Best Seaport Poems
Remember all the Wise Men on their knees upon your yacht?
With orphans on their backs they’d crawled (with others that they’d brought)
Through rubble on the highway sands and residues of Lot.
They came from severed cities selling postcards of your thoughts,
Though offered for a penny piece, not even worth a jot.
They mused
“How are you feeling? What it is you want, you’ve got.
The words you scrawl on calling cards: ‘I AM – the others NOT’
Shun wisdoms of the Seven Seas: ‘Salvation can’t be bought’ –
Your fathers tried before you and your fathers came to naught.
“You started out by gelding goats and then by casting lots
Of bodies to the battlefields, contorted, tight and taut,
Then wallowed in the wake of trails the dervish devil trots.
“With marching bands of fatherlands, and drums of Hottentots,
You lure your legions in harm’s way like giant juggernauts.
Like Tweedle Dum your minions come (the sober and the sots,
The troglodytes, barbarians, and mislead patriots,
The Vandals, Huns and Hannibals and seaport Cypriots,
The Japanese, the Congolese, Americans and Scots)
To vanquish bows and arrows, spears and catapulted shots
Of those who hide in bamboo huts their families, pale, distraught,
(Their withered wives with dried up breasts, their swollen babes in cots)
Who swoon, engulfed in poison darts and vats of acid hot,
Consumed by magic mushroom clouds, atomic megawatts.
“In churches of your deities, your Holy Huguenots,
Your Imams, Rabbis, Voodoo Dolls and Mitered Lancelots
Lit wicked kindled candled walls in temples (while we fought)
(Used pins and needles, magic spells on makeshift mock whatnots)
And mosques, cathedrals, synagogues have blessed each new onslaught
With prayers for pipers, puppets, pawns, your rigid armed robots.
Continued in Part 2…
Categories:
seaport, war,
Form:
Monorhyme
NEWCASTLE UPON TYNE, ENGLAND
Half-Scot, half-English and ill at ease with the past,
Newcastle is sooty black from its coaly drama,
And the breathless town was always in a hurry to grow,
Narrowly avoiding destruction of its past or leaping over it.
Up on the plateau, industrial power-engine city:
Its earlier Norman Castle and Black Gate narrowly missed
By the frenetic hammers of eager Victorian builders.
Elegantly-proportioned Grainger Street and Central Rail Station
Pause unwillingly to admit the Scottish-style lantern-spired
Sandstone cathedral with its delicate shade of sooty industrial black.
Down at the riverside - an earlier town of shipyards and arms factories,
Quayside warehouses with watertight flood-doors,
Its precipitous narrow old port-streets carved into the gorge walls
And pierced by cold winds from the North Sea,
Is leaped over by a platoon of high-level metal bridges.
Across the Tyne, inelegant, they grab the opposite bank and bind the city to England.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
NOTE: 1 Newcastle is situated on the north ( = Scottish ) side of the River Tyne.
The town was an epicenter of the Industrial Revolution,
with coal, steel, chemical, engineering, and shipbuilding
industries, and was also a major seaport.
2 Norman Castle, Black Gate are remnants of a pre-medieval past.
3 Grainger Street, Central Rail Station are 19th century redeveloped areas.
4 Cathedral (St. Nicholas) dates from 14th century.
Categories:
seaport, urban
Form:
Free verse
Thing About It for a While
St. James is determined to be demanding
Resulting in a mysterious misunderstanding;
At Midway and Two Eleven much wind blows;
Have heard there won't be the likes of Lowes.
Also, is some news about an elegant story
Resulting from the presence of a crematory
And on my patience is now wearing thin;
Were people in St James really dying to get in?
Two Eleven and Midway are a combined, central hub;
They need a place there to read poems at a pub
But St. James have supporters who are staunch
Like buying up Brunswick County carte blanche'.
Then time after time and question after question
Having a major seaport is an outsider's obsession
Who in the area does not and prefers not to live
And up anything will never have to give.
Now that Southport had their day in court,
Why should some outsider want to sell them short?
Not only that, many fine tourists it will bring
After they may install more then one swing.
So try to think about it for a while;
Southport sure has such a lovely lifestyle
But meanwhile for present which is now
I am sure Southport will get by somehow.
James Thomas Horn, Retired Veteran
Bolivia, NC
RiverSea Plantation
Categories:
seaport, humorous, simile,
Form:
Couplet
HOW
“THREE DOLLAR DEWEYS”
GOT ITS’ NAME
(redux)
We’ve been watching you reading our sign,
know what your thinking, what an unusual line.
Come on in, you’ll have a wonderful time.
Tell you a story and won’t take your last dime.
Legend has it that Dewey dropped in here,
looking for a lot more than a sandwich and beer.
A “Honky-Tonk Woman” worked her way to the old Port from Nantucket.
The money she earned, she put in her bucket.
She sold it on Commercial St. without any fear.
Meeting men at its’ intersection with Union, a perfectly named location, I hear.
Along came Dewey and asked for the price.
Normally it’s a buck but for you Dewey, it’s one times thrice.
Dewey scowled with some obvious distain.
That is until offered this sensible economic refrain.
Dewey, you won’t think the price is too high,
just let me put my hands in your fly.
Forget about everything except your own stimulation.
Money means nothing when it comes to inflation.
Plus, you’re going to be so ecstatic,
after you take me to that attic.
Folks’ let’s remember Dewey wasn’t looking for a bride,
but damn glad he paid those three bucks, for a “TICKET TO RIDE!”
The woman and bucket went back to Nantucket they say,
leaving Dewey thinking, I might as well stay.
He bought the whole corner by selling forty different beers and ale.
Next came the food and tourists, according to the tale.
Let’s end this ditty and come straight to the point.
That’s the way it came about, the naming of this joint.
*** During lunch on a tour of New England, the director challenged us to find out how this
bar in the seaport of Portland Maine got its' name. I said I would do him one better, I would
bring in the "Beatles and Stones." The Bar, Name, Location, Reasons are factual, perhaps
some have been there.
Categories:
seaport, funny, holiday, placesme,
Form:
Rhyme
An Ancient crazy Ox,
Once had a whacking job,
Breaking on the dance floor,
One too many holes to show!
A sleepy grizzly bear on four,
Drinking ale with a drunkard
boar,
On board a rocking Boat with
one oar,
Singing 'bottles of rum' from
Jamaica to Singapore!
Mind me manners toward
Capitano Lady Fox,
Upon the infamous pirate
ship at Bencoolen's seaport,
Gives me dreaded shivers me
back as she reckons me
ransom...
Or walk the plank on her
fancy at devil's watch!
Her bastard crews scattered
around the world by
misadventure,
Come crawling back surely
from as far as America to
India, Oxes,Bears,Otters,Boars
and nasty Mr.one-eyed
badger!
Assign her coloured flags of
the Dark Paws!
Get ready to sail and soar on
open seawater.
'ALL PAWS ON DECK !' yell the
first mate Mr.Badger at the
aft,
Scurry me *****es of a
pirate's whore or there'll be
no sunshine on your arses!
And glide she did towards
Shanghai's blossom ...
And on her voyage she pick
up the grizzly bear and
drunkard boar,
With a slashing whip on
those Scumbags with her
foxy's paw she gave in to her
pleasure!
Beware merchants and sea
travellers be on your guard,
The sinister Black Paws is
coming your way...
And by the hairy ass of
Bloody
Mary have mercy on you,
When she prey upon your
vessels on golden horizon
ablaze !!
Ahoy there and shiver me
timbers this take becomes
hotter,
A tale of battles with pirates
and the western kingdom.....
############################
Nancy Jones
New Contest
Categories:
seaport, humorous
Form:
He walks this earth, is cunning and sly.
Corrupting man his thoughts as time goes by.
Treacherous he has legions of followers to hurt and maim.
Bringing sorrows, terror, chaos, this is his agenda and his aim.
Angry for being cast from the heavens.
This mighty transgressor has legions that follow him with reverence.
Now he knows his time on this planet is short.
So he has stepped up his attack, horrors in every nation and every seaport.
His exalting himself as God, he is the master of sin.
In his arrogance he trashes man he knows he can’t ever win.
As evil incarnate he wants to take as many souls he can to the eternal pit.
Will you in the final analyzes give your loyalty to him and suffer immensely because of it?
Our nation like Rome has been transgressing against the Lord, against His laws.
Our Father sees, knows all and His wrath will soon be a heavy thorn in this nations craw.
A leader in exporting triple X rated films, we continue to throw it in our Father’s face.
This is the devil world for now, a deadly virus to the nations, a death march for the whole human race.
See Brethren what is going on the Holy Bible tell us this to be so.
Repent, turn to God, He will make your body whole, and He’ll always be with you.
Teach your children the ways of the Father teach them love, forget the master transgressor.
Let the one true God guide you in His loving ways, He will nurture you in His Spiritual Kingdom forever.
Categories:
seaport, faith, family, jesus, teacher,
Form:
Rhyme
"Egin superbe a la robuste echine, par toi Marseille a pu au prix
d'un long effort, retirer des flots bleus, la celebre sardine
qui depuis cinquante ans bouchat l'entree de port"
--caption on a Vieux Port photograph
In the seaport city of Marseille there is a tale
of a sardine as large as a whale,"plucked
from streams of blue," as the French
succinctly put it, that blocked the entrance
of the Vieux Port for fifty years. Is it for folklore
of the fabled fish that a small green frog
takes residence in my breezeway? It's
not his fault if a need for salt
led him to linger beside my doorway.
He likes hanging out at the Old Port, grace
a' the photograph at my entrance, straddling
its frame, or dozing behind a decorated doorplate:
a miniature "maison" with Spanish tiles dubbed
"Familia Perez," appointing him resident frog,
main man of my diminished household, where
coming or going, we exchange small pleasantries,
(or I do). Civil land-lady to Family "Ranidae's"
amphibian animal. Let him stay, I say,
because I like his style. Too small to be called
king, I crown him a prince: His Highness, Lord
of the Breezeway. "Don't kiss any frogs
unless they're from Marseille," parting words
from a departing friend, so I don't pucker up for
this one. Big Frog, Little Frog, it's not the size
that counts. He's here to reinvent Pagnol:
Panisse and Fanny, a new, improved Marius
who left the sailor's life to find a wife--
chose me instead of the sea.
Categories:
seaport, introspection
Form:
Narrative
A night for Romance
Wes at on an upturned boat of the type of “the old man and the sea.”
by Ernest Hemingway used, the night had all the ingredients needed
for romance, full moon and glittering stars on blue velvet.
She gave herself to me, how trite and old fashion this sentence sound
nevertheless, it was so, sixty years ago.
I gave her a cheap wristwatch bought in Genoa it was hopelessly slow.
I think it was in some small seaport in Guatemala or some other
the port on the coast of Latin America and the year was 1964.
Then the night paled I could see my ship it was ready to set sail
to some other destination. And so many years later her kisses
still lingers on my lips.
Categories:
seaport, beautiful, betrayal, birthday, blue,
Form:
Blank verse
I dreamt I was there again
At that seaport town serene
Walking along the cobblestone
And the many shades of green
Saint Colman's Cathedral on the hill
I stopped and attended Mass
People were so friendly there
Saying hello as I would pass
A Guiness stout in a local pub
Then I saw some children at play
And the sight of the meadows and the hills
Would take my breath away
I may never get the chance to see it again
This city that felt so right
But I'll close my eyes and go in dreams
To Ireland every night.
Categories:
seaport, places,
Form:
Rhyme
A Major Seaport
She sure was such a sweet local librarian
But would always turn into a barbarian;
When I did something that I must confess
Left my table in library a big mess.
Around for a while, I soon started to look
Trying to find an Oak Island history book
Started to surmise and had contemplated
It probably was old and outdated.
Am a good writer who finally is fully grown
Who decided to write book of my own;
After a lot of help and local support
Was published thanks to paper called State Port.
To learn things have to start out as a reader
Of State Port Pilot now a news leader
People who subscribed were in hot pursuit
Of trivia that has highly become in dispute.
What I always wanted to do is wager
My retirement and savings that maybe a major
Seaport could be built in Southport one day
Guess what!!! They would say no way Jose’.
James Thomas Horn
Retired Veteran
Will be reading this at tomorrow's poetry recital
in a local library on Oak Island Beach, NC.
Categories:
seaport, humorous,
Form:
Couplet
Gypsy Rose Of Mystic Seaport
She was known as the Gypsy Rose of
Mystic Seaport by the tourists.
She would read their palms and
sing them old sea dog songs
from long ago.
But every now and then, the fairest rose
to skirt around town would strangely
go missing. Not so strange to the inhabitants
of this old sea town, because we knew
of her witchy ways,
this mysterious sea wench.
Her preference wasn’t distinctive.
No, she liked blondes, red heads,
brunettes even a few early grey headed lasses too,
she even liked the ones that wore thick black,
chunky eye glasses.
But they were all young and rather shapely,
that was her only vice.
She wore a wig as her disguise, but she would
drink their blood or do bizarre Wiccan tricks on them,
like give them colorful butterfly wings.
But every time that devious,
statuesque witch was through with these tourist ladies,
she would snap their necks and leave their limp and bloodless
bodies at the edge of the Mystic Ocean Cemetery,
where the candles were lit with a red glow every night.
Our Gypsy Rose had bewitched
them until they grew cold,
so we are told.
This is fiction. I'm in a storytelling mood tonight. It's a story of a sea witch.
Categories:
seaport, fantasy, imagination, mystery, sea,
Form:
Free verse
City lights sparkling,
mirrored in the Bay,
multi-colored jewels—
amber, rose, and green,
crystal, diamond-white—
gracing bridge and buildings—
mansions, pubs, and shops—
fanciful reflections of
countless points of intrigue.
Neurons, lives entwining—
schemes, ideas, and passions—
complex as a motherboard,
vibrant as a heartbeat,
fertile and entrancing,
as though fashioned by a
cosmic magician’s spell.
Categories:
seaport, city, culture, fantasy, imagery,
Form:
Free verse
My heart alone is left to stand
among the coast of lonely sands
which drip and drip through endless time.
What is my goal, what is my life?
I search for answers hidden deep
within the sea of mysteries
and murky depths of my despair.
To which seaport am I to sail?
adrift with seaguls in the air
I see the clouds looming with hail.
Categories:
seaport, longing, loss, voyage, world,
Form:
Verse
Uvira my birthplace
A small town of Democratic
Republic
of the Congo
Which is at the boundaries
of the lake Tanganyika
In Southern Kivu province.
A place
Where many rebellions
started because
of many borders
with other countries.
Uvira my birthplace,
I see many rivers
And long chains of mountains
called Mitumba.
I see the second Congolese
Seaport interm of income which
connect DRCongo with
Burundi , Tanzania
And Zambia.
Uvira my birthplace,
The birthplace of many Bavira
Bashi ,Bafuliru,
Babembe Banyindu,
And Barega people.
A beautiful place
With multi - cultural and
linguistic people
Who relay on businesses,
Agriculture,
Small farming
And fishing.
Oh! Nice view ,
Weather , fauna
And flora.
I always dream about
This small town,
My beautiful Birthplace,
I love so much Uvira.
May 25/2023
Written for poetry contest sponsored by
Anoucheka Gangabissoon
Categories:
seaport, africa, appreciation, love,
Form:
Free verse
I’ve been harkening back to my formative years
Haunting seedy seaport bars in Keelung,
Navigating strange interventions abroad,
While adjusting my ears to an alien tongue.
On the streets of the market the game was afoot.
I bought a gold earring and a butterfly knife,
Then ran after numerous Dead Sea trolls,
The cause and effect of a nautical life.
I came up from nothing to a dozen tattoos.
Their steady ascension tracked the course of my rise.
I’ve sailed through typhoons, both real and imagined,
The toll noticed most by the sad in my eyes.
I struggled hard, then I struggled harder,
Heaving hawsers and mooring lines fast as I could.
There were flirtations with death and sordid disasters.
I learned to sort the bad days from the good.
It brings to mind the moral of that fabled children’s tale
That worried overconfidence and proved what’s fair is fair.
There wasn’t any race between a bunny and a tortoise,
But an existential duel between my patience and thin air.
Sometimes there’s no distinguishing a donkey from an ass.
Be wary of the scuttlebutt that whispers through the murk.
There’s a horrible hunger perched over my door.
I honor that ravenous vulture and feed it my body of work.
Categories:
seaport, allegory, literature,
Form:
Lyric