Get Free Copy

100 free copies left

This novel is limited to 100 free copies due to its part in Inkitt’s Novel Contest.

Free copy left
You can read our best books
John E. WordSlinger would love your feedback! Got a few minutes to write a review?
Write a Review

Poetry Train Africa: Ethiopia

By John E. WordSlinger All Rights Reserved ©

Humor / Mystery

Vanilla: Tales of the Dead, No War No Ghosts &Vanilla: Tales of the Dead, No War No Ghosts & Pyrates of Suicyde

WE CALL POLITICIANS PYRATES OF LANGUAGE and all through time the seas were red with it and howling, howling with sea wolves, floating packs with fangs of terror, ravaging and resorting on all people love, nature and companionship with fellow humanity and animals, and these orders were from land wolves, pack leaders hired by the sheeple who couldn’t think for themselves. Poets don’t sell death and deliriums; they wished to sell books, but most of all, show the beauty of life itself.

All Poets stir with beauty and love but they never became a floating republic, a grand democracy, most knew the way with their spiritual intuition as their cross staff; and their music of words their lead lines, but gold, silver, gems, and money aka the earthly iller were not of the spirit so they never regarded these things so the balance of humanity went off course.

These Pyrates of Language also took up the cutlass, pistol and ball, but not Redd, Andy, and I Boet, we became more hungry for Poetry, and Poets unity that we ate our leathery belts on the ocean when we ran out of food. We knew speed was survival, and we had two speeds, fast and faster, and we knew too rest, and what it brought. We kept east and kept in being for Poetry, the real breath and language of humanity, and storms were all around, so it was easy to be lost at sea, or for the battle to get twisted, and us captured. We knew the execution dock could be the final destination for us, where large crowds would gather on the shore and in boats, but maybe then would our notorious adventures and lives be noticed, and our confessions and writings published. Regardless, we now were sailor Poets, who flew the Poetry flag, and would live and die under it, threatening rule with Poetry.

Andy was our needle of a compass, and he also knew the magical vibration of our Poetry voyage, but he and Redd made bedwards hours back, and they were snug in the Land of Deep Nod. With my note of a tune, I was tired, very tired and being snug too was something I had to do. The serf seemed at ease in these forbidden seas so I needed to rest because I knew we were headed close to barbarous coasts. I wished we brought a harpoon, because we were out of food, and the longer we didn’t eat, it seemed our beltless pants, and us for sure would fall down, twine came to mind but that did not matter it was us, but we had none.

The splendor of Nod took me too, and if any one knew me Boet, would know I always keep my alertness, stay up on watch, and never fallen asleep, but there’s that first time. Not only that, propelling, and punting these canoes wore me out.

She had red hair, and red bones, I would not see her lower body from the water she was in. Her smile was amazing, and as she came closer, her smile became for sure luring. She was proud of something, and she swayed her right shoulder as she paddled forward, and I seen it, her rainbow tattoo, it looked new. I call it that not because it was the beauty of the traditional rainbow after a good rain, but of colorful stars before a good rain, her tat was a star rainbow I can say, circling her shoulder and it was beautiful. She loved it, and I did too.

The nights’ sky was in Venus, and it made it all a boosting dimension.

How could I resist? I looked at my sea-padres and I said, They need more sleep. I looked at her and knew I must swim with her. Plunged I did, and the water seemed not as strong as I imagined. I noticed she was sitting on a swing in the blue blast, hung by light, and it was, an amazing sight. She motioned for me to sit next to her, again how could I resist? It made the water sing a different way as the water moved around the swing, so I sat down, and still, I could not see her legs. She made noises, more the less talking in a different manner, and I did not know her native tongue, but I sensed this was going to be good. Hoisted we went, slowly up, the water again grabbed my attention, and looking down the tinkles of the dripping water sounded sweet, as her legs were now revealed, her being, her red tail and fins. So ’impressive, and I was about to learn the words’ true meaning, and it all enclosed me, pressed. We swung, and the universe got smaller.

“I am Randa. I am from the sacred hill, and we are no longer abundant because of iron spearheads. We are their main sampy, and that is because they attribute we have magical powers, sampy, and we do. We are a spiritual item for them, because we know animal language, and we are united. We are the Odys Ikopa now, which means personal talismans.”

I could finally understand her. I looked down and seen so many ships on fire. I heard cannons, and seen smoke go as fast it it came. The winds were moved too.

“Would you like to go below, and see all of the drowned souls?” Randa asked. “All over greed, and deception tactics.”

No way I thought, I was swinging in a swing above the ocean with a mermaid of beautiful red, and her tattoo to me seemed like she had firefly blood, because the tat glowed, the stars also changed colors.

Randa looked at Boet with a sad smile, and said, “They are coming up with laws and rewards to apprehend Poets to convict them, and kill them. I will take you to the palace, with views of the twelve sacred hills. I may let you ring the aqua bell.”

“God save the Poets!” Boet replied and thought ‘My God what is wrong with people in power, Poetry, Reading & Writing is life saving, Poetry can help people with PTSD, but no, don’t treat those that fight for freedom, and what’s right. These folk should be ashamed of their brain washing might.’

With all of the bewildering beauty Boet never thought of hunger. Boet slept on, swinging in a celestial swing with a gorgeous mermaid. While dreaming, the waters foam was gaining height, and finding its way into the sailing double pirogue, two wooden dug out canoes attached to each other, and could sail.

Andy, Redd and Boet scratched their facial hair. Andy was getting a tropical sea-man tan as he slept. Redd began to talk in his sleep, and Scratch was the one making them itch by licking their ocean grown beards. Waking them up because an grappling hook was pulling them in from a ship, and the canoes came to it with quick speed.

“Those two are Virginians I ’am sure of it.” A pyrate with long red hair said. “They are not Portuguese, or Spaniards.” She was Anne Bonny.

“They are rumless, with a wild beast.” The other pyrate with long dark hair said. She was Mary Reed.

Deck hands fastened the canoe, and raised them up to the lower deck of this stolen Woman-o-War ship.

“The white man is Irish.” Anne Rackam said as she pulled out her pistol.

“Check them for fire pots.”Ticklishly Mary Reed demanded as she held tight to her cutlass.

Standing up was not going to happen for them three, their knees were aftermath, and the length of them at sea without food,, subtraction. The Pyrate crew checked their territory.

“Roll around, loosen up, don’t be weak. This is Cape Lopez!” Mary demanded.

Anne looked like Jimmy New Orleans. Andy thought.

Sweet as Vanilla too. Anne thought.

What Redd? Andy thought but figured it out.

Like a ship saw, they questioned them. What are your crimes? Do you have honor? And where did you bury your treasure?

Andy replied with vengeance. “In our hearts!”

“Then your hearts will be cut out of your treasure chests...” Mary declared.

“Oh for Louisiana sake.” spoke Anne.

“Anne keeps looking at my nose, and I am looking at hers, and why are they bare boot?” Andy pondered, and it was tele-thought.

“Will you hang for your friends?” Anne asked. “Why are you so solemn?”

“Yes,” Andy replied, “Because we are important and serious!!”

“Do you know the sword of England?” Mary asked.


“Racks of meat please?” Andy asked.

Anne pointed her pistol and spoke, “We knew you four were coming? Anything goes... We are potrabelly, and there is no onslaught slaughter rule.”

Redd was thinking, Work as a team or we die.

Scratch roared.

Mary skillfully shown her cutlass and spoke, “Sugar, you are beautiful evidence you have never been killed, and most are looking for jolly death, so where is this poetry train?”

We have poets, poetry, e-railroaders and a e-train, musical mates. Redd said.

“We have pen and paper.” Andy said.

“Quit looking under the table.” Anne said, and Mary giggled, and spit saying, “John Lawrence England, John Lawrence England.”

Andy spoke“ Would you let our bodies be put on display?”

Anne looked at Andy and says, “I was named Andy, maybe your dead ones!”

Similar to you all, we roll out the jolly Poetry flag, and live and die under it, threatening rule with Poetry. Redd declared.

“Wake your mate.” Anne demanded. “He must be drunk.”

Boet was waking up and he spoke, “Politicians do that to intellectual property! They would love to call Poetry a festive disease, with listeners and readers infected.”

“Musicians play some music we have guests.” Anne ordered. “Racks of meat, and check them for silver and gold. We hope you like turtle.”

Redd frowned, but kept real, and said, I’d be treated as an equal. He thought and tried not to, but if all Poets died, then maybe they’d be exciting as dead Pyrates. What in lifes creation is going on? Redd then laughed.

“Ya ya, you’d blend in with the bloody red sea.” Andy replied. “You’d look good with earrings mate. West lie the Pirates too, and we must be a floating rolling republic, ha ha ha ha. Rome the original place of thieves and outlaws, metamorphisized. What’s that Redd, this I should say, a history repeating itself, mud puddle?”

“They can work the chain pump.” Mary said.

“Let me think about that, maybe best on masthead.” Anne suggested. “They made is this far.”

“They maybe spies.” Mary said.

“That’s why I’m thinking and suggesting.” Anne said. “What’s coming is coming. We are moving onward and forward. All five of us will keep watch.”

Redd, Boet and Andy looked at each other and smiled.

“Sweet,” Andy said, “When we find Poetry we will yell out Poetry, Poetry!!”

Anne and Mary smiled.

Scratch is coming with us or hold us prisoner. Redd declared.

“That beast can climb mountains, he should be the one looking for land.” Anne said then asked. “How well is your bond?”

More than you’d dream of. Red answered.

“You two are on watch.” Anne declared.

Andy and Boet looked at each other.

“I have something to say.” Andy said, “Unlike man made things like this ship. Poetry is not fixed. Here is the deal, we have no infatuation with mankind. Our mountain lion is faith to us, hope somewhat. Your intuition is keen, because Scratch and Redd, would never lead any being to destruction. Wood burns, and can be kicked, kick iron and see where it gets us.”

“Captain Robert Drury, are you hearing this?” Mary asked.

“Mary, they made is this far.” Captain Robert Drury replied. “I have a question, don’t make a big deal out of this, like you triffling blood make out of rum. It turns to piss, and I have only rescued one soul from piss and wind. I will gold you what on this that cat they have if it could stir the helm, I’d let it.”

“They have nothing.” A ship leg said, but a heart rock, and odd fabric that was wrapped around paper with poetry, and scribbles. Bottles of berry juice.”

Anne smiled and said, “Bring me the berry juice.”

We all four can swim Captain. Redd said with deep looks into his eyes.

“I recall death of many.” Captain Robert Drury replied. “I recall many saying ’Anything Can Save Our Lives. Poetry they are about. May this Poetry save our lives.”

Captain Robert Drury looked at each and every one of them and said, “There are tales of the dead, vanilla our not, vanilla it is. They are going now where, you have their backs and necks. Good call Anne. Shall they cause us grief cut or shoot their poetry off!”

Everyone looked at each other and smiled.

To be continued.

ya ya th’C inside th’Circle John E. WordSlinger

Write a Review Did you enjoy my story? Please let me know what you think by leaving a review! Thanks, John E. WordSlinger
Continue Reading

About Us:

Inkitt is the world’s first reader-powered book publisher, offering an online community for talented authors and book lovers. Write captivating stories, read enchanting novels, and we’ll publish the books you love the most based on crowd wisdom.