Best Schooners Poems
my friend,
beacon, bright ...
how you have bewitched my years,
dancing on the wall of my room since my first memory,
a warm sweep of security and steadiness,
never failing - ever true ...
blinking me to sleep each night like a prayer -
"I'm here! - I watch! - You're safe!"
I wonder ...
are you really a warning?
Or do you wink your sparkling eye
only to taunt the unwary prey at sea?
Schooners, barques, cutters, and frigates,
wagging their masts like bony fingers,
admonishing you for your questionable intent.
How many have fallen for your treachery in ages past,
turned to driftwood and terror by your crimped and craggy skirt?
Not even Neptune's raging ire can affect your flicker,
for you have stood, steadfast and bold,
through the wickedest of gales ...
splitting the beastly billows with dire disregard,
and turning the tempest's tides
to naught but foam and spray.
But your days are numbered, old friend,
the world spins far too fast these days for your kind ...
your lights being snuffed by digits and dials,
and the indifference of technology.
But I shall remember you ...
your pulse will live on in my mind,
and in the hearts of all those who knew you -
all those who survived for your sake ...
and numbered your glinting gaze.
Categories:
schooners, analogy, imagery, memory, metaphor,
Form:
Free verse
Thank you O sea,
For the untiring music of your waves,
For the rolling of your rollers,
Thank you O sea
for your music so refined,
This music softens the soul,
His sight soothes the poet
Console the painter ,
Thank you O sea
For your music,
For your mighty storms,
Merci Debussy
For your symphonic poem,
Thank youO sea
For your overflowing imagination,
For your writers, generous
Homer to Baudelaire, to Hugo,
Thank you O sea,
For all your colors,
For horizons surrounded by foam
For the sunny south of ancient Greece,
For your date palms,
Thank you O sea, for your example,
For the exemplary flight of seagulls,
For the frigate, white terns
For the quiet schooners,
Who anchor in the atolls
Thank you the sea,
For your illuminated ships
In the port of Brest,
For each oysters savored,
Thank you O sea, for your gifts
Your travels to America
You are the soul of the world
the source of my thoughts.
Categories:
schooners, cheer up, ocean,
Form:
Free verse
Seven ships sailed south to Salem
Sacks of spices sweet sacks of salt
Riding wave’s ridges roughly
Roughly riding seas to south
Blue shallows secrets silent secluded traps
With coral teeth and rocky cracks
Fountains sprout from huge fish backs
The Kraken awaits amidst ruined ships
With sharp hungry salivating mouth
Yet the captain steers clear of this fear
As ports draw close and harbours near
And as the schooners dock and anchor
As the seven ships docked safe
And sound in Salem’s port
On Salem’s ground
Categories:
schooners, ocean, old, voyage,
Form:
Alliteration
The front bar of the Criterion is filling up,
It’s after five and the patrons are filing in.
Placed orders echoing off the old timbers
Vying to be heard and adding to the din.
The Grand Old Lady proudly plays host
As she looks out over the muddy Fitzroy.
Thirsty travellers mingle with the regulars,
Escaping the heat with a time worn ploy.
The nubile young bar staff are soon kept busy
As the chaos of orders are shouted out.
Pots and schooners, Bundy Rum and XXXX,
Of their burning thirst there can be no doubt.
The old burnished timber balustrade
though hints at an earlier time of splendor.
An era lost in a more genteel age,
When the old lady was of years more tender.
There’s a Dining Room and spacious Saloon,
Public Bar and upstairs rooms in which to stay.
All retaining their charm of yesteryear,
You can imagine just what they would say.
They’d tell tales of the customers of old,
Of the dusty drovers long on the track.
To the bar to slake a hard earned thirst
Before again mounting up to “get on back”.
Of the bullockies breasting up to the bar
Still cursing that cranky old lead beast.
In language blue they summons the barmaid
And soon settle in for a liquid feast.
Floorboards ringing to the thud of hob nailed boots
As the thirsty stockmen venture into town.
Today their pockets are full of promise,
Tomorrow hangovers they need to drown.
They’d recall long ago warm summer nights
With the polished chandeliers shining bright.
When the silver cutlery was out on display,
And well set tables made for a grand sight.
When gentlemen and ladies on the town
Took pride in appearance to look the part.
When crinoline, whale bone, lace and shift,
Were well placed to land a gentleman’s heart.
And assignations conducted furtively
In consummation of illicit affairs.
All in the rooms overlooking the city,
at the top of those carpeted old stairs.
I’m sure that today’s equivalent games
Are still seen daily by those left in charge.
The same scenes repeated by a new crowd,
The same desires on their faces writ large.
Categories:
schooners, history, nostalgia, places, old,
Form:
Verse
Mermaids weathered many crossings
Along side the schooners on the seas.
Even though they could calm the waves,
They were completely forbidden to do so
By Neptune the very stern God of the sea.
Turbulent waves and winds, sails ripping,
And masts cracking, a captain fought hard
To keep his schooner from total destruction.
One mermaid loved this captain from afar.
In an instant she calmed the winds and waves.
Changing the course of nature saving his life.
Neptune banished her to the ocean depth.
Never to surface or swim with ships again.
Sobbing, she was sentenced for eternity.
To this day her bright luminous salty tears
Wash upon the sandy beaches as sea glass.
Treasures of eternal reminder of true love.
For Mystic Rose's contest, " Fantasy, Fantasy, Fantasy"
(Inspired by Neptune God of the Sea)
Categories:
schooners, fantasy, sea, god, god,
Form:
Free verse
They left their father's hearths, those stalwart pioneers,
To follow their dreams to the west seeking new frontiers.
They laded Conestoga wagons and without a backward glance,
With faith and fortitude, ventured into that vast expanse!
They gathered at Independence to form a wagon train,
Then, ferried the Mighty Mo to trek the featureless plain.
They followed the rutted Oregon Trail of those who'd gone before,
Never sensing the hazards and trials that were to be in store!
They were met with savages, mud, dust and howling gales,
Trudging westward, ever westward over endless hills and vales.
With visions of virgin homestead land they followed the sun.
They wouldn't be deterred from the migration they had begun!
"Prairie schooners" were crammed with goods and vital tools,
And were drawn by plodding oxen and cantankerous mules.
The caravan was under the command of a crusty wagon master.
Not to obey his ever bidding was sure to court disaster!
Alas, they left many desolate graves along the rutted track,
Victims of exhaustion, disease and fearful Indian attack.
They conquered interminable valleys and towering crests,
To fulfill their aspirations and complete their western quests!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Categories:
schooners, cowboy-western
Form:
Rhyme
Dainty lacy fingers of ice like crocheted filigrees
Are creeping across the cold, blue windowpane,
Like tri-mast ocean schooners on stormy seas
Dainty lacy fingers of ice like crocheted filigrees
A tiny spider is brought to its tiny fragile knees
Trying to find a bit of warmth, I’m afraid, in vain
Dainty lacy fingers of ice like crocheted filigrees
Are creeping across the cold, blue windowpane.
Written January 29, 2022
Categories:
schooners, fantasy, winter,
Form:
Triolet
I sat by a moonlit window last night
As sleep did not come- elusive as the Dugong-
My eyes but portal gazing wide into a deep vast sea.
The songbirds were hushed except for the nightjars and owls.
A dreary blackness was unrolled across the sky,
And moonbeams brimmed over into the room.
My mind set adrift to gloom and droll dreams
In those wee hours of morn. I spoke to ancestors
(if only in my mind) for they lived in simpler and perhaps wiser times.
I thought how I envied them in a way,
Though not really, as their bones lie dusty in
Rustic vessels, traveling further back with each passing day.
Their lips sealed mum, as still as the stars, and cold as winter's teeth,
Yet resting above in glory cradles, numb to the tangles that
Plague this old and somber world.
I wondered what they would think of the present day,
Which oft embraces adverse and complex things,
That would perplex the keen-witted, scholars of yesteryear,
And make the grave of Einstein sway.
If those dear, timeworn relics traversed from
Chivalrous and austere ages into the rages of this world,
Where knowledge weaves through webs of microchip swirls.
And people sail into streams of mouse-clicking dreams...
Could you then, oh sweet vestiges of ancient yellow bones,
Slumber on in quiet, mellow solace beneath your
Inscripted bloodstones, and romance the
Advancement of present times?
Would you imagine these machines as
Sleek schooners slicing through the midnight blue,
Chartering primitive lands? Or rather dreadnaughts
Waiting to wager warfare against the inculpable innocence of
Youth, or the ignorance of man? Would you quiver and quake
at the malice of mankind and perhaps find a better road to take?
I wonder now, as I sit with the moon so bright, and listen to
the stillness quietly hushing this sultry, sleepless night.
Categories:
schooners, change, dark, destiny, introspection,
Form:
Free verse
Autumn In The Air - Hooray
Respite from punishing
heat wave - yay
which above line,
could "speak" volumes,
and be a stand alone poem
offering readers
a reprieve nsync
whence roasting, sultry,
and torpid unpleasant
weather since yesterday
boot such brevity,
would disallow
me to extemporize,
but more importantly today
this intrepid word
smith doth "say,"
he would never
wanna miss trodding,
the formerly (golden
in their heyday now sketchy),
sections of said roadway,
now where digital electronic
rustily hinged, abandoned,
and gated haunting quay
a throwback, when
private manned schooners
(shaped like a beer stein),
perhaps headed to Uruguay
could ply outlying
waters of cyberspace,
why... just yesterday
when my troubles
did not seem so far away
versus this present opportunity
to risk live and limb
(and Kong like wrath
of my reed ding fans)
while getting way
laid "traveling as
Wilburys soul survivor
foreign ancient groupie,"
the dangerous, derelict, and dicey
dubiously dotting dilapidated,
dark corners information
super high way,
thus yours truly
doth not heed,
but flaunts like some cray
zee (NOT RICH, NOR ASIAN),
but rather some gray
beard (grizzled), curmudgeon
figuratively gnarled, toothless,
and weatherbeaten lackaday
lay about good for nothing
mellow flew wuss depraved
('cept mebbe "robbing"
precious and special time
of some bachelor
farmer from Norway)
all the above
essentially wrote for naught
merely (as diversion) to comment,
how this September day wrought
ascent o' fought
(a scent oh aught) tum caught
me wear'n a corduroy
long sleeve shirt since...aye taut
a "FAKE" hungry
Grimm gimlet eyed trumpeting lout,
germane Don apprenticed
how to become cannibalizing
(without accountability) fuhrer,
(and lastly rendering enemies
into sweet tasting sauerkraut),
this while learning das dialect
(tickle) Matt speak,
(which took me a lifetime),
this preceding the
quirky invention of the umlaut!
Categories:
schooners, 12th grade, 8th grade,
Form:
Enclosed Rhyme
I sat alone upon the shore
watching ships sailing in the sky
White schooners flying in rapport
I sat alone upon the shore
listening to the ocean's roar
cumulous clouds were drifting by
I sat alone upon the shore
watching ships sailing in the sky
August 20, 2022
Triolet Contest
Sponsor: Joseph May
Categories:
schooners, fantasy,
Form:
Triolet
'Midst cannon smoke the sun arose, blood red
To spread the night's cold horrors on the bay
Our tattered sails waved farewells to the dead
Rain washing both our blood and shame away
No more would beasts of war be freed or fed
Or mankind's conscience let such madness lay.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Each Letter Threads The Verse" Poetry Contest, Joseph May, Judge & Sponsor.
* This is a form called "The Harrisham Rhyme", created by Harrisham Minhas, from Punjab, India. It is a six-line poem with the rhyme scheme: ababab. In this form, the last letter of the first word of each line, is the first letter of the first word of the next line. I hope you enjoy it! *
Categories:
schooners, death, ocean, philosophy, sea,
Form:
Rhyme
The Bass Strait sealing rush began in eighteen-o-three,
where at least a dozen vessels were wrestling with the sea,
for the China trade was booming, for the want of skins and oils.
This was the first real export, from Australian soils.
With prices high as gold, more entered in the Strait.
Ships joining in the rush, from India, France, U.S.A.
Sea Elephants roaming King and the nearby islands,
soon disappeared as the buccaneers cut the big herds down.
Cutters, brigs and schooners, dared through mist and haze,
as the cut-throats, thieves and pirates, plied their bloody trade.
With-in a loose alliance they colonized the islands,
along the southern coast in the Bass Strait sealing days.
Governor King encouraged sealing, for its productive article,
though he couldn’t find an answer when the French entered the cull.
When the ship ‘Surprise’ was wrecked, the crew died in the water.
The governor he wrote, ‘this may stop advances from this quarter’.
Commandant Bowan who controlled Tasmanian land settlement,
underhand from an American, four hundred pounds to his pocket went.
Delano was prepared to pay for the fortune he would rend.
The commandant gave an extra lift - seventeen Botany Bay men.
New sealing grounds were found in the late of eighteen-o-three.
Kangaroo Island produced thousands to be stored way up in Sydney.
Eleven men on the ‘Antipodes’ slaughtered ‘til o-five,
where sixty thousand skins were loaded - a record for all time.
Labourers they left the land for their fortunes to be made.
Boarded the ‘Union’ or the ‘Pilgrim’ - any boat that’s in the trade.
Now Governor King was turning as new problems showed their face.
So many men had left the land with no one to take their place.
monologue
Sealing died hard in Bass Strait. By seventy-one the trade for skins faded away.
The need for seal oil disappeared and now today, seals are protected.
A long haul away from the days back when -
Cutters, brigs and schooners, dared through mist and haze,
as the cut-throats, thieves and pirates, plied their bloody trade.
With-in a loose alliance they colonized the islands,
along the southern coast in the Bass Strait sealing days.
Categories:
schooners, history,
Form:
Lyric
The Temptation
The girls in the bar that had floors made of
Stranded schooners timber came and sat by us
Many sailors had drowned here
On their way to Saragossa Sea their blood had
Run in the cracks on the floor
Drip, onto the sea below the colour of crimson
I looked into her eyes an evil goddess with
Green eyes yet I followed her to the rooms at the back
And she laughed when she caught me.
Categories:
schooners, evil, farewell, father son,
Form:
Chant Royal
The ship has docked in Sydney harbour officials
have come and gone now the ship is eerily silent,
yet noisy slamming of doors and someone taking
a shower…laughter. How can I sleep tonight with
the engine stopped? How can I read and not hear
human bravura? Sod it all, someone strums a guitar,
and I hear the fizzing sound of canned beer flipped
open. No this can´t go on better go ashore, a bar,
drink a few schooners, try joining the hubbub of man
at ease and not think of the sea, dolphins blue,
white crested waves and the hum of the sea goddess,
that teases me for my cowardice for not taking
the plunge and be as beautiful as the seascape of my
impossible dreams. Easy, tomorrow will be a mundane
Tuesday and we, if the dockers do not strike, should
be bound for Brisbane where the beer tastes the same,
of amalgamated breweries. Yet, despite my lack of fine
culture, I saw Sidney opera house casting dignified light
into the bay…
Categories:
schooners, adventure, parody, sea,
Form:
Blank verse
You`re off to the pub to see your mates
The beers cold and wet...and flows like the tide
And the first six schooners don’t touch the sides
Then you feel a warmth just start to creep
And throughout your body it begins to seep
Then you get that well-worn plastered smile
That stunned mullet look across your dial
But you continue on...well you’re not sure why
It’s the thing you do...cause you’re a guy
Then you need to “go” and you map out the track
And its two steps forward and ten steps back
Of course, you know the way...you’ve been there before
Still...you just can’t find that bloody door!
And you’re swaying there...while your eyeballs float
Cause you think someone’s moved the door that says “BLOKES”
But of course, that’s not true, it’s your eyes that are blurred
And you can’t ask directions...cause your speech is too slurred
Hey, but you manage to find the way back to the bar
But you’re denied that “roadie” ...as you’ve filled your quota
So, you’re outa there now...but you still need that “pee”
You’ve lost all direction, but still find a tree
And with trousers round ankles...you grin like a gnome
As you pee in the front yard of somebody’s home
Then you continue on...well by now you need “bed”
But that’s not to be...it’s a garden hedge instead
And when you awake with the mornings first light
You wander off home...once you’ve focused your sights
But your head pounds a beat...and the body’s in pain
And you tell yourself you won’t do this again
Though you know that’s not true...you’ve said it before
One call from the boys...and you’ll fly out the door
Categories:
schooners, funny, men,
Form:
Rhyme