1900 MASTS… A GHOSTLY CALL TO THE TEMPEST

By ERIC LASTICK, a creative writer of bright talent…

Olden seas, ship’s masts, as cloud forms of these ghostly flipper cloth gins. Masts in the heights of the faraway landlines. Breads and turnovers in the dim of morning. Wishful crates and merchant’s holds, to their tales of ghost-like restlessness. Darken the galleys. Ship attain the lower corners of one and all…and of their darkest days. Ghosts of the flavored rise from the gray of the depths and deaths. These leagues of endless counts—and so very ravenous, these cities beneath triangles in water. Mysteries oft these most faraway knows. Being alive on this ship is of a new great knowing. A never fail to the very real of it’s ghosted secrets. Voyager in Indian Ocean…sails as of monolithic finds. The rise of a new wave. A break of the high waters, insinuate other vessels smooth so sail—yet of it real? Translucent figures on deck. Tell tale visions of past journeys. Sana Marie have little ghost face children—steer so clear, as 1900 masts…and flagship follow this caravan to a tunnel ride—all through the pipelines of the surf…and all at once, in the surging of the calling of higher arc. Breading galleries, Merchants await the next move for the ghostly calls. Cast over thunderous brain clouds of a Captain’s sword—too deem these waters of past…and of present tense. Futures rapping,as the ghostly figures of a good fight, honor this point of longitude—and go too the very ore. The center stoke of infant that care—which is man this day. This water filler. Ghosted gather— live now in every fish, in every gill…and every Ocean team. Every school, a moment in time—too even the splinters of past, and bends to the future, where we all stand. The ghost manifest of the front of the ship, as father. The deck’s hands drop to floor level. No ship’s cook on this one—as all deep water gills live on. The ghost in main frame and conquer. A same hello!

(THIRD EYE THROUGH THE TEMPEST)

Sit at the Captain’s chair…at its undone and scary studies of Crypt Zoology. Crypt codes and ocean deep, to what we really do not know of these depths. Lives and existences far and wide. Referenced and unrecorded of the truly bizarre—–right here, at 1900 masts. Halloween steers and stirs of the high waves of the seas. And here, in a notion of such one…and of story lines and lineage;  in order for man, woman of different spheres. Amphibian to island. Sand shell bend capable—sea and center core as one. A two sided monster—out of our icy notions. A serpent of cosmic dins, sins…and navigation’s—less compasses. The line crawls, maws in the mind’s of those so feared…and of those shores of Lochness Scottish songs. Per made creature take down. Do we see what seems to be human like—subservient sea serpent—yet with wet wing wet down head of hair. Face like no other known. The cold of trespasses in night blues…and their leagues—ways away, the Indian Ocean’s tail—which draws of a kiss! An Aqua mermaid’s jealous reprise—enrolling in the salty water’s run. Dress the winds and tempest waves of the surf…as a serpent girl—whether to believe it or not; stake account of her beauty. Ocean land and back to sea.

So take a moment in what dreams so states, so moves; as the gusts come off of a real alliance, to draw away the heinous thoughts—yet what if she, so real…and so scaly—seal sight of these deep waters, and swim ashore as a silhouette–right through thee Tempest gale—too regenerate 2 as 1! Anomalies back drops of swims…and of layered fragrant air of rich compounds, not of our sciences.1900 masts in the ghostly call—too the tempest—and these high waves of the seas. Halloween crypt notions, a hard play to sell, until their very children ghost dance—and hold until dawn. A new reality.