade

as the evening lights and Pleiades' cluster,

Little Fish arises with her offering of flowers

giving each a handful as she teaches us the blessing.

Return, o flower, to thine mother, and take

with you our thanks. Adorn with petals

and perfume the sands which gave us rest.

Return to where our dearest memories

grew as blossom watered by age, by the

salt of sea and youth of limbs. Let these

be the gems to bring us holy joy, when

we are in storm, and when darkness

hides the sun, let your breath be sure

comfort. Then when you touch the

mountain of mist and fire, whisper in

the surf our happy laugh and happy vow

to return where we so frolicked as

blameless children in Eden's heart.

So did we toss the white and orange

into the foaming waters, with prayer and hope.

Night Watch

O Lord! I prayed for living thing

to feed us on memorial of Your Passion

as when You Peter blessed with catch

after fruitless day. Though Jess said:

I wish, I wish, I wish for a fish,

no scrap of life tugged, though fed

choice flesh. But You, my Savior, had

grander show prepared with dusk of day.

With the governor of day sunk away

the azure color of his court and office,

and above where the sun dismounted

the orb of sky, his wife the Moon follows

in royal modesty. First time beyond the crescent

I see the dark side of Diana peering

from beneath her brilliant waxing diadem,

Before she retires, her people crowd

the sky, feeling the heat and dread

presence of the mighty king eased

from their midst. The multitude

promised to Abraham reveals itself whole,

unbounded save for the dark horizon waves.

So great is their light I see the

little bear muzzle beside her mother,

and fail to find the Crown of North, lost

in ope treasure chest of jewels. The great

bear climbs from zenith to touch the ocean

and shake from back beads of diamonds

into the waves of the sea, And if the

wheeling mass of galaxy spread truly

as milk of virgin maiden upon the swath

of universe were not enough to break

heart and spirit with profound wonder,

more fit to be carried by strong hearts

already admitted to heaven, behold

forsooth, how the beauty multiplies!

For our ship sails on bed of wayward

stars, hiding within the ocean's bosom

until perturbed by our silent wake they

awake and shine with blue and green glow,

then fade away as the stars dismounting

Heaven's track with shining tail and touching

as did Christ the undulation of the sea. Caress

of living gems, so gently stroking soul

feels as touch of God upon a fainting heart.

In this place of uncreated beauty,

beyond belief, beyond sight and word,

I shed a tear of joy, for I unworthy

have seen the face of God and

did not perish. Keep me close, Lord.

The Fourth Academy

Dedicated to Will.

O Ocean, mother, tell me: are we not

as infants born again upon thine

rolling waters? We are the unborn

clinging with cord of life to mother ship.

And if we should unclip for just a bit

and slink along the decks, we are

as crawling child learning how to walk

upright on swinging world. Then we

try to eat food fit for teeth, but not

a stomach upset by unfamiliar rocking.

A sad seesaw rises with each heaving roll,

so that one goes down as the other goes

up to return their meal to the fishes below.

Here sun and moon reclaim their

rule over lives of men, and joy is

shared as it comes out of baking oven.

Wonders unseen even in hazy dreams

unfold before our eyes: food that

walks and soups unspilled, though

ship splashes into washing machine.

In the night we learn to see, to discern

deck from drop into heaving sea, and

comprehend the endless wonder unfolding

up above. We learn to wake at night and

nap in day, exhausted from the task of

being excellent in learning how to live

and thrive upon the boundless ocean.

Then you, o unforgiving parent,

take our tired limbs, grimy from

sweat and restless twist, and soothe

us with a kingly sleep, gentle bounce

in the dark and warm cradle of the bunk.

Let even in this land devoid of men,

filled with star, water, and living things,

the long awaited angel of sleep alight

on our eyes, and with touch of wing

dispatch our worry, we sweet children

in truth, living a golden dream.

The Starcatcher

A poetic interpretation of the work done by labies during midnight watch. Dedicated to Jess.

Lend your ear to me awhile, child,

indulge my rhyme and story's bight

and I will tell you where the stars doth

lay aground to rest in their endless

trek across the universe. Then, knowing

where they nest before mounting sky again,

you shall capture one and hold it,

still shining in your palm as cool fire.

First you must fly far from men's habitation,

beyond the deserts traveled by caravans,

and into ocean depths rarely crossed

by wood with sail guided, where no city

of man has risen or shall rise to startle

Heaven's light. Only ship worthy of the sea

disturbs this place of miracles, where

the sky dances with the waters below.

As the vessel plows amidst sleeping stars,

they start with bright but tired spark, that

fades again into the foam with twinkle

and then dark. From above at every

minute a gem descends, falling from

the scales of heaven or Cassiopeia's

crooked throne, washing in the cool waves

the stardust. Once a while at horizon

the lucky one will spy a star flick and fly

from Earth's edge in burning splendor

to rejoin her sisters in the wheeling sky.

In this froth of otherworldly life

things inanimate move with shadow

of the living, blind eye rejoins sight

in darkness, and heart heals from

unseen wounds. The air here is suffused

with the Spirit of God, and all that

is coated with the salt of sea is made holy.

Here then, take not sandals off but

hats, before you dip your net to reap

heaven's harvest. Toss, o child, there

the net, and see it fly through the waters,

assume an ethereal glow, fill with living soul

that snakes and flows alongside vessel.

The stars quicken the fibers with their

touch, and are for instant like the breath

of God as they bump and gather at cod end.

Once done, hoist the catch into bucket,

care for them with salty bath, mix them

into vortex like a small galaxy, then

behold the constellations they draw,

which speak of destiny, far and future things.

Come well prepared with prayer and

blessing, for these are flowers of God's

garden, and if gilded with goodwill and

starlight, made precious by supplication

to Christ, they are as sure as sunrise to happen,

if you test not with prayer for sunrise in the West.

Child, then you shall join the angels and

the saints, the starcatchers of the cosmic ocean

the elite legion of God admitted yet

whole and living into the Creator's presence.

The Tryst

Darkness surrounds me so profound

it has swallowed sky and all its stars

with menacing shadow that begins to

chew and churn the crashing spray.

All the world is in ferocious fury,

a devil's frenzy unleashed to toss sail

and cloud against the bared depth of ocean.

If this is not the valley of death, the

frightful water mountains we ride with

little say as to destiny of brig or life,

that I can scarce imagine deeper pit

of doom to consume us in an instant.

O wind! Wind of such anger! Why do

you howl round us, like some possessed

hound, beast by spear in heart wounded?

Did our jib cut a vital vein, or our main

scratch, disturb you on your way? Or does

some depression of the air bewitch your mind,

make you stumble with push and shove

as you gallop in splitting pain? I have no

balm to offer, save compassion negated

by a crushing ire, transforming into tryst.

So I find my appeal in the Star of the Sea,

the one star constant and unchanging,

uncovered even in the clouds of squall.

Mary! Be now close, advocate of sinners,

surest recourse of mariners! Spread

thine azure cloak bejeweled with night's

stars, to guide us safe through trying storm.

To you we cry, to child Jesus, to pet this

mass of mighty air, mellow it and

the pounding waves cracking our hull.

And such a morsel of living faith I have,

that with pull of sheet and secure brace

I pray so that I feel as safe as one sure rock

with promise of salvation. Even in

the whip of rain I hear already gentle whisper

of rising don. Just a little more, and God

Himself will unfold happy right of His

waxing Glory in the rosy sky of East.

Into the Darkness

Dedicated to Blaine.

I go from doghouse into the darkness

of the night, sure at first only of the deck

beneath my boots. I know of nothing else,

blinded by lack of light, listening only to

the relentless roll of the sea, just within

my reach, the distance of unlucky tumble.

But there are my friends to catch me, the

trusty crew that are my eyes, the line placed

from bow to aft, to resist the stormy sea.

Caring hands laid this during day, to guide

us in the night, to begin the long night watch

with some reassurance. Then my eye learns

to see and read anew what lies in the night.

Yea, forsooth all light comes from the Moon

so far above, yet so close and flooding the deck

with silver shine, mixed with the blue of stars

countless and twinkling, rolling and standing

in same span of time, as if dance unfolding.

Then there is the hand of friend, guiding me

round the ship to check for lurking danger,

sharing trip on leeward side a white squall

away from water wall. There is mind taught

by faithful crew that recalls what I knew

but did not to self even divulge, until this

moment when hand ungoverned executes

what is needed to soothe the wind whipped sail.

And once blind, I see again the ruby rose of winds,

turning tuned to the threads of Earth's magnetic

robe, step is sure and soul secure even in the storm,

in the darkness filled with light of so much love.

There is no peril now that our little world is familiar

once more, and able to be tamed with honest care.

Darkness surrounds me as familiar breath, a humility

to see the suns scattered as the grains of beach sand,

and self to love, love another as self, and God glorify.

Friendship

Dedicated to Dana.

I smashed against companionway bulkhead

trying to get to my bunk, which echoed

with punch of wave against steel hull

made into paper sheet. Squall on squall

in endless march crossed and changed

our track that night, so much that I thought

we would get soaked well below decks.

So I told Dana, going to watch: "Keep her

steady and us safe!" She going back to difficult

duty assured: "Your life is safe in our hands."

What greater mark of friendship than

vigil watch over brother's sleep? What

kinder token of goodwill then battle with

whole world, so that your friends may soundly

sleep? Kings do not enjoy such royal slumber,

always waking with a start, to find themselves

guarded by armed host, and more trusty

dagger beneath their feather pillow. Forsooth!

Here is the famous maxim's truth shown

that friends are siblings God wanted us to find.

No deeper bond between men is forged

save for the blood that creates and nourshes

from common mother blood brother bond,

than the bond by the sea upon its rolling swells

by star ore, press of storms, and heat of

kindness fashioned. These golden links are

made ruddy, gilded by shine of youth,

its joy and splendor shared as freshwater

between thirty five souls on ship, that each

in sacred guarantee hold thirty four pieces

of neighbors' lives. This stash is assayed

at twenty nine silvers, each a royal price, one

coin shy of Christ, our King and closest friend.

If we so well mix, from Captain to every

hand, into one body molded, guided

by one divine intelligence, what disaster can

make such mighty spirit abandon masted

limbs of ship? None, for our chart is plotted

and spread wide by First Cartographer,

and vigil is kept by the Admiral of the Ocean Sea,

ever careful for such precious, salty family.

Mysli domu

Dla Mamy.

Slysze modly mojej matki w oddechu

wiatru morskiego, jej dotyk blogoslawienstwa

w orzezwieniu prysku niebieskiej wody,

usmiech i zar milosci w promieniach

slonca. Czuje czujne oko i piorko jej

aniola stroza, ktorego mi odeslala by

mnie bronil od wszelkiej zlej przygody.

Wiem, ze kazdej nocy o mnie pamieta,

i ojciec ku niebu oczy swe wznosi

w mysli, czy to same niebo lsni jeszcze

nade mna. Kazdej nocy prosze Pana

wszego swiata by krocil szerokosci wod

i ladow dzielacych mnie od rodziny.

Ale z tesknota za lozkiem szerokim

i nieruchomym miesza sie bojazn

dziel przedwiecznego Boga, i pokora matki

te cuda sa mi dane by obejrzec, zywa

ewangelia swietego stworzenia. Dlatego

mi jest dane jeszcze tu zobaczyc, dotknac

kruszyny gwiazd i zyjace brylanty

wylowione z gor muzykantow. W reku

swieca sie niebieskim promykiem nasiona

slonc dalekich, schowanych jeszcze w wodach

macierzystych, dopoty, dopoki blyskiem

nie dorosna i zlacza sie z niebem.

Do tej chwili, ktora tez ujzalem, plyna

w glebi jako niemowle do tej pory

nie ruszone ludzka reka.

Tylko prosba

matki Boska wola jest zrobiona, by

ten poczatek swietego, zyciodajnego

ognia byla lagodny w dloni niegodnej

zaszczytu anielskich zastepow i zbiorcow.

Choc wicher zstapi na nas, i swiat

by sie zacza walic, traba nieba by

glosila powrot Chwalebnego Baranka,

to koronka milosierdzia, dar rodzicow,

broni mnie od kazni nieprzyjaciela, i

pyl nieba zastampia swiety olej jako znak

zbawienia i krzyza kosmicznego. Spokojnie

stoje i pracuje w nieprzejrzytej ciemnosci

widzac swiatlo niestworzone i otuche

doznajac od reki niewidzianej mamy i taty.

Siodma Akademia

Wiem gdzie tecza swoj poczatek znajduje,

gdzie gwiazdy nieba wylegaja sie

przed lotem nad swiatami, i gdzie

znajduja swoj ostatnu chowek. Wiem

gdzie wstapi pierw stopa Sedzi Swiata,

i gdzie obloki sa szyte i spuszczone

w strumieniach deszczu. Wiem gzie

lady znalazly swoj poczatek, i gdzie

znow kiedys rzuca ciezar miast i gor.

Wiem gdzie Duch Swiety Swym wiatrem

zmacil martwe wody ruchem zycia,

gdzie niegodne serca skamnienione

padly jak olow na dno dalekie, albo

przywrocone jak piora staly sie lekkie.

Wiem, ze slonca chowa sie nie na

zachodzie, i raczej wacha sie wedlug

pory roku i ustroju. Wiem ze planeta nasza

oceanem winna byc zwana, i gdzie

teczy luk wody z dwoch koncow dotyka.

Wiem, gdzie drabina ku niebu ma

na morzu pierwsza stope, dotknieta

czesto przez anielskie strozy jak za

czasu Jesiego. Wiem nareszcie ogrom

chwaly Boskiej, i wysokosc Jego tronu,

dlugosc i potege berla ktorym wlada Stworca

w Trojcy Swietej – i wiem ze On sam moje

serce i ucho wzywa do szeptu slodkiej

melodii i poezji wiatrow, zorz swietych.

Wiem teraz promyk wiecej niepojetej

swiatlosci Ojca Chwalebnego, i w bojazni

dorastam.

The Helmsman

There are millions things I may get wrong

things smaller and greater to make us

blush all red, that I could so fast hear

and forget. But these salts, this ship

is unlike anyin the world. No grunt

of ship, nor grit of grinding teeth is

heard as curse uttered beneath breath.

I know not if they hide it, but I know

they joy spread and share when I get it

right. All stumble is then forgotten, and

should another fall now happen, ship and

life continues onward. Such is the gentle

judgment, more like Jesus Savior's than

magistrate's, that corrects error and rejoices

in honing perfection, bight by patient bight.

Phaeton never had such mentor who

inspired humility, who taught him faith

in self and confidence to firm hold the reins

of solar chariot. But here gentle hand holds

for a while, then releases slowly as my wing

tests the air and toe tests the water. At last

aloft I hang above familiar task, then plunge

ahead, urging a thousand iron horses forward!

That poor boy crashed his head and the sun's

car into world because he never learned to

dance with Diana in the clouds. So long

as she's not fouled in the shrouds, or

is hidden by the orange mainmast, she

plays in courtyard made of sheets, guiding

my way eastward. Though Poseidon's mad

horses crash against my craft from every

side, I hold fast the helm at ready to

guide the force beneath me into happy track.

Such skill as yet will lead a host of souls

from green ignorance to salty privilege that

will safely bring us from zenith to firm ground.

The Golden Dream

Dedicated to Abby.

O the happy dream! Who would

think, least myself, that I should

find my limbs gliding upon the boundless

ocean? Who would think that

I should enjoy such happy company

as I never had before? Happy days,

so far from the worries of men,

from war and tyrant's reach upon

the ceaseless expanse of blue, where

all rigor makes sense as holy learning!

But I sense the coming end to

this seamless mesh of days by watch

more than anything else divided.

I feel a tear conceived in me already,

knowing the feast and study we had

amidst swinging table will be no more,

as brilliant spark once caught by

blessed eye, then extinguished in

the world's eternal flow. Can it be,

that such hardy friendships once

stretched across the country's expanse,

across long times without word of conversation,

can be so tested as to be shredded

by the same forces that bind men on earth?

Yet, I see the sun awake with tired

smolder, tired from keeping watch over

fatherland, guiding Asia with Africa

on its course through space. It rises

with gentle ray to greet the vigil eye,

to gingerly snuff Jove and Venus from

Heaven's dome. It spreads wide and

gilds its newborn radiance onto our

four lowers, as it always had. Then,

as if that were not enough to dispel

the evening fluids from murky lab,

it makes the disco ball play and sparkle,

piercing joy even into this eye of ship.

Why should I worry about the days

that follow? Let them come – God

will help us follow procession of dark hours.

But now no such thought will

besmirch and spoil the reality I live.

I thank God for this day, and the

queen he set before me. Her touch

makes everything precious and holy,

and awful work becomes easy yoke

with her beckoning. Her eye and cute

smile double the rosy hue upon

the blank bulkheads - all is well

and made perfect in her entourage.

She is gem and centerpiece of this

jewel piece of life, she for golden month

yields scepter over heart and soul of mine.

She for golden instant is my muse,

whom I can scarce crown better

that did our Creator. And though she

can little conceive how she sweetened

these our days upon the sea, how

I longed to braid her hair and be

close by her side – let this be part

of mystery's mist, enclosing beneath

mystic lock these weeks unlike any other.

O God! This must be step from Heaven,

next to Sacred Mass, when we see

Your Glory glow in the East at last

with full force! What thanks can I give,

save the silent silence I learned, that

lets the angel marshal of the winds

take unblemished awe as pleasing

sacrifice of praise to Your throne,

far above the waning moon and star?

Bow Watch

Dedicated to Rebecca.

Behold the boundless ocean that

girds the planet in coelestial cloak of azure!

I step upon the bow as on rocky crag

to peer below into scape like few I've

ever seen: the swath of sea is filled with

white horses quickened to gallop across

this desert turned to steppe. They ride

free and mad with life unlimited by

any rein or rider's saddle – no art

can tame Poseidon's horses as they crash

into the bowsprit. They split into spirit

spray as they roll the ship, toss my perch

and me with it so that I fly for an instant.

Then the ocean reclaims the mass upon

it riding with violent tug back into the

whitecap manes. Away these strange beings

ride, trailing our plastic swag, until far

at horizon's edge they burrow into a

patch of calm again. O, if I could but

spread my wings a bit more, the wind would

hoist me aloft, to glide with the fish

that jump from beneath the waters,

then splash back in again.

This is what

a clash of titans looks like, when immovable

object resists exertion of force unstoppable:

the wind, with one beginning and one end,

wrestling with the primordial mass and presence

of the waters. In this friction life is born,

teeming just below the gleaming surface,

spilling from copepod and pyrosome onto

our bouncing ship. With divine compassion

and bit of exertion, perhaps the far off

wave will carry treasure gilded with

brush of life.

For the ocean can carry

its treasury of gold, far greater than

what the claws of machine and men

have managed to scratch from earth

through centuries. We just want

the trash that peppers this lonely stretch

of water. If nothing else, we so shall

increase this windswept plain of sea

by erasing that mark of insolence left

by ignorant men.

Fantasia

A most curious phenomenon occurs on a ship with the same people for extended periods of time – boat dreams.

Where did my strength drain

that I can scarce slink off the

harness of my duty, stow away

the more mungy clothes, an lie in

swinging bunk. There is little left

to dispatch consciousness, to move

eyelids to resting spot, but at last

this final task is done, and I am out.

I find myself at helm of ship much

like dear Bobby, though I know her best

and call the shots. We sail south to

equator, or Tahitian isle, a paradise

of diamond sand mixed with sapphire waters.

Beside me, by sneaky sloop transported

to the shore just instant ago aways off

lies whole crowd of familiar yardettes.

There coco-nut is handed brimming with

sweet juice untasted, and shadow of a

warning now forgotten with waking moment

suffuses the whole scene.

And should

this odd show be supplanted by

a wandering mind? Know the brain

sailing body bests with sights of

horsemen conjured from hill-crest

under dozen brilliant banners riding

from a floating mothership. Yea,

in these short hours voyage is made

to unknown place where copious

copepods reign and walk as men.

Sights seen are recalled from memory,

given new life unbounded by law

of reality, sheets of cloud cleared with

will of spirit revealing unseen constellations.

In the moment before the dreaded

wake, the sky and world is redrawn,

all is doused in rainbow color and

the monastery silence is broken.

But before I fly to meet those I love

on earth already, all is wiped in dark

as the watchwoman hovers over me,

unslipping bonds of good Morpheus,

but on soul placing chain of double weight.

The Dream of Lazarus

A section perchance inspired by Kapitan's musings during class... the most profound question facing humanity, and the most mysterious place to which we cannot send any expedition, ever, concerns the life after this one. The Gospels speak of Lazarus's famous coming back to earthy life at the command of Christ. Strangely, the sacred writings fall silent as to what he has seen "on the other side." Maria Valtorta, Servant of God, and a Catholic Mystic, relays in "The Poem of the Man-God" how upon rising, Lazarus was unable to recall any memory of the afterlife, something in the common experience remotely akin to that instant of consciousness when the dreams of night are forgotten. But I dare say our vision was not far from what Lazarus has seen.

(The Mariner's Apology)

Listen, o sojourner! I too went far away

from home, and wished to turn back in haste.

But let me captivate you and slow your pace

with that same vision that made me pray

for wind to stop their push on sails, and

the waves stop their aid to Zephyr breath.

Yea, do you recall, o man, that day so long

ago, when Christ did walk upon the Earth

and was called to visit dying Lazarus? Late

was master of the world, or so they thought,

and I would be part of that sad host that saw

the friend of God rot in sepulcher, never to

arise. But the merciful Savior did so ask the

Father to remit the man to earthy watch, and

so show the Glory of the Father in His Son,

then with loud voice that pierces to the other

side of worlds, did recall and join spirit with flesh.

Yet with linen bonds fell all memory of that

other side, from which no soul has returned

in body clothed. It was as mist of dream for

you and me, that vision that he saw beyond

the lands and oceans of this planet. Did you

ever ask yourself if that crowd so astonished

asked for report of other world, after giving

praise and thanks to the Master of all life?

I have nothing to my name, save one pearl

of inestimable value, which cannot be taken

only granted to attentive ear. Forsooth!

I saw a shadow of what did Lazarus see,

and now the world makes sense. Life's

meaning and that dogged question is

restated in such plain language, that babe

would hear and laugh with understanding!

Sit awhile, and you shall hear how life's

a voyage, and in what golden port it ends.

(Stairway to Heaven)

I found at last the stairway that finds

its end in heaven. It is not amidst dark

cave nor mellow glen, or found where

the ancient prod for gates of netherworld.

It is rather upon the ship of Christ, steered

by Peter and His mates. The surest way

upward is on the windward shroud of

Heaven's ship of state. Yea, the way looks easy,

a little ways up from deck, between the

full stack of unblemished sail, but a little

from the crown of spotless Heaven. Take

a step and let not the fear disturb your heart,

though ship may pitch and roll under press

of coming squall.

Hand curl tight round

the seamless cloak and shroud of Christ,

cling with Trinity's touch to the holy faith!

The ratline sinks and creaks with every step,

a test that rocks the mind and quakes the

spirit, bit so long as vine-branch, cord of life

binds you closer to this body than mother

to unborn child – do not be afraid! Should

you slip and start to fall, the Coelestial Captain

will outrush the angel crew to catch you

before you sink into the depths of death.

Onward, upward, at your pace now, see

the deck below become distant, and

fighting top grow in size. Upon this

platform rests Heaven's threshold,

and man is closest to his Father. Speak

with the sun – it hears you from this height;

call the Spirit to right with gentle touch

and breath the confused winds. Your prayer

reaches Heaven's court first after Word

of Captain's call, and ready aid comes

as echo to the cry to stylite saints.

This top is Meggido's plain made by

jealous angel, who as pirate chases

the armada of the blessed with it rich hold.

If so far you gained the heights of God,

defend foc's'l of His City upon golden ramparts:

this place is wall of bejeweled New Jerusalem,

the eternal Athens by God founded to last.

Yea, should the demon molest, he at Christ's

hand scurries back to den, and should the

star of day hide in ocean on your watch,

the Admiral marshals with uncreated light

the stars of night and stars of sea to shine

for souls militant and souls yet to find their

way from lonely waters to sure track of stardust.

Behold all beneath you: now you see

more like God, with eye unlimited by

bulwarks' sight! You see far past to the

edge of planet, to edge of universe by

wisdom's spyglass. Turn a bit and spot

with eye vigilant that should have sleep

despised that trial night, where the eye

of Jesus rests upon our Passion's prize:

the Kingdom we make come to us.

First Governance

The J-WO phase. Dedicated to Molly.

Seven hundred miles part us from

port's harbor, a short ways ahead,

the final stretch of so long, so short

a journey. A fire is burning in us all,

of knowledge and feeling, so that

together these sparks burn with silent

roar, so daring under eye of mate.

The way we grip the stern and

hold the rail, check the rigging on

night round and pull on sheets

would make another think we own

this brig and are scare away from

our Captain's skill, judgment, ability.

The sheet our mates hold with such

ease seems like light and easy burden

to us, fresh youth, slowly yielded

the ship to sail. But as they let slip

the halyard into hand with stone face,

with maddening question that answers

question, the line becomes heavy,

thrashing about ungovernable as

if a squall hit from nowhere tops'l

and almost made it crash. All this,

and yet they still hold bitter end,

all is calm and gentle blue shines above.

The weight of duty crashes shoulders

with mass of helpless ignorance and

indecision. I would think the weight

of thirty five souls is lighter than

the orb that Atlas bore, but now it

feels the titan was the luckier of us.

O, I do not envy God and His domain –

sing Him lofty praises, for if my skill

and spirit freezes and fails at so little

a government, what love and wisdom

commands the planets spin in their courses

and every bird with flower get their

full fill at the appointed hour! I am

humbled, Lord. Give me but a shadow

of Your boundless light, that I may

read it in Your mirrors, my friends,

with compassion and obedience ready.

So lifted by seven pairs of hands,

this cross becomes less mashing,

and downhaul that was once stubborn

now yields to pull of team. Obedience

is paid to common sense, and so the

vast deep shrinks from endless trip

to sure and safe conclusion in a week.

All is fine – and my heart well knew it,

but did not say anything until it heard

my watch sing with echo to my word.

Star Prayer

A small regret from the journey was missing the fabled "green flash" because of a conversation with the Chief Scientist concerning copepods. Naturally, the frustration conceived a prayer for stars in general, since our cruise had quite a few cloudy and dreary days upon the Pacific. Dedicated to Deb.

Lord of Mercy, hear my cry,

Open up thine vast blue sky,

Show Thine shining face

In the sparkling swath of night space.

Let the clouds fly far from end

Of world as I peer at sinking star of day

So many times in vain seeking

The green flash of salty lore.

Let me not pay to see the sight

In some far off land and place

So long from the day I missed it

Second time, talking about copepods.

But have pity on this poor servant of Thine,

As You did when you set the sun high

Upon unblemished sky and sea, opening

The heavy doors to pool five miles deep.

Let the third time be the happy moment

Still upon this ocean, when for instant

I saw one more sight few others have seen,

As when I saw unlimited the mass of stars

And meteor carry my dreams and prayers

With angel to Your starry court. That night

I saw the Moon as red as blood appear as

Ship celestial on east's horizon, grow as

If scarlet sail fast approaching, then lift

From the unseen limit of the Earth into

The sky. Remember, good Jesus, the

Delight and tear Your gift gave me,

Heaped one upon the other as bonanza.

Letter to the Bottom

Take my word, o bottom of the ocean,

Further from man than the surface of worlds

Far above the oceans wheeling in full view.

The depths are shrouded by a sheet of

Darkness, hiding some mighty titan or arm

Of such prodigious strength as to crumple

And mash the toughest instrument. The sea

Floor shines as any land with glow of living

Stars floating in a never-ending night, lighting

Creeping things and trash of man – fantastic

plastic that with the ageless pyramids provides

surest monument to race of men instant lasting.

Let the eyes that see the darkness see the form

of poesy wrapped in tape, the only lasting thing

we dare throw back. Though no thing that

knows the speech of man will gleam this little

monument I sink with rock, let the migrating

cloud of zooplankton be pushed and tumbled in

its wake, as they scurry to meet the surface.

Let some creeping thing make its abode closeby,

its spark illumining the scrap I leave as artifact of me.

All I ask is for little cup, inscribed with prayer to

and for my Mother, that I can keep as ornament

of the deep.

Trzecia Akademia

Obacz, jak Bog doskonale rozlozyl Swe stworzenie,

swiat od morza brzegiem podzielil, swiatlo

rozsial miedzy niebem a dnem oceanu,

i polozyl jako rownik wszechswiata wody wielkie.

Wzgorz, do niebios, blekit powietrza ustaje

ciemnosci kosmosu, promieniami slonca i

gwiazd tylko rozswietlana. Zaswiaty migaja

jedynie, bez glosu, ale alfabetem kolorow.

I tez w glebi, pod lukiem triumfalnym Boga

i swietym traktatem nieba z ziemia w teczy,

tam, gdzie slonce ni swiatlo gwiezdne

przebija zimnosci, Pan milosierny klejnoty

rozsial w sercach istot i potworow tu zyjacych.

Wiec dopiero w tym wieku bez wiary Stworzyciel

odslonil miazdzace ciemnosci aniolem techniki,

i pokazal ludziom motyle morza, gwiazdozbiory

zywe wsrod chmur blyszczacych i ryby

chowajace sie przed dziwnymu nowymi szczekami.

Jedynie tym wodom Trojca przywilej oddala

bycia kolebka zycia i zlobkiem macierzystym,

byc wolnym od przyciagu planetyi lancuch

ciezkich grawitacji. Czlowiek w oceanie bez

skrzydel lata nad lasami zieleniny, wsrod pluc

ziemi kroluje jako wspol-tworzyciel i curator jak

za czasow edenskiej niewinnosci. Tutaj czlowiek

staje sie maly i znow spotyka sie z Panem.

Blogoslaw Boga, albowiem nawet jezeli

bys zyl dluzej niz Metuzela, nie moglbys

zmierzyc swiat ten ladu, tym mniej swiat

morza trzykroc wiekszy, kryjacy ogrom gor

najwyzszych i najglebszych dolin naszej kruszyny

diamentu wsrod wszystek dziel Boga naszego.

The Scientific's Yarn

Dedicated to Greg.

O, how it would be if we need not spill blood

to feed ourselves, not dissect and still discover,

not make life fly in face of death, that so stilled

its shell may speak of life's means and ways!

And we so hastily arm ourselves with mallet's

force, and judge. We sit on stool like Minos

of old, looking down at dead things and judging what

they are. O, this is dread work that fills the dawn.

But life is scared of untrained scalpel. It flies

at touch of knife to heart or pierce of hook

into the brain – then it shakes the dying body

with sad thrash until it leaves in ooze of blood.

Yet how else is the thing to be done? Meat

once was living and intelligent, though never

for long, and sooner if not us than the ocean

would still the fins and eyes in the dark depths.

But that is no excuse as the brilliant mahi fish

looks around at strange beings and is lay upon

the decks, as dispatched with a stab, along

with all the tunicates and salps that died in tank.

Forgive us, Father, for we know not what we do.

We know not even where the waves come from,

and we pretend to know what is life and what

spark of spirit makes all fight for moment of being.

This is sacred and we must show respect,

forget for once reason and remember that

which lived until we pressed the life therefrom:

So hang the shining tails upon the bowspirit.

Our Weal Public

Dedicated to Lauren.

O would you know, Plato, the republic we have

aboard our ship, you would forsake your musing

of what never was since your time, nor may ever be,

for sake of this weal public which made life possible

where no life of man ought have been upon the sea.

Our king, second to God, is Kapitan: a fine general

and gentle philosopher, firm teacher, and stern

against the slothful, with calm facing every squall.

He council finds in many source: first in Christ,

Majestic Admiral, then the Sea, His servant, which

taught him well and without mercy, that he may

have no doubt and be the hand of God in testing hour.

Then he assembles his Senate, the veritable war council

in secret from the student crew, to discuss our good

and the good of ship as it sailed the vast ocean swath.

What happened there, in that conclave, I know not

and wish not to know, for government must sometimes

employ secret for the public good. And so little imperfect,

so close was this government to that of divine origin,

that no danger great or small hath been the cause

of our loss.

And surely, we had constitution writ on scroll,

signified by half in grand cathedral, but in deed by all

faithfully writ and done with kind word. For the ideals

we held true were as firm deck important to the crew:

that we may be guided by simple law, and share simple

love. Upon the sea, profit is to be found in charity and

generosity, and excellence alone is passing in this world.

And in our little republic, for all had vote of obedience

in the good that all experienced, we had games of crawling

as crabs and running for the lines, setting sails with style

and swiftness. We held feast days in honor of spliced

landlubbers, music-filled feasts of St. Elmo during mondo,

and all these while wayward missiles avoiding, at price

of three days' roar of diesel said: peace for war was always

preferred amongst our number.

What more to add of

this princedom to be soon dissolved, yet to shine

in my mind as the surest model of man's government,

but our motto: "Ubi nos unum, nos omnes ibimus."

The Engineers

Dedicated to the boys below.

Get the engineers to hoist a sail, pull on sheet

they thought was halyard – you'll get great laugh

out of watching their fumble, their tremble as

they stare at disturbed forestys'l flogging in the wind.

But forget not they who retire belowdecks, into

the very belly of our Bobby, they are worthy of

as much honor, and as noble as the navigators.

Yea, step but into their world, and you become

as they hopeless on the decks, their they reign

with strange custom and knowledge the power

of electricity!

Watch these men engage in magic

as they coax the sails of bass to life! They raise

a sail of iron into the water, while the sails of cloth

fail in wind onslaught. They cheat the very breeze!

Look, the ship does the impossible, going headlong

into the airs, its speed undiminished but augmented

by the work of engineers!

But this is only their first

show of technic skill – next they ope the sea chest

and breach the hull! Yet the ship does not fill to

brim with brine of ocean, but freshwater, as if

they found sweet spring upon the desert, unlocked

unknown rivers amidst the treasury of deadly water!

Their silent grin betrays another feat, this time as

they infuse life into roaring machine, master and

load the thing as if beast of burden, to spread light

and electric spark to all other things aboard: a new

fire from a new Prometheus, to light the galley oven

and enliven the glowing tablets for our project work.

These men are inducted as guardians of the new

wheel, upon which drives the civilization of the

moderns, which drove us to land and space conquer –

but not yet the relentless sea, harsh master that it is.

Now none laugh as they emerge from their lair,

save them, the strange men, that laugh as shipmates

dumbfounded beware their wake, lest they try

another work upon a ship made bright and brilliant

by their discreet toil. Their privilege is no more

questioned by silenced grumbles, lest they check

the heads and stop the reefer from providing bit

of comfort so far away from land. Instead they

take the helm beside the Kaptain, all content.

Summons of the Muses

Dedicated to Tina.

I would think this art of mine has no place upon the shore:

so swift and smart it has no need of poets, of chroniclers,

of artists, or the rest that masters are of useless divers arts.

They were ever to the sea drawn, to that vast domain desert

of men, so there should their exile be served, where the

muses found their birth and death, thrown out from holy grove.

But lo! Such haste, one would think they got the rest! One

would think their words were perverted alchemy that turned

gold to waste! No fool on steed imagined will let me know

the art of beauteous hand, nor of poesy, nor anything that

still humane is, and worthy of man's thought, is useless.

Point me to those maidens' graves, the sepulcher of arts!

Show me where Mnemosyne weeps over tomb of daughters!

I pretend not to hold that Godly power of infusing spirit

back into quitted flesh again, but where there are no crypt,

there is no one dead that needs happy life restored again.

Come, o noble matriarchs, come thy children call you!

Against all that would think you gone, reveal thy awesome

power! I call you with tongue unheard since time of ancient

Mass, with prayer in Polish thought so sweetly spoken,

and writ with that word which by all needs be known.

Find the artists, the scientists, hidden from the light of day,

oppressed by poverty, whose work is stolen by the rich,

and hidden from the eyes for three generations. Embolden

them with your stride so confident, that topples the proud

oeconomist building a dystopia devoid of God and you.

Jezyk macierzysty

Co mnie obchodzi, co swiat mysli o tym jezyku

Polskim, moim macierzystym? Mam sie chowac

w wstydzie, bo Rzeczypospolita nie panoszy swiatem?

Znam lingue france naszych czasow, i to mi wystarczy

by Chinczykom, Ruskim, i wszemu swiatu mowic

to co mam im do powiedzenia.

Ale by milosc

wyrazic w slowie ludzkim, uciekam sie do

slodkiej i szlachetnej nuty jezyka w ktorym

pierwsze i ostatnie slowo me wypowiem tu.

Ot jedynie ten jezyk ma poezje moze wyrazic,

to, co serce czuje w zlotym momencie – tym

jezykiem muza mi szeptem daje najwyzsze

sny i idee. W domu ojca i dziadow naszych

tylko ten jezyk kroluje, i gdy tajemnica chcem

okryc mysl dla rodziny, uciekam sie do niego.

To po Polsku wezwe ma zone, matke moich

dzieci, i blogoslawiensto ojcowskie syn i corka

ma uslyszy jezykiem Lechitow. Pierw naucze

ich marzyc w Polskich sylabach, i pytania

godne geniusza zadawac. Naucze ich jezyka

modlitw moich ku Bogu, ktory raczyl koronke

Swego Milosierdzia oddac swiatu w polszczyznie.

Wtedy dopiero uslysza z ust mych jezyk tych,

Amerykanow, Francuzow, i Arabow. Ale ich

piersze i ostatnie slowa beda w jezyku matki.

The Vigil Watch

Dedicated to Alli.

Four hours I thought I had to myself, of sleep

and untouched privacy, to hide in a world woven

from the sights of day, but devoid of toil and the haze.

But it seems as though I just blinked my sleepy eye,

and above me stands the girl from B watch that

warns me with sweetest voice of duty in half hour's

span for which I cannot be late.

That midnight should

so swiftly come! I dare think we are reduced to brutes,

tortured by thirst unsatisfied, of mind drunk with grog

of endless work, that makes us look at feet, barely able

to stay in waking world.

Another sleep must suffice then,

another rest if that of bunk if forbidden in some test.

Not eye's idleness, but sweet loafing of the soul beneath

the uncovered splendor of the sky unseen fount of mercy

unseals with unseen Hand, cool salty waters that wipe

away the sleep, but not the dreams of night and waxing day.

Thus strengthened, we raise our faces towards the light

above, clouds by moon shaped into steps, veils of holy

incense vapor that uncover world invisible. Medicine

is found in song and yarn, refreshment in hot tea and treat:

and so the hours' yoke light becomes, and the clock bells

with such speed come one would think the vigil was but hour

long, when it was a sixth of day. Relief of duty brings fresh

strength to tired limb, and weariness caused by foolishness

and complacency is found and thrown away before breakfast.

Before the noontime nap, I go on deck with scribbled notes

in hand. Already transcribed onto memory and electronic paper,

I watch for minute the morning watch, then turn aft to face

our ship's swell to the west extending - and let fly the precious

sparks of intellect I found in vigil's darkness, let them instant of

life find and flutter before they alight forever onto the foam of sea.

Azimuth Home

Dedicated to Sarah.

O God of all Creation! Hear the helmsman's supplication!

Peter Saint and brother in our trade, speed on my prayer

into the court you guard so dear with angel detail: Lord!

I beg You, let my voice command the stars bid speak!

Alpheratz, Ankaa, Schedar, Diphda! Scattered over sky,

rise from waters in the night to shine in sextant's scope:

thine light, so brilliant, as that of Achernar, Hamal, bold

Acamar, and Menkar who boast of rainbow sparkle up above.

Mirfak, Aldebaran, Rigel, Elnath! You seem to chuck a

comet betwixt the Hunter and the Twins, that yet does

not disturb the royal clemency of Cappela, Bellatrix, just

Regulus, and Alnilam, and draws gleaming polar azimuth home.

Betelgeuse, Canopus, Sirius, Procyon! It seems you loaf

about in untouched peace, in Heaven's milky river playing.

Let thy leisure time bid stay and be known with Adhara, Pollux,

Avior, Suhail coming to the aid of men so far away from shore.

Miaplacidus, Alphard, Dubhe, Denebola! Names of worlds

wielding far above, placed there by God so merciful that

we may know this world we call our own: Gienah, Acrux,

Gacruz, Alioth, do render the service you gave our fathers!

Spica, Alkaid, Hadar, Menkent, suns as ancient as our own,

our night vigil with light fill that crossed as star-mariner the

void betwixt us, yet filled with cosmic oceans. Rigil Kentaurus,

giant Arcturus, Zubenelgenubi, Kochab, who are you but us?

Alphecca, Antares, Atria, Sabik! You dance with Olympians,

fade and shine again in Diana's silver splendor. With thee joins

whole host and zoo of heaven: fair Shaula, Rasalhague, trusty

Eltanin, Kaus Australis, who taught men how to dance with wind.

Das Vega, Nunki, Altair, Deneb! Trace in sky Trinity's triangle!

Sky-marks that last yet the last hour of the night. The east shines

with grace of next day: hero Enif, Al Nair, Fomalhaut, Markab,

unfailing Polaris take their leave before the Captain of the day arrives.

Then dawn does touch the wood with foam of night anointed,

once with silver, now with gold of day gilded. The watch below

goes to find the guides of night failed not to bring us in the bit:

we start breakfast thirty leagues closer to pier in foggy port.

Fifth Academy

Dedicated to Ben.

O Ocean, Ocean blue, Pacific and inviting,

tell me of peace profound! I find here bird

and rainbow gate, pod of dolphins as lucky

omens of your favor as we traverse the waters.

I swear this wind bears some breath of life

for the ship lives truly and draws breath with

every rise and fall of tops'l in the breeze that

pulls the brails up and towards my hanging

self amongst the creaking shrouds. Her sway

is more like child's play upon your happy crests,

and out on starboard gleams the sunburst of

a thousand rays lost and scattered in shining

cluster, like a wayward galaxy. In the hum

of her heart I hear a life imparted by the

Spirit of these airs, that glide amidst the wide

tabernacle of the Mighty One's boundless glory!

And when night doth disturb you both, in

her moans I hear the fear of thing intelligent

and crying for help of man and heaven. She

misses your gentle waves with nothing more

than slow tumble to the trough, but when she

senses complacent eye and mind upon her bow

up she slips and falls with splashing toss of

brine upon the hapless girl. Then at helm

even if I should not babysit her for instant

to play or look for Leo's mane in clouds of star,

she veers off course and fouls my guides in

heaven upon the trembling course and jib

in despair self begins flogging until strong hug

and pat upon her head restores peace to all.

Tell me, Ocean, what life that fills the steel

walls that invite the porpoises to jump beneath

the bowsprit for the hour of my bow watch?

Tell me – I listen to every word she says.

In deserto

Dear Jesus! How do I let myself fall into Your Hands?

Like the wind, how do I leave behind the land, leave

behind the stones and shells, that so long we in my palm?

What other beads will keep track of mercy-prayer to you?

O Sacred Jesus Heart! Everywhere I feel Your Spirit more

than almost any other place that's firm. In this desert filled

with water unfit for thirst of men, another water sweeter

than that in hills forgotten found flows to wet my lips.

Pride beneath weight of learning, weight of unknown art

is crushed, as I pray with pull of sheet of sail and sleep

hard-earned in honest toil. In the sole water life is found

and salvation in the humility that fills the only life here.

I trust men again, see no conspiration in their eyes –

I breathe here bliss, and easy go, even when work doth

put the limbs in haste. There is peace profound, here

where men doth clamor not to offend the wind You send.

I am happy. I am content to know what doth the stones

speak of ages past, the books by Creator's hand and in silt

script written as writ of God upon an earth teeming with

shells of every kind, and waters glowing with breath of life.

This is memory of past: a past far nobler, far truer than that

I hold as heritage. Beneath the broken image lies that heart,

like Yours formed by the Spirit's touch in unblemished womb,

the heart for which Your died, and reclaimed as Author right.

No longer do I feel surety in the portals f my home, or stop

my prayer once inside stone wall. No, my Lord - now I seek

protection in Your Arm, that stops the storms and ill-willed

hand form hurt. Yes, Lord: I trust in You, and lay in peace

knowing You, busy Lord, doth remember even us at sea.

Eighth Academy

Dedicated to Everto.

Tell me, o my Ocean, when do we really know

a person? Even one soul so reflects the depth of God

that it is like the boundless ocean, bound by flesh

and blood. The dreams of single spirit are as high

as the stars of night, the mind of one can create

a universe anew. So vast and wide is this humanity

sea, that oneself does not know where the depths end.

Men would quick refute the work of so many historians

so many scientists and men of observation that see

but island of man's existence in the vast ocean of

the world's being. But let us not so swiftly abandon

those tools that let us see so far, let us see the coast so

close, ready to carry ship to far off shore. For though

life will not suffice to know the story of man, though

it will not suffice to sound the basin of a girl or boy,

so long as we move where the wind takes us, we learn

though we know nothing.

One reaps and another sows – but know that the pains

you take to know the unknowable will be repaid by

child and by progeny, will bear fruit heaven's isle.

For this is history: to remember is to love, to love

those living now, to love the forefathers before us,

to love the children to succeed us. And to love is to live.

Man himself is his own best guardian. For he is

with himself always, and he is strictest judge of himself.

Teach, and let them own their work – then they shall

know they must be excellent to walk upon the earth

(The guru said it is miracle to walk on earth, not even

on water or air).

Let the secret oracle of friends speak

what even oneself cannot see – and one will find one

is kind and compassionate, worthy of great and noble

works. Le the oracle speak of hidden love and admiration:

that is far enough for men to love back and reach heaven.

The Ninth Academy

Dedicated to Diana.

To think of the charlatans, the lies and cheats that

wait for prey just as we come ashore, to sell the

counterfeit coin or promise, to convince us paper

is work worth and money! It makes me almost despise

to lot of men, for sake of this rotten roost of vipers

that enslaves men without courage or common sense.

But I would be fool to let this trash despoil my view

of the men and women I met here – they do not know

how to die like these to suffer fictitious life. Instead,

they know how to live a honest life, made so rare

by them, follow they way of our grandfathers that

sailed with honor far. They ignore the advice of fathers

that find no other way to eke life upon forbidding earth –

so they take to sea as sailors, and vow their responsibility.

This is the mariner way, to own the words one issues and

fulfill a promise made. Where all law of man yields upon

the high seas, the law of God remains to bind men of all

the nations in a brotherhood of respect. The ocean will

allow no other way, for the salt eats away all iniquity.

Here perfection alone will suffice, honesty before brother,

before sister compassion and understanding, before mate

and captain obedience. Thus honest with another man

becomes honest with self and God at last – peace then

fills the waking hours, and certainty of one's purpose.

This is the way of the mariner: to take pride in one's work,

to wake when one is tired, to sleep when one is lazy,

to finish a job begun. To sing when there is swizzle,

to listen when there is council, to love the country

of one's birth, despite the government. To respect

one's elders, to care for neighbor's cheer, to be wise,

and to courage have, even in the face of utter peril.

To be as humans ought to be – that's the way of the sea.

Freedom

Dedicated to Jessica.

Two hundred hours we must stand of vigil watch,

Keep the ship safe and the sea out, with little sleep

And seldom shower to wipe away the stale sweat.

To this endless want of diligence is ever added lack

Of music, as common as the air upon the shore,

Now replaced with the whistle of the breeze and

Howl of the squalls we pass in the cloudy darkness.

Then when morn comes, after breakfast, down

On knees to wipe the mung – that mung that seems

To feed and multiply on shore dirt long washed away.

Yet though strict regimen binds us to this life at sea,

And one would think we more slave and servant are

Of Neptune's cruel overseers, you landlubbers will

Scarce taste the freedom we enjoy. For such freedom

Even kinds not know, so bound as they are by the

tyranny of evil men, by the hounding creditors that

lend him sovereign coin and demand pound of royal

flesh. Yea! Here is found what I never found in any

glen or forest, where one would think I find myself

far from the reach of jealous men: freedom to love,

freedom to think, freedom to dream, freedom to work,

freedom to live, freedom to know, freedom to breathe,

and freedom to share so much life will fellow shipmates.

So much sea, so much wonder, as boundless as the far

away horizon! These blisters that cut my palm I wear

as badges of honor! No stupidity or pride doth press my

mind, nor boredom keep my youth in anger idle. Every night

I lay to sleep sweet and well-earned by the toil of the day.

I have roof over me and good meat, good company to

add to taste of half piglet's portion! What more can I ask

to make me at last – happy, and content?

I would stand

quarter of my life on watch for reward of such freedom:

it is far too cheap price to pay for a pearl of precious value.

No, landlubber, this is gift of God alone, for me and my

friends, and privilege to taste the life beyond the shore

of Babylon, and indulge it yet sailing upon the ocean-sea.

Tenth Academy

Dedicated to Adam.

O speak, Ocean, of where you come from, reveal onto

the humble mariner the secret of thine genesis that no

man save the Son of Man knows, when he as God-Word

caused thine shores to fill to brim, teem with life the

ancient sphere of earth, that conceals beneath oceans

of stone and fire.

Little do we know where the waves

come forth or what touch did first begin their propagation

through the world. Wind and gravity, yes, but what of

that perturbation that eludes the understanding of men

and which curves every wave, mixes precious air and feeds

the living things with breath of life?

Even if reason doth

give cause, that subtracts not wonder from common

miracle encountered upon thine waters, great Ocean:

the emerald hue of sun as it hides beneath the world,

or the fire of Erasmus that illumines topmast as did that

holy fire of the burning bush makes my being shake

with fear of the Lord that shows these wonders to us.

And then report of even stranger things, as if pulled

from tallest tale: great columns of water traveling

solitary upon the sea, the wrath of Neptune and

the judgment of his court as the greenhands cross

into Southern half of world.

At last then there are the

secrets that again are reserved to the angels alone:

the source and spring that feeds and moves the

seven oceans of the world, from the seventy seven

seas of the planet, constitute from the seven hundred

seventy seven rivers of the continents, and the seven

thousand seven hundred seventy seven lakes that

catch the tithe of ocean granted onto heaven for the

golden coin of sun-ray. But perhaps this will be known

if not in hum of shell or lap of water against the hull,

then when I meet the Maker of all these things and me.

The Gale Assault

Dedicated to Chrissy.

Up on ladder, to the deck, but doghouse door

is in the way. This is not the cleaning time of morn,

some great mondo, or any reason known to me,

why it should sealed by from water's element.

I swing the hatch, but it seems a hand resists

the push: no limb of man this is that bars the way,

bund hand of vicious gale rising from Californian

current, guarding as it must some coveted land afar.

But even here, two hundred leagues of sea from

Kings' Point, the river within the ocean rips with

massive swell and roll: in the air and under rudder,

all's in motion, all asunder under force of mighty gust.

I see and there's the line that warns: clip in, for your

life's very sake. I dare not disobey the writ command,

then grip my hand over rail to see waves as if hills,

as if mountains, and our Bobby as little as child's toy.

The coming surge came with slow tumble, and as

the ship scaled the side of the mass, I would think

our doom is sure at its crest – but, then, we would

peak, and slide gently to rest at valley's bottom.

Up again, then sliding down, each wave lethal,

yet only simple test. The wind and water conspired

it seemed, once to blow, then to keep us on our way,

though it did manage to get our mains'l down in hurry.

Cold and strange is this boiling part of ocean, churned

by Alaskan wind. Thank God its summer, or perchance

winter is calmer still? Best hide in doghouse, lest some

rogue wave again pour bucket-worth of sea into my bib.

Going into Bay

Dedicated to Addie.

A bird! In the mist not the albatross

that nests upon the waves, but that flying

bird that hatched upon firm land, and so

brought Noah new of journey's end. Look!

Lookout! Is that cloud and sea alone

or is there something born in between -

cloud of rock and sea of trees delightful

to behold? Or is that squall that thickens

edge of shy with brownish hue? Eye

electronic already traces outline of crag,

then bay, then shore whole and plain,

though I see but mist and drizzle rain.

St. Francis! Guide us to your city!

Make the unknown bird but speak

a word that will render mist moot

shroud of secret fully known. Do not

fail to summon dolphin and gull

to guide our helm and handling.

Speak to them, and speak to the eastern

winds to change their course and

fill the tops'ls!

Look, Addie, do I dream

or does my eye play trick on tired mind?

See the fog condense so far away on land

of golden state? Then yell, "Land ho!"

Raise the joy-filled cry unheard for

month of ocean transit. Like the timid

sunrise, it comes slowly into view, but

surely as the newborn star waxes in

the East, and soon a break is seen in

unbroken coast – it is the fabled golden

gate with is crimson span. It is fantastic,

unseen by any of us (save Kapitan), majestic

gateway to magnificent land so beautiful

and blessed that God ordered this piece

of planet dedicated to His wonderworker

be ever shrouded in fog, so as to not

provoke envy of the world.

Does your face

reveal the stunning answer to our prayer?

Turn west, and feel the growing breeze

drive the ship into bay. Crew! Obey now

order to raise the stack! Quick, repay

the Lord with style and zeal! Let full show

accompany the greeting – sweat the sheet

and halyard, houses are to be seen! Set the

main and finish the sailhandling frenzy

just a league or two from gate's edge –

now fly upward to topmast and waive

to men above! First echo of cars fills my

ear as we enter in grand passage the

Franciscan cove. Then mad shuffle off

the ratlines as we gybe to miss the skiffs

and traffic round Alcatraz. The winds are

as the fearsome gusts we endured in the

middle of the ocean. Who whistled and

offended the angel with impatience?!

Mind not, just brace and layer, then strike

as fast as in past the sails we set and filled

to brim. Hard to port! Then past the prison

island we sailed trying to find Sausalito's

sun and refuge cover from the gale.

Now we scurry away from city shore

towards the hills covered by rolling cloud,

at once dropping anchor in soft mud

a fathom away from keel. Anchor

aweigh! The drop again! One and half

shot of chain should keep us safe through

night of swizzle celebration. But double

it for double luck in measure – the wind

is just a bit tempered by mountain's edge.

Ignorance

Are my words so far from the godly fools and

genius men so as to not merit the quiet and attention

of fellow brothers, dear sisters? Is this bit of self

scooped up from deepest silence of my soul be

taken, tossed, and forgotten in their daily life

and banter? I wait, and wait, daring not to disturb

and force myself upon those that must be free

and must freely offer ear attentive foe me to speak.

But silence comes only in their sleep, and I –

I am left to vigil keep of sleepless mute unwanted,

unheard and shunned as the odd boy who speaks

the language, but speaks as if born in time of kings

and ancestors. So I lay aside my book, close my

heart again, speak nothing and listen to what now

the others have to say, complaining of another day.

I think of self alone in this smiling sulk, but then

in this suffering I suffer this Passion that I may

quiet self and listen to Christ the poet, far greater

Master than the jack I will be. How many time

have I felt His sight alight upon me, His lips poised

to sing to us, whisper into my soul most divine note

of the bell ring wrought for me? But yet I smile

and look away, knowing He is there with good news

and sacred psalm, always will be there to wait upon

my call. O God! What sacrilege that I should make

the Pontiff of the World wait upon me as I revel

in fool's minute, or lie to bed with hollow kiss of prayer!

But here I cannot escape the holy silence, here lies

plainly ope the epic of Creation, sung in every beat

of wave and burst of wind upon the sails. Everything

here speaks of Christ, and seeds of praise fall upon

the vigilant mind, to take form in words of poesy.

O God! I defer these poor verses to Your reading

of the love poems written for each of them, myself

lay the pen to hear the Joy of Heaven's holy keep.

My heart I lay as tablet for Your Word, listening.

Farewell

Dedicated to Annie.

Where is the shake of gale pounding hull of steel?

Where is the sway of ship as it climbs and descends

The water hills? Where is that sure and gentle rocking

That lulled me with so little effort to sweet oblivion?

Where, I say, are those things as sure as sunrise and

sunset, that seemed done whole life not mere thirty days?

It is as if one life is ended at Sausalito's port, where

Golden Gate seemed not entry to, but exit from familiar

world. Where to now employ the skill so swiftly learned

to govern souls and ship in safety upon the teeming waters?

With step on land returns that dreadful quake, more violent

than a churning sea, though the earth is still, and with this

another assault of the myriad of affairs. Though music once

again flows unlimited, and millions things pine for piece

of attention, it comes not from friend's crowd round foremast

and not from the changeless ocean.

But no sweet distraction

can match the satisfaction of those hours spent after watch

in salon dining. What but home's embrace could mellow

the loss of these happy days without useless care, when we

learned and grew some more? So glad, so close to man

and God was I, that to part now seems more punishment

and return a heavy yoke to bear. This company, so brave

and proud, which saved and enriched my life, whom I

count as friends, brothers, and sisters bound by sea,

which I thought would last for years as ship seaworthy,

now is scattered by the four winds across the whole world.

So strong a push I cannot resist, lest my sail be ripped

to shreds. What is changeless, I change not, and I sky the

sheet. But even the winds obey the Word of God, even

they yield and carry to sweet breath of blessing, so with

friends I let this benediction go.

May the wind be ever

at your back, may it fill your sails wide and high. May

no gale or fearsome waves dash you in the night against

unseen crag. May the stars be ever ope to your face,

may the sun caress you with its warmth, may the rains

bring you refreshment, and sight of land sweet thoughts.

And through this all cling to God, for He makes straight

the unseen water paths the dolphins take, and as sure

as the globe turns round day-star, find your way back home.

Farewell, farewell! But remember yet: no matter who

you were, who you are, who you're yet to be, no matter

what fortune or misfortune you will have, no matter what

treasure or talent you will share with world, remember

that you are mariners forever, according to the order of Noah.

These are blessed of the Lord that walk the waters, and

see the wonders of God in the deep. My house is always

ope to your presence, my hospitality fails not when I see

you in my doorstep. When we'll be old we'll fast bring

to mind when we washed the soles and clambered on sail,

slept in library and went aloft to peer upon boundless ocean.

The distress we once suffered will be as old laugh, and

the joys we shared will be the gems of swim call afternoon.

Spread wide the fame of Bobby Seamans and her mighty crew!

Fear not, we will all meet once again, in that time and place

when God will gather all. Till then, farewell and go safe

to embrace of mother, father, and host of longing home.

Book III

Homeward

The New Atlantis

Dedicated to Anne.

They say the ancient cities long lost to sea or war

did sprawl over earth and wave as empire rich and

filled with treasure of all sort: gold, knowledge,

and a people to enjoy them all, by the millions

dwelling in the streets of Atlantis or Tenochititlan.

There were those times when cities held fraction

of the whole world's number, where beggars were

laden with gold in Timbuktu, where emperors held

a magnificent court unlike any seen since then or

before. But they say those times are past, those times

when Alexandria's library still held the works of ancient

genius, or Baghdad unspoiled flourished under scholar's

pen. They say we live in nadir of civilization, past and

future being better but today a crisis and a languid terror.

Yet look! Look at this street of busy port! Multitudes

play and walk therefrom, between sea and rich houses

coming forth. Commerce flourishes on such scale that

a fleet of our fathers would fit in hold of tanker ship.

There is food in plenty, art and music, libraries now

hold every book that was worthy to be printed, and

my people multiply, in prosperity and hope bringing

their progeny to the city crowned with golden domes,

a new Atlantis amidst the foggy hills of opportunity.

Tell me this does not thrice surpass the legend we

more perfectly emulated, augmented in our mind

and brought to greater perfection in our lives and

in our times, this greatest era for the race of man.

And despite the war and slavery by modern tools

and modern daring enhanced and supplemented

this eon still stands as the apex of America, imagine,

my child, what will be the future, not a bleak but

golden future, that avoids our city's sinking or burial.

In San Francisco

Dedicated to Sevag.

So Sevag led us forward to bus station,

but we stopped to catch our breath, learn

to walk again with burden upon land. We

called home and searched for money, figuring

what to do, when an angel appeared to take

our lost crew. Dana's father met his daughter

with tears of joy, laughter of surprise, and

when at last released by training army

band, he let us use his skiff as shuttle to

the city's piers. Let him be blessed, he who

made our yoke so light and easy, that

relieved our guide as Beatrice before the

gates of paradise.

Then we began to mix

and mingle awkwardly with the multitude

of people, as we wandered the wharf

in search of food and seals. At last in full

compliment, then ten of us made sense

of the blur that passed by everywhere,

But the music was not as merry as that

hour during field day, nor was the chocolate

as sweet as the one passed out by galley angel.

All seemed different, all seemed fleeting,

as we stood exhausted and homeless.

We claimed lush and soft bit of grass as

bunk, found at last some heads, satisfied

needs of mind and body, before dear Annie

and Becky were whisked away at sunset.

Scary thought! That we by necessity be

picked off one by one, till at last there would

be last one left to live alone. But till then

we took refuge in Sevag's house, found

there unlimited shower and sweet generosity

of blessed hospitality. Peace and prosperity

be upon his home, that sheltered mariners,

still dizzy of the world, deprived of their home

and bunk aboard our Bobby.

The next morn

was like the first, for I and Dana had to go.

I would, however, first be treated to small

but delicious taste of California's wonder in

her academy of sciences. Behold, I saw there

constellations of starfish in eel gardens,

walked in rainforest, and felt the touch of

butterfly wing on shoulder. All the miracles

I saw in the deep I saw again, telling me to

not be afraid with perfect bearings from God,

the surest Guide. Yet too fast the hour

of parting came, and I was lost from them.

Godspeed I wished to Izzy, Little Fish,

Everto, and our host at last, then sped with

prayer with Mary on my way, my far

journey back to home's longing embrace.

New York

Sung to the tune of "Mingalay".

Turn the helm now

into the wind

toward the star that guides us to the East

Take her homebound

to the shore

of Manhattan's blue harbors.

Now the Zephyrs

fill the squares'ls

pulling us to California's coast

to the mists

of San Francisco,

the crags of Golden Gate.

Turn the helm now

into the wind

toward the star that guides us to the East

Take her homebound

to the shore

of New York's restless piers.

Raise the stack high

sky the raffee!

Let every breath give us a mile

cut the distance

between us

and the loves we left ashore.

Turn the helm now

into the wind

toward the star that guides us to the East

Take her homebound

to the shore

of Hudson's wide mouth.

Spread wide her brilliant

white sails

sweat the halyard that stretches it straight.

Leave behind these

Mingalays

for embrace of familiar bed.

Turn the helm now

into the wind

toward the star that guides us to the East

Take her homebound

to the shore

of my home so close.

The Truthseeker

I though I would never see sky so

unlimited again. Sparkle in the water

sparkle in the city. Sparkle in the trees.

Sparkle up above and down in heart.

The fireflies

Salt of the Earth

Dedicated to Chelsea.

I look upon my shoes, so dirty and covered with

the salt of the sea. But though they make me seem

poor and unkempt, I dare not wipe this badge away,

and earned merit as few doth have, of honest labor

and instant of honest life as God's friends, fishermen.

At last I know what did Christ mean by salt of Earth,

the salt that gives life and richness to all that walk

the groves that too were once forests of kelp dwelt

by the fishes of the ocean. I know why He called His

priests from the rough and gruff order of mariners,

why did Noah find such favor in the eyes of Lord,

and those that bore Jonah and the prophet were both

spared death by whale and storm. I know now why

those that traverse Oceanus have especial love for

them divine, why they are admitted to a brotherhood

that above all humanity, then the nations considers.

Will I be able to speak all I know? Not in word of mouth,

but in word of act alone, perchance, but here on land?

Perhaps this land is more difficult and treacherous

to navigate than the highways of water, desert of house

but filled with good things, manna for soul and fish for body.

But to my aid I will recall all that caused the salt of sea

to turn to salt of earth, for the sake of those that did not

yet taste the sweetness of its salt, a life happy and delicious.

O salutaris Hostia

I was riding on the streets I knew and hated,

the little town with little care for what lies beyond,

and I deprived of sail had to resort to bike as I ran

the forgotten errands. I was coming home from

library when I turned uphill, rode with effort to

the little church, where I should have first gone.

I stepped in from sweltering heat into the cool

silence of the House, deserted save for two adorants.

I expected to see only the tabernacle, but instead

my God uncovered His Glory in monstrance,

waiting for my return. I fell to knee, speechless

before the Lord, ready to hear my prayer in person.

I asked the Spirit to impart sacred Word to speak

what I felt and thought all the time upon the ocean

boundless, and this flowed in torrent from soul to God:

O salutaris Hostia! My God in Whom I trust! So long,

so long I did not see You, My God, hidden in the Bread

and Wine consecrated! None but You did lead me to

Your House, to give You thanks for a journey done,

unharmed and increased in wisdom! O Merciful Savior,

how many times you heard my cry, and delivered me

for every danger, calmed every deadly wave and gust

of wind! Be blessed ever, o God of the Sea, God of the

Earth, God of all the Worlds, God of all Creation!

Through your goodness I saw Your wonders in the deep,

and found a second family in my blessed shipmates.

Have mercy yet again, o my God! Let not the evil

of the land touch my mind, poison it again with worry

and sadness. Let instead that sweet thought and holy

habit that let me live as man worthy to be called child

of the Highest One fill the days I spend at home. Let

compassion be my navigator, sacred charity my captain,

as I ride the vicissitudes and doldrums of daily life.

Fill all our lives with like graces, and my mates so far

away let not distance divide the friendship You gave us.

I lay the thousands miles I traverse with Your entourage

of angels as flower, a sweet-smelling and pleasing offering

of praise. I give You praise and thanksgiving, merciful

Captain of my soul, for this finest golden month of life.

O God, but let this be in Your Will, let it be done, before

I reach the shore of Your Kingdom come: let me again

set sail far away from home, go away into the desert

to the edge of world, where no man but those worthy

dwell in your sacred tabernacle – the boundless ocean.

I adored my God with silence, and felt the blessing

touch alight upon the quivering heart. Then I worshipped

Him, and invited Him to monstrance of my soul. At last

I was at home, my journey consecrated to my Creator.

###

About the Author

Adrian Poniatowski is a nineteen year old college student studying history and a preparatory course for admission into medical studies. His hobbies include writing in calligraphy, singing, enjoying the outdoors, and obviously sailing. His motto as an artist is "Ars neptis Dei," a paraphrase from Dante's Comedia meaning "Art is the granddaughter of God."
