Long Buccaneers Poems
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Smokey was a funny cat,
Filled with fun and love;
Adventurous as all cats are,
And Master of the Hunt.
He stalked the house in search of that,
Which posed some kind of threat.
A bug, a mouse, a ball of yarn,
No pest escaped the net,
That he had formed around our home.
He took responsibility,
To protect us fro it all,
Because we were his family.
From babyhood he was my kin.
He always slept with me.
We played for hours in the yard,
Beneath the old Oak tree.
We climbed my swing set, climbed the tree,
Played in my sand box too.
Imagine my surprise to find,
He used it for a loo.
Kitty cat and little girl,
Fought jungle wars, climbed trees;
And then we sailed the seven seas,
Buccaneers were we.
We'd hide behind the sofa,
The curtains or in the hall,
And wait in ambush for our prey.
We really had a ball.
My sister's boyfriend happened by,
One night as we were hiding.
I yelled "Chaarge!" and Smokey leaped.
The boy knocked off the siding,
On the bookcase in the hall,
As Smokey climbed his leg,
And we were sent to bed that night,
T'hout supper though I begged.
Incarcerated pirates we,
The game continued on.
We'd wait until they were asleep,
Then eat till it was gone.
Then we'd escape into the night,
With valuables they cherished.
We'd be away by early light,
Leaving the guard embarrassed.
(absurdly enough, a true story)
Four centuries ago this year
(believe me, for I’ve checked!)
Britain and Spain jointly adhered
to the Treaty of Utrecht.
They’d been at war so long before,
concerning – of all things –
the British right, as Britain saw,
of choosing Spanish kings.
Yet more wars came, with curious names,
as often as the seasons.
But what was claimed? Who was to blame?
We scarcely know the reasons.
In ‘thirty-one, Boca Raton
saw trouble reappear:
the brittle peace o’erran its lease,
and Jenkins lost his ear.
For Jenkins, Master, this disaster
befell him while afloat.
The Spanish fleet, on meet-and-greet,
boarded the British boat.
Of depredations wrought by nations
we’ve surely seen enough.
Suffice to say, swords were in play:
one cut his ear clean off.
Of privateers and buccaneers,
we’ve heard, and Captain Morgan:
but not of Tom, thus parted from
his auditory organ.
Tom Jenkins went to Parliament,
with amputation: viz,
of Commons and Peers he had the ear
(and they, by George, had his!)
“It’s war! It’s war!” All voted “for”.
“The clearest insult ever!”
“We can’t have kith and kindred with
appendages thus severed!”
From first to last, the canon blasts
rang out for ten long years.
Who knows the cost? But many lost
a good deal more than ears.
So, blood ran high. Men fought, and died.
Faced grapeshot. Didn’t falter.
But who today can name that fray,
or guess at what it altered?
When will we learn? When will we spurn
the razor and the cosh?
Or, decades hence, will violence
still spill out, over tosh?
Before
Toussaint and Dessalines
It was nothingness
Organs, guts and spleens
Of our ancestors could be found alongside the roads
Many fleeing poor slaves in disarray
Were treated worse than animals
Oh! It's hard to find the words
To describe the usual carnage
From the time of slavery.
Before
The Battle of Vertières
Graveyards and cemeteries
Were virtually everywhere
Before
Pétion and Boukman
Christopher and Biassou
It was slavery
Blacks and Indians were considered savages
Worse than animals
Were humiliated, lynched, tortured, massacred, and killed
By adventurers, buccaneers, hyenas, deplorables, freebooters
Pirates, motherless bastards and marauders of the time
In search of sugar, foodstuffs, indigo and gold.
Copyright © June 2022, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Matelotage they practiced matolage! Blackbeard the pirate
was a soured soul! They shared everything together. Shared lives: Sailors and buccaneers entered into a solemn agreement to become companions or "mates".
Shared money: Partners pooled their money, food, and belongings together.
Automatic inheritance: If one partner died in battle, the surviving mate inherited all of his property and wealth. Mutual protection: Matelots fought side by side and cared for each other during hard times .See that explains why Blackbeard woould keep get his first mate into trouble, knowing he'd get that booty.Mandolin or Lute and aPennywhistle.
For Your information
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Historically, Blackbeard (Edward Teach) did not have a husband; he was legally married to a woman named Mary Ormond in 1718, and historical lore suggests he may have had multiple common-law wivesHiding Loot: He brought hidden treasure and loot from his raids back to his home in the town.
Tresure seekers often times get clues about certain things Historians and treasure hunters have never found a hidden stash of gold or silver belonging to the pirate Edward Teach. Sir Francis Bacon: A literary theory proposes that Bacon buried original manuscripts proving he wrote the works of William Shakespea There is a gap of about 84 years between Drake's death and Blackbeard's birth. Drake operated during the Elizabethan era in the late 16th century, while Blackbeard operated during the Golden Age of Piracy in the early 18th century.l A coin with "eccare la figa" on one side and" mangiare la figa" on the other made sceintist angry due to the contint of the wordss. But the coins were assocated with Blackbeard.
This is untrue and fictional used as entertainment only.
To the north are the gators
Growling “see you later”
Then going south
Playing French quarters with their mouth
“We love our Hurricanes
And bit coin games
Hitting the table
Making a basket if able
And when done
Feeling brain damage not coherent but having fun”
Still on the coincidental ride
Another side
Dropping Jacksons off paying the bills
Looking to gain something to fulfill
Big school notoriety and the skill
Of predatory nature ending with a successful kill
Having own luggage
Baggage from the state University budget
Wearing Izod promotional school ware
Cheering ‘chomp chomp’ to rivals who dare
Challenge those departing Pat O’Brien’s
CBS/SEC using voodoo spells chants and crying
Remembering leaving LA
Not many tolls asking to be paid
Unless taking the beach line express
Knowing political coffers needing address
Their coffee table books being cooked are a mess
Trip Tik Triple A
Showing another way
Peering eyes might say
“Through the Everglades
And are you going there for grades
Or party before choosing trades”
Weather or not you are still around in four years
Let’s get something straight about weekend nights and drinking beers
It is always the Buccaneers
Behind the Captain’s wheel doing the steering
In the new world where you both should be fearing
While getting sunshine waiting for the next ex spelling hearing
Down in the crypt where the caskets lie
And dust stirs up when trucks go by
Giggling sounds, not moans and groans
From the tomb of Skelton Bones
When the trucks go by no more
No light peeks beneath the door
Bony feet on an ice cold floor
Skelton Bones inspects his claw
Skelton Bones was a pirate, old
Sailed the seas in search of gold
His right hand by a dragon took
Now its claw is Skelton’s hook
Once, he’d dressed in silk and cotton
Skelton’s clothes are long since rotten
All that’s left, a belt and buckle
And his hat which makes him chuckle
He’s Skelton Bones; a pirate, nude
But not intentionally rude
He says, “Ahoy!” in pirate tones
That’s the sound of Skelton Bones
But now he has a yen to be
Once more sailing ’pon the sea
Been too long; three hundred years
Skelton calls his buccaneers
When the door creaks open wide
Ghostly pirates lurk outside
But with no seas to sail nearby
Skelton’s ship takes to the sky
Hear that Jolly Roger flap?
Or the canon hatches clap?
Keep a firm hand on your riches
Or he’ll steal them… and your britches
And as he rides the clouds and skies
A crew, undead, that never dies
In Skelton’s wake the east wind wails
It’s in his bones and in his sails
She stands there in front of the desserts
Like a porcelain doll that’s healthier than a stick
Her dark brown hair straighter than fir with a tiny smile
And a little voice in addition to Barley eyes looking nice in a Chocolate blouse
And blueberry pants
Though I cannot seem to place my proverbial finger on who she reminds me of
And can only guess her actual name which might not have any fame
I can imagine the little lady in a lemon top and cherry skirt dancing during a duet
Resting with a cold glass of pop between songs
It’s curious what the imagination shows us at any one time
Most of the time it’s something good but on rare occasion it isn’t
Even though it may seem like it is-such water that’s not really there
Or tourists on an Island who appear to be buccaneers
Enrolling as a pirate is much harder than it seems,
You’ll need to speak in present tense and chase your wildest dreams.
Well, once you’ve trained a parrot and been measured for your hook,
You have to plough through pages of the health and safety book.
The pointed end’s the bow, whilst your rudder’s near the aft,
Our crow’s nest has no greenery - that struck me as pretty daft.
We share the seas with submarines, with shipwrecks and blue whales
An’ there be umpteen ropes and pulleys with which to hoist our sails.
If we earn a jug of rum, we treat that as a gift.
The winds are strong and variable, I hopes you get my drift,
You’ll need to bring some cutlery and a deep enamel dish
If you want to get your ration of vegetables and fish.
You’ll have to learn to tolerate some rough-and-ready chaps,
Forget those childhood stories about chests and treasure maps,
You need to wield a cutlass to acquire the upper-hand,
So there ain’t much time for paddling, or playin’ on the sand.
You have to act as look-out when you’re sailing through the mist
But once you’re down the gangplank there are lassies to be kissed,
So be somewhat suspicious when they tries to hold your hand
They might be agents for The Revenue and want your contraband.
We hate the swarthy merchantmen, the Spaniards and the Danes,
We hate them water companies spillin’ sewage from their drains,
The noise of heavy cannon-fire plays havoc with our ears,
But that’s a strong tradition amongst us buccaneers.
Every job has downsides - it’s always been that way
But we get to see the sun go down almost every day,
And when you leave your hammock you may catch the sun a-rising
So sign-on as a pirate and your life will be surprising!
Training methods in Green Bay:
Pack hay
All day
----------------
Fish in a bowl:
Super
Grouper
------------------
Players in flight:
Falcons
Ravens
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Transfer:
New club
Still sub
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Just super!:
Great goal
At bowl
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Plugs in Chicago:
To bear
The blare
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All Se(a)ttled:
Seahawks
Dough talks
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What both Packers & Buccaneers do:
Keep play
At bay
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Contest: Your Footle Poem
Sponsor: Judy Konos
Placed: 1st
It was yesterday, the illustrious Battle of Vertières
Where our Ancestors busted the gates of the cemetery
And the windows of hell to find their freedom
They fought heroically with boldness and pride
The struggle continues, the struggle must continue
Despite the gains, despite the ups and downs, and the dangers
Yesterday, the great and last Battle of Vertières took place
More than two centuries ago in the history of Humanity
Our brave and valiant Ancestors defied the impossible
The racist and criminal colonists, the pirates, the buccaneers
The bandits, the filibusters, and the odious maggots of the Earth
Skin color is the result of zones, regions, and climates
Every Human Being is equal despite the false debates
And the foolish speeches. November 18, 1803, the Battle of Vertières
Is unforgettable. It is rooted in our hearts and in our veins
It is the blood of our Ancestors that lives within certain
People, certain militants, and certain brothers and sisters
This decisive struggle, this last battle of yesteryear, is our joy
Our pride, our glory. It is a fire that will burn brightly for a long time
In our sacred tabernacle. Long live freedom! Long live time!
Live free or die like our Ancestors, our brave Parents of yesterday
Long live the wind that proudly hums the songs of yesterday
The ‘lambis’ and trumpets have not ceased to pierce our eardrums
To strengthen us and to energize the cells of our blood.
P.S. The decisive battle of Vertières took place on November 18, 1803.
This is the translation of ‘Hier, La Bataille De Vertières’ by Hébert Logerie.
Copyright © November 2025 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several poetry collections.