Best Crewed Poems
A journey landing in December
Road to the Moon of wonder
Trip of four to remember
East of Eden fonder
Milestone is in the offing
Instilled dream becomes a happening
Strobe lights showing and playing
Second-scheduled mission, but first crewed...
Balanced on a Red Rider wagon,
a wooden boat with flaking paint;
split transom
poorly repaired. Ten year olds
with borrowed tools, untrained
in fixing leaks, or boats,
or knowing what a transom was.
Christened the "Neversink,"
but often did, with bamboo fishing poles askew,
the used nine sixteenth nut sinkers
spilling into warm water;
sunfish laughing.
A doomed soup can ship,
crewed by worms,
going down.
Young toes to search the liquid silt
for clams.
THE ARCHAEOLOGIST’S WIFE
Sorry I cannot say her name, you all know her well
She was my brother’s wife at the Kimmerdale
My brother was an archaeologist
He found a pot in Egypt
In Tutankhamen’s chamber
Believe me it was made of amber.
And my brother’s wife, Karen
Her dad came from Ely Arden
Mom from Billy Budd
Brother Tim from Barracks quad
They all are family Barracuda
They pounced on the pot
Sadly, it smelled the rot
In September, 2004
I was on India tour.
What did my brother do?
He crewed on a ship
Crossed the Mediterranean
And reached Egypt
Met Mr. Hippit
A biologist by profession
After close inspection
He found a predator
Inside the amber
His wife Karen Barracuda Pamber
I heard the story on coming back from India
I gave my brother a Cashmere shawl given by Mr. Scindia
You all know in the year 2013
He married the daughter of Cruise Martin
Sorry, I cannot say her name you know her well
She was from the family of Rapunzel
Her eyes were amber
Elizabeth Rapunzel Pamber.
Copyright: RAJAT KANTI CHAKRABARTY
7th November,2014
Grandad was a sea dog,
Who'd sailed the seven seas.
He told of his adventures
As we sat around his knees.
He told of a giant octopus
With tentacles aplenty,
We cried "how many grandad,"
He said "I reckon twenty."
He said it had one giant eye
And a sharp and deadly beak,
And what it did to sailors
Was too horrible to speak.
Then there was the enormous shark
That could bite a ship in two,
Once everyone fell overboard
The shark would eat the crew.
He saw ghostly pirate ships
Crewed by pirates, long since dead
Just skeletons, armed to the teeth
Waving swords about their heads.
He said he'd swam with mermaids
And wrestled with a squid,
Then danced the conga with an eel
That's what my grandad did.
We loved to listen to grandad
And the adventures he regaled,
Not only was he a sea dog,
But the king, of telling tales.
So Far From Home
Under a curving shimmering blue fish bowl sky the small Patrol Torpedo boat cruises gentle summer swells in the distant Pacific, under summer skies torn apart by brutal bitter total war.
Small PT boats crewed by fifteen men ranging far and wide, hunting for fat Japanese merchant ships.
Boom! Go the torpedoes when a nice juicy target is found and a quick getaway to fight another day.
If the Jap’s capture the American boat and her crew alive it will be torture and a slow death for Nippon’s enemies. They don’t intend to get caught, would rather go down to the ocean bottom if their small deadly craft is hit by enemy gunfire.
Built of spruce and ash for excellent strength and good sea keeping the PT boat has the firepower of a destroyer and the agility of a fighter. A wicked peril of the sea out looking for trouble, armed with two or four torpedoes, fifty cal machine guns and twenty and forty millimetre cannon.
A real kick ass little ship, a boat, hunting the huge open ocean sinking Nip ships, giving our boys ashore some respite from enemy bullets.
Don’t you know after this war, no one will remember the small PT boats that battled a superior enemy bravely in no holds barred combat? Only faded photos survive and old crewmen spending their retirement dreaming of the open Pacific where the sky was always blue.
Forgetting bitter engagements when a sinking Tokyo Maru shed burning oil from her ruptured tanks onto her crew in the blazing deep water. Remembering the screams more than playing cards with their own shipmates on R and R, three hundred miles from the nearest port.
Only one small PT boat survives, testament to the small powerful craft that fought bravely and bitterly in a war no one cares to remember except the few who were there. Old men dying now...
Wouldst thou for me an air
upon thy tortoise lyre
play, and sing those words so fair
about the Isle of Tyre?
Within whose walls so grand,
there at bazaar would be
hangings made by weaver's hand,
and colored from the sea.
And ships of cedar made,
all crewed by seamen bold,
sailed to shores afar, to trade
for silk and spice and gold.
Consoled by sweet refrain,
I dwell in dreams of Tyre--
going home will e'er remain
my unfulfilled desire.
_______________
The ancient Phoenician city-state of Tyre, an island off the southern coast of Lebanon, was famous for its production of the prized Tyrian purple dye derived from the murex snails found in its waters. --WW
© 2018 Wayne Wysocki
The Initiation
It is not easy to be young at 16 I was a galley boy
on a tankship that even then 60 years ago was ancient
crewed by old mariners who spent their free time
playing cards and talking about whores and now the ship
had docked in Le Havre.
It was dark when I went ashore sat in a bar and drank
Pernod I think. I didn`t go in there had promised my mother
to stay away from alcohol and women.
Light rain and the street light was sparse like there was still
a war on, a small girl standing in the rain looking like
a sparrow with a broken wing.
We went to a small hotel, but I didn`t have enough money
I got to keep my virginity for another day.
Walking back to the ship it was still raining and the old men
sat drinking one of them saw me and invited me in I accepted
by now I was so lonely and needed someone to talk to,
it was not like I could call my mother from a cell phone and
anyway, we didn`t have a phone back home.
The ancient mariners carried me on board.
the rig sails on
the captain at the wheel
steel billowed crosswinds
and Willie's gruff twang
come back...maybe not flip-flop
rigs riggin' is sailin', movin'
waving goodbye to yesterday
I'm a stowaway into today
ahead is clear horizon
aft is crewed distant past
the ropes taut, creaking
and diseal's low rumble below
port is where we're headed
starboard is starry shafts
stern relentlessly unappeasable
riding the waves bowed
someday I'll tighten up
swigging the anchor line
laying roots off of route one
but at present, rig's tackin'
we're decked out directly
hauling freight, liners for
what in life we're lackin'
so, harden up to the wind
crestin' hill, descendin' trough
this rollercoaster ride of life
keeps sailin' on to skyline
just the mate 'n' the captain
© Goode Guy 2011-05-20
1 come back / flip-flop
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_CB_slang
2. swigging
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nautical_terms#S
3. harden up
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nautical_terms#H
Away From the Camera.
In the Bay of Bengal, near Tripura, a tank ship ran
aground, an old ship that had been economical for
its owner, carrying crude for a hungry west and
crewed by low paid seamen. And she was sold to
the people who would tear ships apart, like French
avant-garde butchers with hearts of frozen rocks.
Squall in the bay, the ship broke anchor and, like
a horse that seeks grassland, she sought high seas.
Alas she had oil onboard must be caught before spill
washed on sandy shore. Cowboy tugboats rode out
lassoed the old lady back to the place of destruction.
It is in the Bay of Bengal the infidel drowned Bin Laden,
in moonlight his coffin is a silvery specter in the bay.
It drifted to shores of New Jersey, on the voyage made
a devil´s pact with sandy storm; revenge for those who
dare laugh in the face of Islam. For her crew this meant
little, but pale memories of peace when dolphins played
on cobalt sea, and grown men had hearts of poetry.
There was acclamation at the acclimation,
Because my acts did not feel axed or beat,
And the loch was just beside us in notion,
For my nudity to lock my up with the heat.
I dared not dye my hair red, maybe I’d die,
Both my crewed jumpers were crude enough,
For my expressive arc, not Noah’s ark, hi,
Discreet behaviour for my discrete stuff.
Away with you! You’re insane! Not noble,
Aweigh with you’re religious anchor heavy,
Deceitful, you’re not stationary presumable,
But you have stationery with an active levy.
Rocket cat vip courages ~ Cat crewed flight via SpaceX
Elon’s starship launched
top gun catnip will travel~
blues sky flying high
Missing you my fearless feline, safely may you return
Wishing that your Mission Impossible will soon adjourn
On this Memorial Day we salute cat ladies and lasses’
Eveready as you don your Tom Cruise aviator glasses
The Initiation
It is not easy to be young at 16 I was a galley boy
on a tankship that even then 60 years ago was ancient
crewed by old mariners who spent their free time
playing cards and talking about whores and now the ship
had docked in Le Havre.
It was dark when I went ashore sat in a bar and drank
Pernod I think. I didn`t go in there had promised my mother
to stay away from alcohol and women.
Light rain and the street light was sparse like there was still
a war on, a small girl standing in the rain looking like
a sparrow with a broken wing.
We went to a mall hotel, but I didn`t have enough money
I got to keep my virginity for another day.
Walking back to the ship it was still raining and the old men
sat drinking one of them saw me and invited me in I accepted
by now I was so lonely and needed someone to talk to,
it was not like I could ring my mother from a cell phone and
anyway, we didn`t have a phone back home.
The ancient mariners carried me on board.
Hilarity At Hillary Popularity
Heard they were having much hilarity
With Hillary and all of her popularity
With appearances that are populating
And her challengers are all hesitating.
They will blatantly need an antidote
No one for them does want to vote
Like plague Republicans are treated
They themselves are being self-defeated.
Self-defeating is a disease these days
Results of it surely will truly amaze
Tearing down those for their own benefit
This is one more thing they should quit.
Positive is pretending people will think
When willing and able to raise a stink
Read Corinthians Two and Beatitudes
When you want to find right attitudes.
So why should I want to be so rude?
Crewed way of seeing world they viewed
Members have more then one hen-peck
And are extremely red around the neck.
James Voracious Hellacious Horn
Retired Veteran and Profound Poet
RiverSea Plantation
Bolivia, NC 28422
To the Signalmen of the Watch
She is cool gray steel, slicing darkest sea.
Crewed by crazed youngsters, both man and woman.
Quiet and deadly, in following seas, free.
No light above, but the Moon and Orion.
Coffee, cigarette, red night lights aglow,
I, reading Conrad, lookouts are all set.
Only sounds of the sea and radio,
always watchful for contacts to be met.
She patrols her night box for rouge raiders.
Giant turbines in her belly turn with snap.
The night cook prepares mid watch cheese sliders.
Chaplain says night prayer, Boats plays taps.
She was built for fast work anytime or place.
I sit on watch, red light bathing my face.
Surplus of Requirement
m/s “Kari” rode the seas like a swan, only when the most evil waves of
the Atlantic ocean hit, did she flap her wings. Why was it she was crewed
by harbour dregs? Men who callously walked on her deck and were ready
to leave her at the next port of call, for booze, cigarette and whores?
Often she had to sail understaffed because her crew had succumbed to
the bleak pleasure of a harbour bar. We officers loved her, even though
for most of us she was the last chance before being barred and losing our
tickets, walk the shores and beg a shipping clerk for a opening.
She carried everything in her hull, trucks, tanks, jeeps and even hats for
some South American dictator’s wife. Then she was sold to Bangladesh
too old and cumbersome the owner said, it was all about container ship,
in and out of harbours, quickly. In Hatiya the captain cried his home was
being dismantled in front of his eyes. For us too it was the bitter end, old
and grizzled, no one needs a sailor who thinks of his ship as home.