​Dark Figure V
 
You do not think I can feel you.
The Dark Figure praying
down on my spirit.
I sense you always.
 
As the Dark Figure
you are the quiet
cause of many tragedies and death
all through the mixed pages of history.
 
The Queens of Fate
as well as you
love the smell of chaos
and fresh, running blood.
 
As I sit here,
see shadows of all of you.
You are impatiently waiting
for my soul’s turn.
 
Smile to self at the thought.
Many times, you and your servants
have tried to silence my heart.
The muscles and bones
have always healed.
 
You keep striking
however, I have a divine purpose
that you are selfishly to blind to see
and I am protected silently.
 
Dark Figure and the Queens of Fate
keep coming with your assault.
Until my path is completed
my time with you will not come.
 
November 18, 2021
©Andrew Scott – Just a Maritime Boy 2021
 

People around here call them Trash Pandas.
Visitors that come in the silence of the night
so, no one can hear or see them.
Searching our garbage for food.
 
See the remains of the search
every Wednesday morning.
They try so hard to clean up
however, it is impossible.
My broom picks up the remains.
 
I was up late one Tuesday night
when I heard the cans
being shuffled, searched through.
Quietly, I looked out the window.
Surprised by what I saw.
Always assumed it was animals
that made the community mess
but it was not.
 
In the dark, there was a shadow of two.
It looked like an adult and a child
trying to be quiet, invisible
as they went through the cans.
I watched however did not say a word.
 
After seeing this
I started making too much food
for one person to have on Tuesdays.
Made sure it was in a bag
on top of the curbside trash can
so, it could be easily fond.
 
I do not care what brought
these two to our nighttime neighbourhood.
That was not my business.
Never approached them either
so, I did not scare them
and they could keep a bit of dignity.
Everyone needs food.
 
I have heard neighbours grumble,
complaining every Wednesday
about the animalistic Trash Pandas
with a snarl on their faces.
 
Makes a person think to themselves
what would happen
if they ever became Trash Pandas themselves
how would they feel?
 
October 20, 2021
Andrew Scott – Just a Maritime Boy 2021

I feel you slithering around me
as I lay here, shaking, broken.
You only come around during these times.
When it is believed 
I am at my weakest. 

You and your other demons
have been hoping for this moment. 
I should have expected you
when the snap occurred
and my bones became weak.

The scream must have been 
your signal to try
what you and your kind
have attempted so many times before. 

Lessons should have been learned
each time you believe I am broken.
I am gathering strength to stand
against the demons you bring. 

One day you will learn 
I am not broken.

September 25, 2021
@Andrew Scott - Just a Maritime Boy 2021

It is a little after midnight,
driving along a dark highway.
There is only me out here,
listening to music
breaks the quietness.
The only conversation,
a silent one with myself.
 
The best time to think,
find solid perspective.
At the age I am living,
taking and sorting is a must.
 
Trying to figure out
what I am driving
from or to.
 
I am no longer that young kid
that gave my father fear
in what I was to become.
He knows that now
as I take care of him.
 
Thoughts of how blessed I am,
surrounded by great people
in my journey
even the quiet ones.
 
My mortality always creeps in
and then put away
as it leads to frightening thoughts.
 
The mind remembers
something my mother
told me many years ago
as I pull into my home.
No matter what
I would always be alright.
 
September 14, 2021
©Andrew Scott – Just a Maritime Boy 2021
 
 
 

​Storm clouds are rolling
all around, bringing humid heat
to the hot days of July.
Thunder where all you saw blue.
Fear in the emotions in every snap.
You can smell the heavy, frightened air.
 
Searing flames of destruction
tear apart the village of Lytton.
Fires burning buildings, homes.
People running to escape,
young adults watching parents burn.
No one knows for sure
what may have caused the melt
in one of those hot days in July.
 
In an industrial town in Bangladesh
a warehouse is used as a captive deathtrap.
Fifty-two mothers, fathers, daughters and sons
burned, trapped inside with no way out.
No exits from the heated walls.
The owner lit the match that
burned the lives away
in one of those hot days in July.
 
Cars flying through the air
as the floods form in Eastern China.
Raging rapids covering roads,
violence screaming from river waters.
People and houses tossed aside.
Twisters clearing an unforgivable path.
Destruction that must feast
during these hot days in July.
 
The heat of July days is taking over,
people are acting murderous,
senses of the earth scrambled.
Terror in unexpected places
harvesting in the hot days of July.
 
July 27, 2021
@Andrew Scott – Just a Maritime Boy 2021
 
 

​Watching the heavy rains
outside my stained window,
realize the sky is not
the only one with sadness.
 
My own heart is crying tonight,
tears from discovering
my elders from yesteryear,
that always preached the right thing,
have let all of us down.
 
Have always been told
how good we are as humans,
taking care of one another,
holding hands, protecting all.
Tonight, my body shakes in grief.
The words were all lies.
 
Mind is full of confusion,
learning how sinister
and, at times, still are
through the denial f wrongdoing.
 
Saddens my soul,
the elders preaching
how they and we are good.
All along they knew where
the bodies of the young
were buried while pleading innocence.
 
Everything, everyone I have believed.
I am now questioning this night
what is the truth, what is a lie?
All of it heavy on the heart
that cannot stop crying tonight.
 
July 10, 2021
@Andrew Scott – Just a Maritime Boy 2021

​Finally going home.
It has been a long year,
leaving a foreign land
where I saw things
that I never
thought I would.
 
Hoped I would not
get scarred like the others.
The ones that were there
before my tour arrived.
I heard their crying for home,
moaning and fighting
in the nightmares
the night shared.
 
That was a life
I became afraid of
under the sky of Afghanistan.
 
I went over as support
for the new foreign government
providing arms for humanitarian
relief and operations.
Seemed like I would be away
from the fighting and killing.
 
The sights are now
playing in my mind
when I close my eyes.
 
Saw remains of families
taken away by the violence.
Mother’s holding onto
their husbands after death.
Crying children when
homes were bombed away.
 
Destruction by us
or the Taliban,
I will never know.
The memories are chaotic
under fire.
 
Carried friends back to camp
not knowing if they
would live or die.
Enemy or friendly fire,
who knew in the confusion.
More than once
I thought I took the shot.
 
Breathing deep, almost home
carrying invisible baggage.
I have no one to talk to
about the shakes
or the substances
I started using to forget
Afghanistan.
 
June 16, 2021
@Andrew Scott – Just a Maritime Boy 2021

​Angry Sea
 
The waves of the sea
are angry at us all
for what our souls have become.
 
Bombs are burning the sister sky.
Families ding as they land
while we watch the horror
without blinking an eye
or saving a soul.
 
The sea watches us,
becomes violent
at every injustice we perform,
crashing to land.
Its waters taking
what we do not appreciate.
 
A plague is spreading
to all corners of the earth.
Searching for a cure
while citizens are not
protecting others.
Spreading a death sentence.
 
Waves crashing into the coast
taking people away
with each strike
to even the score.
The sea is full of rage.
 
Tsunamis are taking
communities away,
washing homes to sea.
Revenge waves.
 
Seas are red
from watching the damage
that we are doing.
Harming each other intentionally.
Our greed has taken hold.
Seas are rising,
fists drawn
and it is our fault.
 
May 19, 2021
©Andrew Scott – Just a Maritime Boy 2021

​The drums are beating
with sadness, sorrow now.
Crying with the stolen souls
of the innocent, lost children.
 
Buried so long ago,
never returned home
from the abuse
provided from captive walls.
 
Healing circles chanting
for the children’s spirit.
Mourning the loss,
the children who were
never given a chance.
 
Beautiful children
taken from their elders,
tortured and abused
to forget who they were
until they were murdered,
placed in a grave, forgotten
by the government and the church
who put them in the unmarked dirt.
Died being forced to assimilate.
 
Little spirits rise in piece
to be remembered,
given to the ancestors
to share in the healing
drumming around the fires,
tears lined over their hearts,
preying for the Lost Children.
 
June 1, 2021
©Andrew Scott – Just a Maritime Boy 2021