As each new day rises
the air fills with new stress of every person’s uncertainty, not knowing what times will bring. The clouds are a little grey with shades of clearing bringing a hint of better times. People are locked away, prisoners in their own home living in fear of the unknown. Strangers appearing out of the dark with hands out to care for one another, strength given with no touch providing a glimpse of better times. Almost every breathe is hard in these times of the terrifying, people do not know where to move. The good in people will manifest, trust in the human nature of the kind. The path will lead to better times. January 26, 2021 ©Andrew Scott – Just a Maritime Boy 2021
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I called him R. J. from the moment he was born.
It was short for Robert Joseph. Named in memory of his mother’s father. As a child, R. J. had an eye for adventure. Once you heard his giggle You knew R. J. was in a place that he should not be. The clean up was never-ending. R. J. did not stay as outgoing with age. Sometime during his teenage years he went from outgoing to extremely private. Could never pinpoint the change. All I can say is it happened half way into his high school years. R. J. moved in with a lovely lady shortly after graduation. We were so happy and proud of them both. Six years together and all we saw was bliss. It was not until it ended that a problem came to light. R. J. had to move back in to regroup. The drinking was noticed, the drugs were not. Late nights or disappearing for days could not be ignored by his mother or I. R. J. would come home with new bruises, cuts all over his face. That is really when I got involved. Took R. J. to a place to dry out and talk for a week, just him and I. That was when I found out about the drugs. R. J. had been taking since middle school. He said it started as an experiment that grew. The booze part was because that was all he could taste from working with chemicals. Even when he was spitting blood R. J. did not see a problem. I thought it was a great detox week. So many conversations that brought us closer. Saw the light at getting my son back. Slowly we gave him earned trust. He was showing up to work and home. R. J. gained weight, a healthy weight. The call came in around six or seven. I can tell you it was a Tuesday. The sky was bright with the sun setting. I called him R. J., short of Robert Joseph. He was my only son, Now he was gone. January 18, 2021 ©Andrew Scott – Just a Maritime Boy 2021 Following the shadow
even though my instincts tell me I should not. The spirit that is beckoning me is quite alluring. Each step taken to an unseen place, beyond the mists of the unknown. The mind excited but conflicted. Is the ghost that I am following leading myself to a to a pure garden of light or through a path of red burning coals? The hopes for a calm walk. There are too many scars of the past. The ghost that leads never give a hint. A time to breathe and heal is needed. Curiosity is peaked by the leader. The pathway that I have been led to previously was murky. The expectation is skin tingling. The unknown feels this of me. The Ghost of the Unknown ha shadows that are addictive. No signs to what are beyond them. The only way to know or feel is to move beyond them and embrace. December 29, 2020 ©Andrew Scott - Just A Maritime Boy 2020 Silently, I pray each and every night
to the stars lighting up the dark sky that I will never see or feel your shadow, hear you incoming soft steps. You may be the enemy however you are a human being. My job is to guard the sleeping soldiers, protect them so they wake in the morning. My troop is relying on me for this and I will ensure this does happen. As you creep around our camp, trying to deceive me, I think you must have a family that you would like to embrace again. It is the same in our tired barracks. The troops have wives and children they wish to see and laugh with. My eyes will find your shadow and guarantee they will see their family. Sadly, I have taken life, as I assume, my night crawler, that you have too. We both have a duty. It is not personal. I have a duty that takes courage, feeling that you have the same. You are a person that is forced to be here. Remember as you sneak, so am I. I am the Sentinel that will not let you through. December 1, 2020 ©Andrew Scott - Just A Maritime Boy 2020 Though no one saw me,
I was there through every moment. The blaze that took over London in the mid seventeenth century. Three days of an inferno, taking way homes and lives, leaving a burnt path of embers. I was there as the wind that carried the flame from the King's Baker. Not one felt myself as the blower of the fire. When the shot was fired, killing Franz Ferdinand causing England to declare was on Germany the bullet was guided for the world conflict, the first great war, over four years, piles of bodies, brothers and sisters, by my invisible hand. That peaceful day in 1945 in the small place of Hiroshima, destroyed by the first big bomb. Leaving radiation intertwined with the breathing air causing melting heat that was felt for decades after. I was the unseen creator of the ultimate destroyer. People believe it is all random twisted fates of destruction. I am never seen by the scared eyes. Never in the shadows. My faces are in plain view This Dark Figure is always missed. November 24, 2020 ©Andrew Scott - Just A Maritime Boy 2020 For the crew, I have to steer us through this.
The nor’easter came on so suddenly. Clear, blue skies to grey violence without a clear warning. Day started with checking lobster traps. A great haul for the day. Smiles booming all around. Sailing home would be effortless. Now the crew are below, can feel their worry and cries with every rough wave. We were not prepared for this. Trying to see through the rain. Thinking of our families, the ones sitting at home, staring out their windows hoping to see their spouses coming through the door. Up here all I see is darkness from the pellets of rain. Direction is purely by instinct in hopes of finding land, to dock like any other day. Tense and scared, heart is pumping in my skin. Know I do not have a say in our fates. It is either the ghost from the water that will guide or the unforgiving Nor’easter’s Hands. September 22, 2020 ©Andrew Scott – Just A Maritime Boy 2020 The heart yearns for the simpler time.
An era where a smile between two while walking, holding hands was love. Words and thoughts have complicated so much in each other's minds. Over thinking actions by each other. When during a simpler time. what you did is what you meant. Relationships are constantly questioned. Mistrust seems to be the main feeling due to people of the past with bad intentions. There was a time when motives were transparent. Those were the days of simpler times when a hand was given for help. The world is stressed and broken. Air is full of anger and pretend there was a time when this did not exist or thought of. A smile was natural and not forced. That was a simpler time, A time we all dream of. January 9, 2020 © Andrew Scott - Just A Maritime Boy 2020 My memories of him are divided
between the person here and now from the way that he was before. The multi-faces and lives of Little Ronnie. Little Ronnie could light up the sky with youthful curiosity marked with a mischievous smile. No rock would be unturned to see what was there and what would happen when the unknown was felt. Little Ronnie’s parents would show up to everything even when he did not wish for them to be there or when Little Ronnie did not want to be there himself. Support was always there. Little Ronnie never went without. He had a little of everything however he had to earn it. His parents saw to that but Little Ronnie was the coolest. Little Ronnie was the master at keeping the attention while he was either quiet or plotting the irrational. Any personally could appear at any given trigger. Little Ronnie was blessed with a great work life after college. Getting the first opportunity that seemed to be handed to his open arms. The envy of us all. I went away for awhile. What I saw when I came back. The mind cannot register. The eyes do not believe. Little Ronnie was a shell of the person I used to know. The pristine hair, now long to go with a patchy beard. Little Ronnie did still dress with the latest fashions. So crisp and clean to cover the skeleton that was underneath. So very thin. At twenty-sex, Little Ronnie was living at home. Know the plan was to live with his high school sweetheart. Heard she was nowhere to be found. Rumour was his hyper behaviour got worse and she got scared then found him with two others. A couple who wanted fun. She was done at the sight. With his lady gone no one could or would help with controlling his money. Little Ronnie went through it as fast as he earned it. The finest clothes and the cheapest street drugs. It got worse for Little Ronnie after an emotional outburst at his workplace. Another gentleman met his hidden strength and wrath. Without a job, the small place where Little Ronnie did live licked him out. The whispers was that the little apartment took two months to fully fix. Broken walls, soiled carpets. Little Ronnie;s childhood home was the only place that would take him with the erractic mind. The hope was to get him back onto the proper drugs to calm his mind and body. Little Ronnie’s mother fought everyday to bring him back to be the boy we all knew. We all wanted the old Little Ronnie back with us and still do. The difference is shocking. Sad as it may never happen as you periodically saw the mischievous smile of Little Ronnie. July 26, 2020 © Andrew Scott – Just A Maritime Boy 2020 Cannot remember when I first heard it.
Do know I was young at the time. That old train whistle and its allure. Home was not the best for me. Rules I was not prepared to follow. One morning packed a knapsack before dawn started walking the rails. Found a still train and joined the cargo. At every stop, jumped to another boxcar, never really knowing what direction that the old train would go. Happy to see the landscape. Take in the beautiful of all terrains. The people I have met have always been so nice. Fellow train-hoppers like me. They were looking for missed adventure or running away or both. Stories were freely shared as the land went by. Sometimes late at night I wonder about the family that I left behind. Think to myself if I turned out the way my mother thought I would or my glaring absence frightened my father like I used too. They have not heard of me since I left them a note. As time has gone by there are not as many trains to ride however I can always find one. The people you see are less and less. The rail-runners are a dying breed. Have accepted my day will end out here. I have lived how I wanted too. Until that day will go wherever the train whistle blows. August 22, 2020 © Andrew Scott – Just A Maritime Boy 2020 The sky is screaming angry.
The winds are swirling blindly in the dark with a purpose. Spirits are looking over the world from just over the edge. Bodies are afriad to step over. Chaos voices holding back all. Standing in the middle of the storm I am pretending to be full of strength eventhough people’s screams of pain are making myself so weak. Humans have stopped being civil. Killing each other from a slight. Peace is not on the horizon. Fires are still burning, Spreading from person to person. Voices of peace not being heard. Civility has been extinguished. Concern that sensibility will never come back. Enough has become enough. The sky is clashing angrily and my soul is afraid. September 1, 2020 © Andrew Scott – Just A Maritime Boy 2020 |
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