Long Astern Poems
Long Astern Poems. Below are the most popular long Astern by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Astern poems by poem length and keyword.
One day—
The sea will be my backyard
Every morning, standing upon the deck
Of the one called Going Numb
A “Greatest Dad” mug in one hand
My last vice burning orange in the other
I will watch the sun rise like the formidable Phoenix
Warming the blue green sea with her touch
As tender fingers of a salty breeze
Run through my silvery hair
A time worn wharf will serve as my threshold
Warped planks and crusted pilings
Proffering a story of victories against the storms of sea
Aromas of fish and diesel oil
Making promises of resilience yet seen
Seagulls as nameless neighbors
Charmingly silent until beckoned
By day old bread and salty crackers
Perched upon the strakes of the Going Numb
Black eyes praising me as they wait
To devour the next gratis morsel
A galley will greet any wingless visitors
Who happen by
Barstools for three, plus me
Wait obediently before the coffee-stained counter
A toaster and tea kettle from yesteryear
A hidden bottle of rum
Is all this old man will need
With but a few steps, travel with me astern
Over the worn colorless carpet
Past the curtain of puka shells
Hung by stranger before I knew her
A sturdy cot with too many pillows
Serves as my nighttime rest
Where the sea’s gentle waves
Lull away loneliness
And Adele whispers love songs to my soul
Between the galley and my humble nest
A room where I attempt to do my best
A small writing table with pad and pencil
A beige shaded lamp provides the rest
Nostalgic bookshelves of cinder blocks and planks
Against the portside wall
A stage for those who have inspired—
Hemingway, Atwood, Tolkien, and Plath
King James and Lewis as bookends
Hold it all together
Three windows each, port and starboard
To look out
Or in
One with an untold story
I will never know
Or tell
A stained-glass pane
Cracked and old
Beauty in a way
That will never be told
By prose or poem or
By me
One day—
A new chapter in my life will come
Closing the pages of before
My purpose complete
Children grown
Now with ones to call their own
Having moved from a time of needing
To the days of occasionally calling
The old man on the sea
One day—
I will stand alone
On the deck
Of my new home
With seagulls as chaperones
And briny air in my lungs
I will watch the sunset
Through stained-glass pain
The Flag of the British Merchant Navy
The Battle of the Atlantic
We’ve heard of the famous Mighty Hood that was sunk by a Bismarck shell
We know how many men were lost and the Skippers name as well
We’ve seen the Battleship Barham rolling on her side
before the huge explosion in which so many died
The Repulse and Prince of Wales on rout to the Singapore post
Both lost to the Jap torpedo planes off the Malaya coast
There’s a film about the Kelly sunk in the battle of Crete
And of the famous River Plate where we inflicted defeat
Yet who knows the names of the merchant ships sunk almost every day
Who knew that as these ships went down seamen were put off pay
Shipping Companies all did this to cut down on the cost
They lost one of their freighters, but how many lives were lost
What of the men on the Arctic run ferrying Russian supplies
The ocean full of U-boats and Bombers filling the skies
Sailing a gas filled Tanker some only in their teens
Wondering if they’ll freeze to death or be blown to smithereens
Wallowing along in a rusting tramp to save the Russian Nation
Struggling to make eight knots whilst trying to keep station
Should a seaman stay topside or should he seek his bunk
Knowing if you fall astern your certain to be sunk
Many a merchant ship now lies under the Barents Sea
Lost in a desperate struggle to set the Russians free
The ocean bed is littered with merchant seaman’s bones
Now to lay forever at peace with Davie Jones
As a Nation we are rightly proud of our Navy in World War Two
Likewise of the R.A.F and what we owe to the few
To the men who fought at Arhnem and Monty’s Desert Rats
To those who fought the Japanese to all we raise our hats
From the Home Guard to the S.O.E in it from the start
All of our Armed Services were keen to play their part
Each had lost so many when they counted the final muster
But the greatest loss was those who sailed under the Old Red Duster
Form:
Cap'n & the Wench *part the fifth*
Says the Wench to the Cap'n " We'll dabble in Real Estate!"
So says the Cap'n to the Wench " 'Twould seem 'tis our Fate!
As Tales are often Told from Time to Time & Again~
So doth it go twixt Wenches & those very Bold Men~
This Great Saga of the Cap'n & that Wench so Very Dear~
Had been begun then to continue Year after ever Year~
But all Sailors well know if'n they've oft Smartly Tacked~
Yer in Irons fer certain if'n yer Royals are Backed~
Makin' speed astern would allow such One chance to Box~
Mindin' Gales gone a'lee creatin' Naught but Fear~
Only a keen SeaWolf might again Sail as would the Fox~
All surely believin' his Great Ship could naught but Wear~
'Twould be a course destined by Fate were the Helm hard a'Lee~
Maidens of the Depths gatherin' as Winds did'st now Howl~
Yet t'was a plot laid by SeaWolf as his heart Set him Free~
For Great Winds & Waves now did'st appear & Truly Growl~
From Deep Down under this Tormented Surface~
Came now to the ears of all Those now Enraged~
Softly with Empathy & Fanciful Purpose~
Silent Sounds heard well ~ all distinct Reason had Swayed~
Lee Rail's buried beneath Wind Torn Sea~
Gale a Howlin' thru the Riggin' & Spars~
From SeaWolf nary a word nor any Certain Plea~
His Eyes & that 'sprit a'fixed on Far Stars~
This Tale oft whispered in Taverns & Pits.......
Ye'll hear it fer certain Bit by little Bit.....
Pay Heed to Lessons Learned thus Herein.....
'Twere it to be Pleazure in life yer Truly to Win~
For Never Again Will Be Seen that Great Ship at Sea~
Only possibly for some who truly Set themselves Free~
In Dream Foggy Nights fiesty with Calm Swells~
Listen Well off in the distance for that Great Ships Bell!
SeaWolf
©
" SouthWind "
'Twere it surely a wind from sultry hot south~
She which 'twere cause for all this night's play~
That wind which lifted drink to my mouth~
What may this be.... the Devil ye say!
Nay & nay ne'er again~
Shall I sail such dastardly winds~
Ne'er I'll mind nor e'er so when~
That wind which prevails as kin to my sins~
Tossed as a cork in a sea of tumult & fire~
Energy aloft at topmasts & rigging~
Sent helter-skelter willy-nilly so dire~
Thus such wind did so cease to expire~
Further & longer then my ship did so fly~
North to those icelands & into frozen seas~
Faster & swifter she sails by & by~
Into those realms of lost sailor's pleas~
Now does this ice mountain afloat at my bow~
Seek to restrain me from that which must be~
'Twere as though 'twere known well & by all~
My ship & so I... must sail this sea~
'Round swings that needle... her card of no worth~
Southwinds so wishing to speed me along~
'Round my ship sails those regions of warmth's dearth~
Into latitudes from whence springs such thus so strange song~
'Twere it only that wind 'twere cause o'it all~
Might be found that I'd ne'er mind it at all~
Yet innocence ne'er a kindred spirit o'mine~
'Twere truth to be known.... 'tis the Devil pays out my line~
Southwinds do blow now from verily astern~
Gaze as I must now look to the white~
Lost forever those warm breezes I now learn~
Wandering frigid seas so seems now my plight~
Oh how I long for that palm or lemon tree~
Those sands which once warmed me from deep under my keel~
Yet surely I am befuddled by age or this sea~
For ne'er a'fore had I e'er such a feel~
'Tis as 'twere so long long ago~
A time I'd forgotten & forsaken so~
Those days of Southwinds which did across my bows blow~
From whence I had come & should e'er ne'er again go~
SeaWolf
©
Continued from The Eye of the Sea part 4
Becalmed we were for three days more,
Then the wind began to rise,
At the Captain’s bidding, we set to the rigging,
Eyes firmly upon the prize.
But, ‘Something’s awry!’ the Bosun did say,
And a muttering passed through the crew,
In a sudden turmoil, the ocean boiled,
Precursor to terrors anew.
From the water’s depths, with foetid breath,
A demon arose just astern,
Its torso aflame betrayed its true name,
As it casted for souls to burn.
This demon of the ninth gate was evil incarnate,
Lived backwards to prove its worth,
And hunted its prey the easy way:
His fields were the entire earth.
With sombrous skin, obsidian,
With glinting claws and eyes,
Cracking its whip it crippled the ship,
Delivering all to the flies.
Now our boat was built clinker, difficult to sink her,
In truth she was very well made,
But the force of the whip fair split the ship,
And left all the rigging in flames.
Rent asunder she started going under,
The waters heaved ominously,
All started prayin’ their souls to be savin’,
In the dark of the South China Sea.
Slowly she foundered as the sea rose around her,
Subliming her into the waves,
Some cracked liquor pots an’ some farthings of flotsam,
Sum totalled her earthly remains.
The demon sneered as the ship disappeared,
Dragged steaming beneath the waves.
With joy it roared for the terror caused
And the souls of sailors unsaved.
Just I survived, adrift but alive,
By luck and nothing more,
Through sober and storm, I came to no harm,
And woke up here on the shore.”
Continued on The Eye of the Sea part 6
Sam Ebenezer
a sad ol' geezer
was lamenting his shrinkage of late:
my worthless ding-a-ling
is a bell without ring
my manhood in diminishing state
From whence I salute
is thin as a flute
and soft to the touch as cashmere
I search with persistence
it offers resistance
on nature's call to appear
On heeding that call
no waterfall
a few errant droplets at best
where once from the middle
I gushed, now I piddle
and half of my load veers west
Both feet on the urn
pushing forth from astern
I chant 'emerge hocus-pocus'
with my punctured esteem
watch the pitiful stream
dwindle to drops as Limp loses focus
Our wee-membered friend
wished his size to amend
the stiffness rerouted from his joints
have it rise to occasion
and stand to attention
consulted ol' Doc for his viewpoint:
My snake is dead
no flesh; just head
lies comatose and useless
my garden hose
once warmed my toes
now wrinkled, dry and juiceless
The senile old doctor
by name Alfred Proctor
had most of his wit in absentia
his breath smelt cheesy
Ebenezer felt queasy
Doc clearly suffered from senile dementia
Doc's hand took a dip
to just 'neath his ribs
as Ebenezer voiced his concern
Doc smiled all the while
said: your hopes are futile
there's no cure for your vanishing organ
I lost my virility
before my senility
long mourned my lost pride-and-joy
put my plight to rest
on realizing I'm blessed
to have in hand my own built-in toy
**************************************
The dark and moonless night at sea
reflected well his mood,
from where he stood out by the rail
the ship seemed not to move.
He was gazing far away
into years gone by,
where there resided youthful joy
to recapture if he’d try.
He wore a paper around his neck
dangling on a string,
three letters there made an acronym
and such horror they did bring.
Put there by an officer
blue uniformed and stern,
because he had no documents
to his homeland…. he must return.
Turned away the very day
he landed on the island,
destitute and paperless
being denied asylum.
He watched the statue fade astern
after seeing her rise at dawn,
a goddess from the sea of hope
and all of his was gone.
The tag he wore about his neck
was his last and final doom,
WOP spelled “none for me.”
as he stood there in the gloom.
“With Out Papers” the letters meant
said the officer who put them on,
America’s milk and honey
was not for everyone.
Hustled back aboard the ship
without the means to pay,
no bunk no cabin or meals to eat
on deck all night and day.
His homeland would not welcome him
he was on the wrong side of their fight,
dispossessed and on the run
returning filled him with fright.
With only one place left to go
he was filled with true regret,
but the decision was an easy one
so over the side he leapt.
His body washed up on the shore
not uncommon for Ellis island,
there he was buried for eternity
finally finding his asylum.
After winter’s cold, Apple Blossoms unfold.
Bright, fresh spring brings Bluebells to behold.
Cheery Blossoms burst then dance to ground.
Delightful Dahlias bloom spring all around.
Eastern Redbuds warm cold winter emotion and
Fresh Freesia compliments each spring notion.
Gardenias touch each faith-filled belief.
Hardy Heath hones its spring dream leaf.
Impatiens show the power of flowers.
Jasmine’s scent is softly layered while
Kangaroo Paws hang from the upper air.
Lilacs quench thirsty human eyes as
Magnolias generate sincere, awed sighs.
Nippon Spirea buds use spring to tantalize.
Orchid blooms are a spring-spectacular and
Prime Primrose buds are ever popular.
Quality Quince pome fruit is a beauty.
Ready Ranunculus do their spring duty.
Springtime Sweet Peas and Spirea do their part.
Tender Tartarian Dogwoods warm our hearts.
Uplifting Ursinia blooms heed spring’s call.
Viburnum clusters daintily enthrall
While Wax flowers please us, one and all.
Xeranthemum Sunflowers’ charms never lack.
Yellow Anemone’s sweet power packs and
Zennias’ zest tell us that spring is back.
I am to him a Stradivarius, a treasured violin
His bow expertly caresses my supple strings
My body moans when tucked beneath his chin
Revving to his rhythmic pulse, my heart sings
I am the delicate ivory he strokes on his keyboard
his adventurous fingers roam over me in staccato
Those romantic interludes he's adeptly scored
accompanies intimacy to the point of crescendo
I am the mouthpiece on his golden saxophone
Our blues brings about passion and lustful desire
From a distance I hear the pitch of a lone trombone
Emotions build with the heat of a roaring wildfire
Across the well worn bridge of his idle acoustic guitar
I yearn for the virtuoso's touch to strum my chords
But there's no harmony, although we've come so far
No gliding glissandos found at the tips of drawn swords
Now he plays mournful melodies on a native Hopi flute
Reflecting our lives in every wistful and somber note
We're both lost, wandering like phantoms in pursuit
of lost love. We're adrift without oars or sail for our boat
With each wave a tear falls as I lay sheltered in the bow
He sits astern listening to music whistled by the wind
staring at the far horizon with worry etched on his brow
Is this, I wonder, punishment for those who have sinned
Lemon tinted phase
gilded skyline blown
by ethereal fused mist
eager bard imbued
opal dream flotilla
beyond tarnish while
flash point chariots
of gleam-well canvass
astir or astern perforce
taunt a hued vase
porcelain image fest
for staunch earthbound
soul’s cry parched
stricken migrant famish
sapphire plume ray
bounty veridical
pink chalk sketch
granule blush pots
pearl beam spur
to jumpy pilgrim
grey elephant garb
drifter’s lull prone
metre of skewed
and barren glib
dull tossed aside
rambles and brambles
from cerebral quartz
beige quirky quill
nose twitch petrichor
glacé smelt rain
lava veined fillip
fervent fetal floe
ignited indigo inkling
as noonday nuanced
glance en dash
away from orange
peel cloud skies
toward spring rush
urban junction fare
as founding cue
for zeitgeist driven
western world eden
brick red hydrants
fricative wet spray
dousing hoarse busker
charged by crazy
pavement stamp
stoic poet in situ
tumult, hubbub,
rumpus heightened
by brazen banter
silver coin wobble
on carrageen rim
of oyster pebbled
pool a mecca
for stanza stymied
lingerer who scouts
eclectic threshold
born of cumbersome
blight on ingenuity