Best Boatswain Poems
When the time arrives for me to depart
from the sunlit harbors of the living.
Take me aboard a navy fighting ship
and carry me back again to the sea.
Order the boatswain to construct a skid
made of wood and painted with fresh white paint.
Build it to hold a gray weighted coffin
draped by Old Glory with her stars and stripes.
Cruise the coast of my beloved home Whidbey
until full abreast with Ebey’s Landing.
Muster the funeral party astern
Play taps and slide me into the blue drink.
Let the storm-flecked waves of the rolling sea
take this old sailor to his final peace.
INSCRIPTION ON THE MONUMENT OF A NEWFOUNDLAND DOG.
When some proud son of man returns to earth,
Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth,
The sculptor’s art exhausts the pomp of woe,
And storied urns record who rest below;
When all is done, upon the tomb is seen.
Not what he was, but what he should have been.
But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend,
The first to welcome, foremost to defend,
Whose honest heart is still his master’s own,
Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone,
Unhonour’d falls, unnoticed all his worth,
Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth:
While man, vain insect! Hopes to be forgiven,
And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven.
Oh man! Thou feeble tenant of an hour,
Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power,
Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust,
Degraded mass of animated dust!
Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat,
Thy smile hypocrisy, thy words deceit!
By nature vile, ennobled but by name,
Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame.
Ye ! who perchance behold this simple urn,
Pass on - it honours none you wish to mourn:
To mark a friend’s remains these stones arise;
I never knew but one - and here he lies.
This monument is still a conspicuous ornament in the garden of Newstead. The following is the inscription by which the verses are preceded: -
Near this spot
Are deposited the Remains of one
Who possessed Beauty without Vanity,
Strength without Insolence,
Courage without Ferocity,
And all the Virtues of Man without his Vices,
This Praise, which would be unmeaning Flattery
If inscribed over human ashes,
Is but a just tribute to the Memory of
BOATSWAIN, A Dog,
Who was born at Newfoundland, May 1803
And died at Newstead Abbey, Nov, 1809
Taken from a book entitled POEMS by LORD BYRON
The helmsman sings a merry song:
Haec est vera fraternas,
and downs a cup of something strong,
Hick, vera, hick, hick, fraternas.
The sailors dance a lusty jig,
forsaking sails, crow's nest and rig.
Young princes and their ladies fair
join in the drunken helmsman's air:
Haec est vera fraternas.
Commoners with nobles prance.
Friars and laymen, how they dance!
The jester sports a broken lance,
a trophy from the fields of France.
"To Henry!" sounds the raucous toast.
Hear the young knights, how they boast
of conquests on and off the field,
when foemen or coy maidens yield.
While Fitzroy strokes a wench's leg,
the boatswain opes yet one more keg.
See their chains of gleaming gold,
but feel the wind grown strangely cold.
William the atheling alone,
to the marrow of each bone
feels what sorrows must atone
for the sins of court and throne.
Woe to the ship, woe to the realm,
where none is mindful of the helm.
Woe to the king who ne'er shall smile,
woe to those bereft of child.
Gone is that day and gone that night,
gone that ship so ghostly white,
gone the prince who bravely sought
to save his sister, deed ill bought!
If, one night by Barfleur's shore,
you may hear that song once more:
Haec est vera fraternas,
et haec est aeternitas.
Brenda penned a story about Brennan the boatswain in Bermuda
Who had bought a Bavaria 43 barque for a sailing adventure.
The story began with the ballad of Brennan:
'Come sail with me, on see-saw sea
Becapped, bedecked, emblazoned blithely, a blast!
Your love becalmed in my arms embrace.
All aboard, all in, with my deck I beckon.'
As the rollicking tale unfolded,
Brenda fell brow over boots, besotted, in love with Brennan.
She found herself browsing more and more online
Searching for 'Bermuda', 'Brennan', 'Bavaria Barque',
Hoping to find a real Brennan on board, waiting becalmed, with arms beckoning
For her to embolden her text and join him.
†††††††††THE UNFORGIVABLE VOYAGE††††††††
Tears trickled through my face
As our vessel threshed the deep.
Seagulls flapped their wings on
The beach as I watched them
Disappear before my sight.
I wished to belong to their
Colony if that meant staying back.
The shores of a place once to me
Known as home was about in a
Day to be forever foreign.
I followed the winds and stole
Stares of the sunset skies.
Salt water was unforgiving
As I retched in retribution.
Surrounded by aqua, the smell
Of sea never went down with me.
The sea spread out before me and
Seemed unending in its vastness.
We could have been on the sea
Forever as darkness prevailed,
Thickening the clouds above.
I looked up to find the stars and
Moonlight missing, as thunderclaps
And lightning bolts streaked across
The nautical skies.
The twin waves weaved its way,
Riding our vessel up and down.
The boatswain seemed bewildered,
Backing orders at the crew who
Scurried about with buckets to
Scoop water which had seeped
Its way inside.
All a little me could imagine was
Poseidon holding on to his trident
And commanding the forces of the
Sea to rock our ship to a frenzy.
The turbulence was brutal and
Unforgiving, anger in the form of water
Slapped hard on our faces, almost
Leaving us blind.
Salt water ragged my breathing
And when all else seemed to have
Failed, the storm slept still, leaving
Us with mixed feeling of joy and
Trepidation of drowning.
To save us from this newest menace,
My fragile hands found a bucket just
About my size as I joined to scoop
Out water. Suddenly, the sails stopped
Sailing the winds as our ship was dead
In Water. The rudder stopped almost
Immediately, skyrocketing our fears.
While we waited to regain the winds,
I dealt with my fears by filling my head
With the thought of grandma back home;
Her loving arms and my warm bed.
My heart ached all the more.
I just want this voyage to come to
And end. Let this all be a dream, I said
Silently whilst staring at reality.
©Whyte Queen
IG: @poetic_poesy
A quiet man,
a good man.
An exquisite artist
in
watercolor.
Self taught.
As a sailor,
he was excused
from chipping paint,
swabbing decks,
or peeling spuds
by lighting up
when the Chief Boatswain
barked to his crew
“smoke 'em if you got 'em.”
Excused,
he put down his mop
his paint brush, or his knife,
and smoked.
Today, thirty years
later, he is dying.
He is breathing through a tube
in his throat
and laying in his bed
at home
waiting,
watching his last
football games
and waiting.
When the time arrives for me to depart
from the sunlit harbors of the living.
Take me aboard a navy fighting ship
and carry me back again to the sea.
Order the boatswain to construct a skid
made of wood and painted with fresh white paint.
Build it to hold a gray weighted coffin
draped by Old Glory with her stars and stripes.
Cruise the coast of my beloved home Whidbey
until full abreast with Ebey’s Landing.
Muster the funeral party astern
Play taps and slide me into the blue drink.
Let the storm-flecked waves of the rolling sea
take this old sailor to his final peace.
© Copyrights G. Jones 2006
~ Homage to Walt Sing Matt Tilde ~
The art of the
"FAKE" deal (according
to Walt Dizzy Take a Knee Sing
Matt Tilde) once again
as oft iterated in previous poems,
doth (soup pearly, theoretically,
and wantonly) appertain
to anyone (abstractedly, essentially,
and loosely translated), aye ascertain
ptomaine anyone can attain
driving a hard bargain,
(sans basement prices)
utilizing her/his birdbrain,
(which might be about the size
of a child size chill blain -
mebbe acquired during
weather beaten life
at sea as boatswain),
nonetheless for results,
one best ought
be without a brain
even if promoted as Captain Cain
Guru, cuz to become
star apprentice,
one must master
trumpeting as a certain
Don Casanova Chieftain
stealing the vote if necessary
and freely distribute cocaine
(as an opiate of the masses)
to silence anyone
that might complain,
thus sets the
figurative stage to contain
any potentially mutinous threat
(against sought after bounty)
also necessitates practicing
nepotism assigning coxswain
to an immediate family member
with a skull full
bone if eyed crackbrain
and when upon
wheeling and dealing
i.e. thee metaphorical curtain
call - pull out
all stops to detain
vendor even exhibiting
faux ("FAKE) disdain
for deplorable basket weavers
iterated by domain holder
ye wish to acquire
sought after envied goodies,
oh...and do
everything to drain
the patience of he/she who
controls coveted booty
calling for trotting
out "Stormy
Daniels" to entertain
and continue ploy long after
hated yuge, bigly, stupid losers
winning morons with
zero wind blown naturally
"FAKE" orange blond
wind blown hair,
which constant induces
onlookers with eyestrain.
There is a reality in mortality
That eats away your soul
As life slowly passes I get the urge
To feel those high seas roll
Taste the salt on my tongue
Just like when I was young
Hear the boatswain call anchor’s aweigh
Set my own pace
With the wind in my face
See the sunrise come over the bay
One more time let me be
On a white dog at sea
Feel the waves crashing on her port side
One more time for a while
On an uncharted isle
Watching the evening tide
Set my sails once more
For that far distant shore
Make love on a secluded beach
One more time may I go
Where the harbor lights glow
Paradise within my reach
The helmsman sings a merry song:
Haec est vera fraternas,
and downs a cup of something strong,
Hick, vera, hick, hick, fraternas.
The sailors dance a lusty jig,
forsaking sails, crow's nest and rig.
Young princes and their ladies fair
join in the drunken helmsman's air:
Haec est vera fraternas.
Commoners with nobles prance.
Friars and laymen, how they dance!
The jester sports a broken lance,
a trophy from the fields of France.
"To Henry!" sounds the raucous toast.
Hear the young knights, how they boast
of conquests on and off the field,
when foemen or coy maidens yield.
While Fitzroy strokes a wench's leg,
the boatswain opes yet one more keg.
See their chains of gleaming gold,
but feel the wind grown strangely cold.
William the atheling alone,
to the marrow of each bone
feels what sorrows must atone
for the sins of court and throne.
Woe to the ship, woe to the realm,
where none is mindful of the helm.
Woe to the king who ne'er shall smile,
woe to those bereft of child.
Gone is that day and gone that night,
gone that ship so ghostly white,
gone the prince who bravely sought
to save his sister, deed ill bought!
If, one night by Barfleur's shore,
you may hear that song once more:
Haec est vera fraternas,
et haec est aeternitas.
Let us make ready and set sail
This mighty frigate will prevail
We will see what we will see
Mother Sea is calling me
The Mainsail, Lanteen and Jib are set
First Mate, Boatswain and crew are the best yet
Captain is on the Bridge planning our bearing for today
Orders all hands on deck, prepare to wake way
Anchors aweigh, the harbor is behind and the wind is at our stern
Frigate Constellation is swift and powerful the crew will soon learn
First Mate is at the sextant, compass and bell
"Ahoy Mates!" the wind fills our sails, all is well
Waves crash our bow, course set straight as the crow flies
Over Davey Jones's Locker where sea mysteries lie
Captain is confident, we will see what we will see
I will sail this ship, Mother Sea is calling me
The hustle and the bustle of the port is all around
The shouting of the merchants quoting prices by the pound
The throwing of supplies over gunwales is all but done
The time has come for us to leave with our sanity to prevail
Wind has turned and the tide is ebbing it is all that we will need
The boatswain shouts in his deep gruff voice for all aboard to hear
All ashore that’s going ashore or sail the seas with me
Not log now shipmates and we will see the horizon over the sea.
Let go forward let go aft and let the springs go to
Atop the mainmast unfurl the royal and to the starboard dress
Let the wind fill that royal and from the pier we will move Then slowly and majestically we slip into the middle of the port.
Wait for it men the orders come wait for it on my call
With bated breathe we all stand fast at stations pre prepared Then came the order loud and clear from the masters post behind Hard to port now quickly lad and let the mainmast course sail fly
Then our barque to port did turn enough to catch the breeze
Harden up the sheets now men and make that course sail tight
Now pull the halyard on the mizzenmast lets get our stern around Then slowly she obeyed the wind and through the pier heads she sailed
Well done shipmates came the shout we’ve just the bar to cross
Let’s get all the sails up to get the speed you know that we will need
With every man turned the work was was quickly done just ready for the crossing
With wind and tide pushing up on the shallow bar the sea was quite a mess
Fore quite a time it seemed to us that we were going nowhere
the waves were high and most confuse but our ship out shone them all
And passing the bar we did cheer and our time at sea has only just begun
Here we go the skipper said in to your watches fall.
And truly now our voyage has begun with the sailing of our ship Long days under sunny skies are all that we will know
The sound of an albatross occasionally heard above the sea and spray
The horizon is all ours to see my friend and ours to chase all day.
His life raft drifted helplessly in an ocean of tears and lost dreams
In tangible finite and impermanent flow
He lost his compass and the needle festered in Tom’s purulent arm
A portal to hot flushes of receding pain
Chasing sea dragons and hobgoblins he punctured reality’s voyage
Fixation gripped an underworld of relief
Rudderless he floated fuelled by psychedelic currents of reprieve
Full of intrigue for surfing waves of delusion
He floated perilously before he submerged in uncharted waters
Unable to navigate he sunk like a stone
Emergency flares reached stars but failed to hook into the sun
As one single ray refused to yield revelation
Yet when he crushed at rock bottom and scratched translucent surfaces
One more shot blasted spontaneous combustion
Dissolved in oblivion by pirates Tom finally took off his eye patch
And realized that they patronize his demise
18th January 2020
"Hold fast, don't let the lines slip",
The ropes tighten around the mast of the ship,
A salty Captain grasps the wooden helm,
Waves rip on the horizon, his realm,
Quartermaster yells "Storm heading northwest by west",
White knuckled the captain shrugs as though a jest,
"Hold fast Boys! This'll be a rough ride",
The crew gazed upon the captain with pride,
From the Barents Sea to the Indian Ocean,
He never buckled and only showed a valient notion,
As the ship cuts through treacherous crests,
The crew doesn't buckle either, their courage pressed,
Creaks and moans as the ship stretches,
Sounds that'll turn any jollies into wretches,
"Heave around, heave around" the boatswain bellows,
Crack of the mast drops the crew to their elbows,
Like the tentacles of the Kraken ropes snag some crew,
Pulling them over into the deep blue,
Anchoring the ship, the mast creates a list,
Creaks turn into snaps as the keel twist,
"Cut the lines and hold fast" captain shouts,
Filled with fear, the boys show doubts,
A pause of fear causes something most servere,
Wont matter which way the captain'll steer,
The rising water above their knees causes such gloom,
Yet the crew, the boys, held fast to their doom.