Best Shipmates Poems
The wind billows out from the seat of his britches
With determined blue eyes, skinned knuckles and knees
he climbs up the rails nailed from old cedar pieces
to the uppermost yoke of an old pecan tree
He is Captain on board, in pretend salty breezes
From his perch in the bird's nest, the world's in his view
A small town boy, who has never seen oceans
sails a fantasy vessel, where his wishes come true
The tall cornstalks stand duty, in the weedy-field waters
He breaks off a branch and a sword fight ensues..
He says "Tally Ho...Land Ahoy!!" to his crew
Dogs are barking below. He must shout out a warning
"There are sharks all around, so his shipmates must heed!"
He is Master Commander, the ruler of nations
He dreams of adventure from his loft in the tree
As he watches the clouds sail across a blue sea
Till his mother calls him in, for his suppertime leave
~
Well, little boys grow, and a childhood will fade
The leaf of the pecan, no longer holds shade
Now a stump of the tree, is all that is left
Yet the memory still thrives, so deep in his breast
When the weight of the world comes tumbling down
He visits this place with the stump in the ground
The rings wrap around him, to take him aboard
To a ship from his childhood, a place he adored
Tonight he will sleep in a bed of contentment
From his bunk he will dream he is sailing the seas
Tomorrow he'll climb up the steps to his vessel
Tomorrow he'll be where the eagles fly free....
...........................................................................................................
Here we are in 1650, which is ten minutes to five
swing the wheel to the West, which is left,
put your sun cream away, man the mizzen and the stays
as we set off for some murder and some theft.
You'll find us as your hosts on the sunny Barbary Coast
and from there we venture forth to ply our trade
we've been out leaving them for dead from the Atlantic to the Med
before we skittle off back home our fortunes made
With a yo-ho-ho and a barrel of grog
and an arrr and some other cliches
table leg for a thigh and a patch on me eye
as a Pirate I will end my days
As I previously stated we all get inebriated
from our copious imbibing of the grog
our excuse is there's no Cola in the bars of Hispaniola
which is why we need the hair of the dog
With a yo-ho-ho and a barrel of grog
and an arrr and some other cliches
table leg for a thigh and a patch on me eye
as a Pirate I will end my days
Got a woman in Bermuda and another in Tortuga
and they give me lots of lovin' for some coins
and although they're very foxy they're just both a pair of doxies
which I'm sure explains the rash around me groin
With a yo-ho-ho and a barrel of grog
and an arrr and some other cliches
table leg for a thigh and a patch on me eye
as a Pirate I will end my days
Now we're really no buffoons when it comes down to doubloons
and our treasure chests are burstin' at the seams
then old Blackbeard started spouting about doing our accounting
so I said (before I shot him) 'in your dreams'
(ye chorus)
As we skirmish the Atlantic I was starting to get frantic
since the one thing on my voyage I've always feared
is the men who've not been coming for a while across some women
have all started wearing lipstick, which is weird
(arr, the chorus again)
Well it's reached that point me hearties where we anchor down and party
so me shipmates here on board I'd like to thank
though the mix of food and beer has now given me diarrhea
which is why I've made our cook just walk the plank
(for thee last time, chorus, arrrr)
September 17th 2015, 'A pirate's life for me' contest, sponsor Kelly Deschler
(Author's note- there are several spellings of diarrhea, but it doesn't matter, they all have 'arr' in 'em, me hearties)
Water wives live sheltered lives
Amongst the coves where pirates rove
Daily catch is makers match
Where red hot stoves hide fresh baked loaves
Water men are thick and thin
So often strove where shipmates hove
Water child is often wild
The treasure trove where pirates roved
19Mar14
The sea churned heavy in the wake of rolling,ripping thunder.
As rain cascaded from the skies the vessel was pulled under.
The winds were shrieking as the sailors ran to clutch the sails.
Into the night could now be heard those far off deathly wails.
Another man went over every time the dark sea burned.
When suddenly there was a light just where the storm had turned.
Within the light is where these beautiful creatures now emerged.
Half woman and half fish they swam right where the waters surged.
The men were frightened yet enthralled by their amazing beauty.
As one by one they lost their heads forgotten was their duty.
The creatures wrapped the men within their long and tangled hair.
And slowly every sailor was drawn into their seaweed lair.
As the storm raged on the creatures took the men below
to their deep home within the tides and this much we do know.
The shipmates never were seen again-they called them lost at sea.
But the creatures say they took the men so they could set them free.
for contest "Fantasy"
Solitary seafarer sings sea chanties,
salty sea breeze serenity,
sea birds skim waves,
suddenly, so many sailors' souls
of the sunken WW II ship USS Indianapolis
started singing sonorous,
soaring from sea sepulcher,
stirring sacrifice so sacred,
such sorrow,
souls still scintillating, still seaward,
servicemen shipmates solemnized,
seared, sealed in spiritual solidarity,
salute. ~
I sometimes dream of days long passed
Spent sailing on the sea
Of visiting those foreign ports
And the call for liberty
Liberty expired at 2 AM
We all thought it was too short
So we hit the closest bar in town
Every time we pulled into port
Sometimes we got a little rowdy
There’d be a fight or two
Some times we just got crazy
To do the things we’d do
We were young and wild and free
Shipmates side by side
We’d dress in our cracker jacks
We all wore them with pride
Homecoming was special
Being away for half a year
We would set the sea and anchor detail
From the crew we’d hear a cheer
Women and children waiting
Standing anxious on the pier
Mothers smiling at their kids
Saying Daddy will soon be here
The one MC blared liberty call
The crew would cheer and then
We’d put on our cracker jacks
Good to be home again.
Bury me not
In an old church plot
Back in my hometown
No, bury me
Beneath the sea
Where my Navy mates went down
Please take me back
To that day of attack
Pearl Harbor in 41
I’d like my remains
With all of those names
When my time is finally done
I fought beside
So many who died
There on that fateful day
Just grant me this
As my dying wish
That I rest where my shipmates still lay
Mdailey 12/7/11
There was an article in the local newspaper about Pearl Harbor survivors having their ashes buried there in the harbor. I just had to write this poem.
Pearl Harbor
Bury me not
In an old church plot
Back in my hometown
No, bury me
Beneath the sea
Where my Navy mates went down
Please take me back
To that day of attack
Pearl Harbor in 41
I’d like my remains
With all of those names
When my time is finally done
I fought beside
So many who died
There on that fateful day
Just grant me this
As my dying wish
That I rest where my shipmates still lay
Mdailey
I meant to post this yesterday. It is based on reports that WWII vets that survived the attach on Pearl Harbor have been asking that their remains be laid with their former friends as a tribute to their sacrafice.
When the day dwindles pale...with my tall mug of ale
I'm a weepy ole' fool , it is quite plain to see
I'll shed many a tear ore' the wee smallest thing
I am known to spill oceans, with a tall chug-a-lug
There'll be tubs splashing tears, all over your head!
For,.......... I love my old mates and I'm lovin' my brew
I have a dilemma, it's the bluest of blues
but I can't decide which I'm holdin' more dear
a fine league of shipmates or my lagers of beer
I moon over moonlight shining over the sill
While I drink with my matey, who is over the hill
O', ......he'll tell me a story of his granny who's ill
And my eyes will start wellin' and a river will spill!
For,.......... I love my old mates and I'm lovin' my brew
I have a dilemma, it's the bluest of blues
but I can't decide which I'm holdin' more dear
a fine league of shipmates or my lagers of beer
There is lint in my eye over sharing goodbyes
I'll lament just a bit over missing Ma's pies
When a goat has been bitten by a snake that is long
I will leak like a bucket ..for a world that's gone wrong
If I must kick the bucket, so what if I do?
And if there's a heaven and the devil's not due
You'll know for sure I have a smile upon my face
from seeing my shipmates and from drinkin' my brew!
For,.......... I love my old mates and I'm lovin' my brew
I have a dilemma, it's the bluest of blues
but I can't decide which I'm holdin' more dear
a fine league of shipmates or my lagers of beer !!
_______________________________________________
For Cyndi's "Raise the Roof Pub Song" Contest
A Lady Waits
The sleepy sea massages a creaking ship which slowly navigates
through blackness the sky emanates and the great Atlantic integrates.
A sailing school of serenading seagulls dips and dives and celebrates,
and amongst the sea-sick shipmates, a welcome murmur swiftly circulates.
A wave of steerage class splashes onto the seaweed-soaked stern and congregates,
viewing a line of lights which levitates on the horizon it incubates.
As fingers point to a distant shore, the name “America!” reverberates.
The salty air invigorates, and the chorus of commotion escalates.
A cry pulls the tide of faces to the rear row of citizen candidates.
Her wind-whipped shawl barely insulates the ravenous newborn she placates.
As if Moses were parting the sea, the silent congregation separates.
Gleaming with gratitude, she glides to the front rail the moon illuminates.
As her baby’s throat pulsates with mother’s milk, through lash-locked lids he fixates
on the Emerald Empress whose torch radiates on the dreams she consummates.
Beholding the beacon who beckons brave believers, his mother boldly states,
“When this restless night abates, the misty morn of a daring dawn elates,
but tonight, sleep well my child … for across the harbor, the lady waits … ”
- E. V. Wyler -
I want to talk of days of old
and a story that was never told
and I will tell you this story is true
and here it is without further adue
many trips I moved green bales from the keys
on my coast guard cutter called "cherokee"
I smuggled marijuana right under their noses
In the bilge and around the hoses
many years I did it without a hitch
then in hurricane Hugo the ship started to pitch
next thing was the port engine blew
and how it happened nobody knew
a fire broke out and the sparks did fly
and with all the smoke my shipmates got high!
hard putting fire out down on our knees
couldn't see a damn thing we all looked chinese!
then when all the smoke did clear
from his cabin the captain did appear
he was very angry it was easy to see
his investigation pointed the finger at me
so this is how my career was bludgeoned
but in low places I became a legend
even though I saved lives in the perfect storm
I was just a scallywag in a coast guard uniform
By Captain Mike
ps I come from the seas of pirates and drug runners
but now I fish cause I thinks it's funner!
Masters of theft
Morally retarded
With devious stealing methods
For people, today they steal
From them, tomorrow they steal
Skewing the popular concept of morality
The execuTHIEVES among rodents
Leading players in series of shocking scandals
With gross misconducts running the gamut of vices
Devious financial dealings and embezzlements
Shall I compare thee to rats?
The societal rats in human clothing
Faithless shipmates, residents of trash heaps.
Even candidates for public offices
Stripped grain warehouses
Eaten entire field of tomatoes
And other vegetables
Waves of tree climbing rats
Have stormed orange groves
And devoured the fruit
Roof rats have descended after the dark
To nip at sleeping children and adults
The then 'holy' one,
So easily stoop to thievery.
Wallowing in wanton moral filths
Manifestoes are less important
You only appear to take a satanic
And moronic relish in splashing thy vulgarities
Into the face of the public
Unless thou anchor thy knowledge to moral foundation,
The ultimate result will be dust and ashes.
Dust and ashes that will bury the hopes
And monuments of men beyond recovery
The movie called, The PT 109
Portrayed the war, and an uncle of mine.
The film was written, and was true at that
For all his shipmates, he would go to bat.
President Kennedy, was in command
My Uncle Lenny, was his right-hand man.
We were at war, with Japan in the past
Hoping it would end, not long would it last.
For dusk had set in, when their boat was hit
Fire had started, in half the boat split.
They gathered their friends, and swam to a shore
They gave their all, till they could give no more.
Some shipmates were hurt, and needed to eat
Most didn’t have, any shoes on their feet.
Many days went by, and nobody came
Their moods were dampened, they just weren’t the same.
Scared and frightened, it was so hard to cope
Their rescuers came, before losing hope.
Excited and tired, to camp they went
When they recovered, to war they were sent.
God called on Jonah to do something he didn’t want to do.
So Jonah beat a path for Tarshish to hide from you know who.
But when he was on the ship God caused the sea to rise,
His shipmates thought that tossing him over would probably be wise.
Then God sent a fish to swallow Jonah and give him time to think,
But after spending three days inside a whale Jonah began to stink.
So Jonah prayed to God and promised that he’d try to do much better,
He’d go give the word to Nineveh if it meant he wouldn’t get any wetter.
So God made the fish puke him up somewhere near his goal,
But the smell of fish innards and bile was starting to take a toll.
By the time he’d walked to Nineveh the stench made Jonah sick,
But the combination of the message and retching odor seemed to do the trick.
Nineveh promised that they’d be better than God could ever conceive,
If only Jonah would hurry to the city gate and oh dear God please leave.
I guess that old saying is true, the one that people with in-laws tell,
That after three days of being around, both fish and prophets smell.
So the word is out
In most of the Pacific places
Captain Cook sailed to on his voyages
Local laws and customs were broken
And he was lucky to not be killed
For these offences by the local people
But he was a great navigator who knew
Where he was on the planet
At all times in his voyages
When his luck ran out on Hawaii
When the natives killed him in a property dispute
And his men had to leave his body
The natives took his body
And boiled it down for his bones
But they returned his hands and his buttocks
To his shipmates to honour him
So what was left of Cook was buried at sea
As was fitting for the great sailor and navigator that he was.
© Paul Warren Poetry