Captain Cur

Along with this following acrostic poem on behalf of all poets, Poem Hunter Family and our Mahakul family a title of honour is offered to poet Captain Cur as, Coronal Glee, . From today on-wards he will be known as Coronal Glee Captain Cur. We hope all poets and visitors will accept this.

Captain Cur - Poem by Kumarmani Mahakul

Capability of poetic art is very high,
Astounding personality motivates others,
Progress is his art in core of continuity,
Thoughtfulness we witness within him,
Apostrophizing lines he writes nice poems,
Intelligent poet he is, he motivates many,
Nobility of personality is reflected well.

Continuing writing he never gets tired,
Utility is art of social resources we learn,
Reviving human values he smiles in joy.

Wow! What an adventurer and poet you are..Wonderful poems..takes me away to faraway places..

excellent poems. you are great in explaining your feels. i invite you to read my poem

Salute Drink To Uncompromising Sea

Ah Captain Cur twas fair pirate spoken
take my token now blood cut bespoken
for I be off tonight to crew toast bold
our salt testimony 'Uncompromising Sea'

'a rum fueled, beer kegged, wine barreled'
drought of poetry Captain Cur bequeathed
to thee to me upon shores of stars eternity

in truth I be off to swill rum ravish wine
drink beer to wash it down with feast dine
dance sing crappling coupling eternity time


Copyright © Captain Cur and Terence George Craddock.
Inspired by the poem 'Uncompromising Sea' by Captain Cur.
Quoted title and quoted line by Captain Cur.

Malevolent Storms Unknown Seas

uncompromising sea awaits
in whispered river waves
for black stallion to voyage
forth further into unknown seas
seeking gold jewels destinies


Copyright © Terence George Craddock

Rum Message In A Bottle Floating Sent

Dead reckoning off an ancient sextant
taking a fix on a bright likely star point,
this be a current true tide accounting of how
I do send messages to pirate Captain Cur;

Ahyo at de wheel pirate Captain Cur
how be ye old salty sea dog bones?
be de wind brisk in de Malevolent sails
cutting ocean run black stallion waves?

thanks for ye barnacle writ lines matey
poem cut on me fallen drunk John poem,
let me know if ye sharp boon owed wish
me to return penned tribute inked favour?

but me poem would quill sand grit be
written in rum for us both to savour,
since last hearing rumour word from ye
I has been off sailing salt seven seas,

been stranded ship wrecked
a bad broken time or two,
tossed sudden violent about
by turbulant stormy seas,

weathered wind wave violent
vicious exposed saline gales,
survived to swim cast down tell
me cursed wreck salty sad tales,

been dark blood betrayed
by deceitful cut throats,
a few I let yardarm swing
upon me course ropes,

others I sharp sword
point run off de plank,
left drowning behind
in rat judgement seas,

after I bought them bound tied low
to sentence judgement forced knees,
so be de fate of us raw pirates bold,
still so many salt stories to be told,

fair ye well old salt Captain Cur
may a fair wind be at ye steal back,
a wide deep sea sail square ready
to be wind caught roamed before ye,

time for us sailing forth further
adventures to treasure plunder,
regards ye old salt sword mate
Terenzio is off to reap steal fate


Copyright © Terence George Craddock

Fiction, fancy, folk-lore, fairy-tales, fantasies...and a complete play of Imagination is what your poems are all about; yet i believe that life is full of many uncertainties that it likens to a myth; while existing in the modern age, there is an anachronistic feel about your world you offer in poems, in the upcoming years, when people will read it, they won't place it in 21st century poetry, rather an ageless and timeless work beyond the fever and fret of this mundane life...such a work which does not carry a label of one age is beyond the bounds of time and tide of life...it's for all ages, all times and all minds...as what is imagination if bound in the time-limit?

This is a true accounting of how 'I' came to write the poem 'Somersault, ' and of Captain Cur's hand in it. The poem is a footnote to his 'Imagination Proclamation.'

I couldn't sleep one night, so I went for a walk. I live near the ocean, so I walked upon the shore. A half-moon held up the star-soaked sky. I gazed into infinity.

'Do you have the time? ' A voice, startled, I turned. I thought I was alone.
A woman sat upon a log, half hidden by the forest, half lit by the moon. 'I never wear a watch, ' I answered, 'Who are you? '

'Do you live here? ' she asked. 'Do you? ' I asked. She swept a finger at the sea.
I turned to it. A fog bank, fast moving, approached. 'Who are you? ' I asked her again.

A lightning flash! The lady stood up. I noticed she was wrapped in a body shawl covered with bird feathers.

'BOOM! ! ! '

A cannon blast shattered the silence, the night and my ears.

She, now dancing sprightly, hands upraised in delight, fairly flew toward the deeps. As she passed me, our eyes locked. Hers fathomless glowed dark with mystery; mine terrified and, I swear - for an instant, I saw her eyes flash lightning, too.

'Stop! Come back! ' I shouted. I wanted to keep her. But something held me frozen. I couldn't move, or breathe.

She was soon beneath the waves. The fog, now suddenly luminous, within, I saw the outline of an ancient sailing ship.

On deck stood the figure of a tall man, hands on hips, legs outstretched. An authority in this otherworld, he leaned down and held out his hand. From the waters a hand reached up to it. The man, effortlessly, lifted up and locked the hand of the mysterious dark lady whom I had met.

They embraced, lovers unto death - and beyond.

The fog darkened, dispersed. The night sky was clear again, sea waveless. The ship had vanished.

My mind reeling, in a panic I stumbled back home. I bolted all the doors. Lights out, I hid myself in a corner, still trembling. Then, it happened.

An unfamiliar candle upon my desk ignited.

Gathering my wits, I crawled to my desk. Upon it, a scroll of yellowed, brittle parchment with these words, written in blood.

'we are no old-fashioned heroes
who fight a blind dragon or two
then retire into the forest
to warn off others in stories
just of how dragons are slain.

we have only litanies of loss
to demons who never die, who
can never be killed, (only out-
witted, pacified, subdued) :
each of us a library of disease.

and who recognizes us, the crazy
ones who live life as if it's some
sort of perfect dive-
a tumbling
off the high board into free fall,
quick somersault, waveless

arching exit through surface?

Welcome Aboard,
C.C.'

And this is a true accounting of how I first met Captain Cur.

In this fine selection of poetry, you'll find bracing adventure, wicked humour, genuine horror,
romance, sci-fi escapades, acute observations and probing explorations of human nature.
Best read Captain Cur for youself and be amazed.