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richard lloyd cederberg

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  on the isle of durntwick ... 10
by richard lloyd cederberg
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Rated "PG13" by the Author.

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Recent poems by richard lloyd cederberg
•  Withdrawn...
•  that morning along the mezzanine...
•  a season of singing...
•  Christmas (hope)
•  mismatched envelopes...
           >> View all 126




TENTH SCENE in a series of Tarzan Story-Poems … being damaged severely in the gale, the Aborantha requires temporary harbor for repairs on the Isle of Durntwick. That night, in the tavern, the hand of Providence reveals their grandsons kidnapper to John Greystoke.


Days passed interminably
Before the storm lessened in intensity,
And, as providence was willing it, England
Emerged through thinning mists, in
The distance,
Off the port bow,
On the eighth morning,
At which time a merry mood
Gripped the crew and various bottles
Were apportioned, notwithstanding the passengers
Still aboard, the Captain - subsequent to his first mates
Inspection - decided that temporary harbor was
Required as a result of severe damage to
The bowsprit, backstays, and battens,
Chain-plates, cleats, and clews,
The halyards and rigging,
And so, being that the
Nearest port of call was only several
Leagues northeast of their present position,
A notice was sent to
The passengers informing
Them they would be detouring to
The shipyards on the Isle of Durntwick and,
As a result, their voyage would be foreshortened
So repairs might commence on the vessel …

Creeping from their
Berths, tousled and pale,
And the majority having suffered
At length in the gale, their only representative
Implored the Captain now, (modestly) to set them ashore,
Anywhere, and even suggested a handsome incentive
If he could do it that very afternoon; chuckling,
The Captain agreed,
And the price was set at
Two thousand pounds sterling,
Which the men counted keenly into a
Large leather pouch that they placed in the
Captain’s hands, following which a resonant voice
Drew his eyes to an imposing man jostling
Through the crowd to where he was
Standing next the forecastle …

Lord Greystoke
Spoke hastily to the Captain,
Who now, smiling broadly, ordered his crew
To make all haste for the Isle of Grenache’,
A woebegone locale,
Rife with fenland and rock,
A few thousand yards larboard,
Where (only) one stand of trees and a
Smattering of shrubbery, along the northern shores,
Represented the magnitude of its verdure- but, as the Captain
Had just learned, there also was a rickety mainland ferry
That fetched proletarians each day to the piscary and
Pothouse and returned for them in the evening…
With some apprehension the passengers
Disembarked the vessel and
All were escorted
To the ferry
Now conveniently
Debarking day workers
As sharp bursts from its air-horn-
Three in succession, repeating at thirty second
Intervals- acted as a reminder to stragglers that the ferry
Would soon be leaving on its return voyage…
Contempt reared up in
The ape-man’s features as the
Ferry maneuvered away, and, when
A guttural growl rumbled from his chest,
Jane whispered: “Be at peace John, they’re gone now,
We must remain focused, my darling, for the babies sake.”
Her voice was soothing, and, as he pulled her close,
And smothered her lips with ardent kisses,
His resentment lessened …

Upon reaching
The Isle of Durntwick the
Greystokes bid farewell to the Captain
And registered at the only lodge,
A dreary place,
Foreboding to the senses,
And, being rank of body odor and fish,
Jane suggested they secure the uppermost
Room farthest from the tavern with
Windows towards the ocean…
Several hours later,
Being showered and settled,
And his beloved having found sleep,
John Greystoke went down to the tavern for
Refreshment, and to pursue something he’d heard
(Bits and pieces of) earlier from a scowling beady-eyed
Man in conflict with another Scotsman on the docks;
As quietly as Sheeta he
Took his place at a corner table,
Unbeknownst to any, his imperturbable
Character obscured in the flickering shadows,
Where an open window wafted evenfalls pungent air,
And an unobstructed view of the docks held him…

Darkness was descending,
And moisture was forming halos
Around the coruscation of dock lights
As moonlights soft illumination burst from
Behind a transom of ridges and caught the tops
Of lazy lapping waves in lambent fluorescence;
(Peaceful were the moments he spent
Gazing through the window) and
After a time he ordered a
Tankard of stout
To slake his thirst, and,
Being that his curiosity was aroused
By a wizened graybeard, John bought him
An ample glass of single-malt
To free his tongue
And learned
That the vessel
Moored along the pier
Had a dubious reputation
As her Captain was a well known
Smuggler and bootlegger who would work for the
Devil if terms suited him; the ‘Black Beldame’ was her name…

“The place is fulla’ arses today,” the graybeard quetched,
“Flapdoodle yakkers; a rowdy lot pissin’ the kinda’ money a’
Makes the owner wanna bend over and grab his blimey
Ankles fur more; yes sir, right up the wazzoo, and
If that ain’t the worsen it son…”
The old man chugged a
Mouthful of scotch and continued
Fulminating as John observed the tavern
Fill abruptly with a raucous lot congregating for the
Darts tourney- so, as it was, both sailors and
Chawbacons began complaining because
Of the abysmal service and- being
All braggarts and louts- began
Pounding the tables for
Attention from
The inns
Only waitress,
A dowdy woman
Beset with the crowd
Smelling of cigs and liquor
And overwrought with emotion
Who waddled about like a penguin
And, being in demeanor at times a kind of
Social misfit, she would curse and glower at anyone
Who was (in the least way) disrespectful or yokelish with her…
So night progressed
And, as providence willed it,
Tarzan picked up the spore of the
Beetle-browed man (he’d watched earlier
On the docks) who had entered the tavern now
With a tatterdemalion man, bent and gaunt, who,
Threw back his hood and barked angrily:
“Someplace private ass-wipe an’ gezz yer best bottle.
Charge it tae his accoont…” Leering scornfully the
Bartender pointed upstairs to a table directly
Above where John sat watching…

Now something
Swept over John’s heart,
And it consumed him like a drenching rain,
An intuition that he was closer to the
Sources of Jack and Meriem’s
Dilemma than he’d realized,
So with senses attuned
And muscles steeled
Tarzan vanished
From his chair
(As quietly as a thought) as
The men made their way upstairs,
Leaping nimbly to the rafters just above
The two; he listened as they began bickering,
Once again, about something that needed resolution …

“Whit shoods ah dae wi’ it? It needs milk an’ scran,
an’ aam nae its mammy…” The scowling man argued…

“I’ll gie ye fife thoosain poonds fur th’ brat,” spat the other,
“nae mair. Aam nae its mammy either thenk god…”

Nodding his head the first replied:
“Gezz th’ bunsens ‘en an’ be dain wi’ it…”

Thinking for a moment, the second
Man scratched his beard and then replied:
I’ll teel ye, Keptin, when that scum Greystoke pays th’ ransom,
yoo’re nae getting’ a penny mair from me, its ower an’ dain atween us …”

“Aye! Aam agreein’,” He shrugged, “sae, where’s th’ bairn ‘en?”

“Well bucko … comes closer an’ i’ll teel ye …”


richard lloyd cederberg 9/2011
   

A Monumental Journey Novels


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Reviewed by Phyllis Jean Green 9/26/2011
What a wonderful storyteller, you are!!

I second every kudo below & the many that are sure to follow.

B R A V O !!!

xOx Phyllis xOx
Reviewed by Morgan Merriweather 9/22/2011
you have created powerful settings with local color and speech that comes to life. these scenes have a movement to them. awesome Morgan
Reviewed by Ronald Hull 9/18/2011
Love the conversation. Best in the series so far.

Ron
Reviewed by Sheila Roy 9/18/2011
I love all the little details...the halo of light...the tones of voices...the deluge in his heart... Another excellent adventure, come to life. Much enjoyed, Richard. Love and hugs,
Sheila
Reviewed by Gene Williamson 9/16/2011
Richard, this gripping adventure has everything, in character
and dialogue and suspense. I see no end in sight to your
incredible talent. This tale could go on forever, and I hope
it does. -gene.
Reviewed by Liana Margiva 9/16/2011
THIS POEM COULD WRITE ONLY VICTOR HUGO AND ONLY YOU, RICHARD!!!!!!!!!!! Liana Margiva
Reviewed by John Flanagan 9/14/2011
"A woebegone locale,
Rife with fenland and rock"

"...piscary and Pothouse"

and malt and dowdy woman and "...Beetle-browed man"

i could go on and on with takings from
this great quilt of words and phrases and happenings,
this work of action, passion, character, dialogue...everything!

Splendid, Richard, splendid!

John
Reviewed by Christine Tsen 9/14/2011
A very intricate, atmospheric and wonderful work!
You make it come alive, and fun to read aloud I must say.
Blessings,
Christine
Reviewed by Ed Matlack 9/14/2011
Keep these coming, wish I had them all in one shot in a book or like that, would make for a wonderful shift at my 2nd little job where I just sit for several hours waiting in a car...e

Books by
richard lloyd cederberg



Between the Cracks

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NEW THIRD EDITION available now @richardlloydcederberg.com

Buy Options
Nook, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, more..




In Search of the First Tribe

Buy Options
Nook, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, more..




The Underground River

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Nook, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, more..




Beyond Understanding

Buy Options
Nook, Amazon, more..




A Monumental Journey - first edition cover




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