Long Davy jones locker Poems
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I went on a journey across the land,
until I got to the beach with it's golden sand.
I was not here for sandcastles and a splash
I've come to collect some more sea-glass.
Some of it is pretty and colourful, but I prefer the black
I want to get as much as possible before I head back.
Black Sea-glass is pirate treasure from what I've been told,
It's etched with silent stories of pirates hunting for their gold.
I can imagine the glass I find as a mug of Pirate rum,
darkened to help prevent it spoiled from exposure to the sun.
"Shiver me timbers" they'd shout, and X marks the spot,
I hope before I go home I've collected an awful lot.
When I get home I'll glue any to my model sea-glass pirate boat,
then when it's complete I'm gonna see if it'll stay afloat.
I've got my fingers crossed that the launch will be no shocker,
and my sea-glass pirate ship ends up like Davy Jones' locker.
I am scared, and I have never been scared in my life. We lost our radio, radar, and other electronic navigation gear when we came through the Bermuda Triangle. One of the old salts aboard this rusty gray bucket of bolts they call a tramp steamer said, we must have offended King Neptune. It is a known fact that the ship cheated Davy Jones' Locker three times when it was running convoys during WWII.
Where the storm came from, no one knows! Thirty-foot waves of blue-green foamy water are breaking over the bow flooding the main deck and throwing a salty mist spray over the bridge. The off-duty watch are confined to their racks for safety while the ship bobs and rolls like a roller coaster in the trough of the waves. Many lie there and pray as they listen to the moans and groans of the ship-expansion joints as the ship twist from side to side. Some of the sounds, sound human and I'm not so sure that they're not. I felt as if someone was calling me to come and join them in the briny deep.
By: Poet Sonny Roper
lacking gallantry
heave round in Satan's abyss
death clock off duty
By Poet
8/17/2021
Yo-Ho-Ho And Shiver Me Timbers
Shiver me timbers and loosen me limbers
I sail me sloop until it lin’ers
And drop anchor in t’ nearest lagoon
Bury me treasure chest full o’ doubloons
Then set off durin t’ next full moon
~
“Aarrr!” I’m happy go-lucky sea piratin Cap’n
With a short wooden leg and a limp, earrin’s, and rin’s on every fin’er
Metal silver hook for me left hand
Me cutlass, dagger, and dirk o’ me belt
Not a landlubber at all
~
Not a thin’ scares me that stand in my way
Especially when I’ve had a few grogs in me belly
Aye, I carry around me Ahoy! bucko Polly me parrot on me shoulder
That keeps me on t’ straight and narrow
~
They call me a barbaric and thief I don’t know why
A great insult t’ me, I just laugh into my handkerchief in disbelief
~
Don’t insult me temper because it gets carried away
Sarcasm, rudeness, and insults I cannot help
When swashbucklin’ scallywag get in me way
~
Me hearty weigh anchor
Or I’ll give ye a taste o’ walkin t’ plank
T’ Davy Jones’ Locker you will go and feed t’ fishes for mutinous
Dead men tell no tales!
~
Aye, aye, mates, pull anchor and set sail
I be Silver Hook a feared pirate that sails t’ seas
9/5/2015
Contest Name :A Pirate's Life For Me
Sponsor Name: Kelly Deschler
Fascinated by the dark waters—what lies beneath the harried waves? Cold clings with liquid silk and seaweed; her tail impresses, her flippant lips drown sailors. They smile for the camera, teeth white as their sails. It’s more of a scream—they thought the red-haired beast was a dream. They should not have let her flop onto the deck, nor have admired her ample chest. Their curiosity was hers for the taking. …and she took them, one by one, for a ride. They forgot what that saying meant. It was a ride no one comes back from. Sometimes the crimson terror would throw a few corpses onto a ship to heighten the terror. Her flipper sounded like a glass heel tapping on the planks—the thunderous point of stilettos, slicing like glass through the sailor’s veins. Bloodlust of the sea, sensuous; murderous; cacophonous.
What their eyes saw, their hands could not touch. Their souls at the bottom of Davy Jones Locker; their flesh, fodder of a frenzy of unfriendly fish with vainglorious locks, deeply-defined curves and thrashing tails. Dead men tell no tales, though legends give fair warning.
Someone escaped or heard the dreadful sound from afar; perhaps saw something they imagined to be far-fetched; and as a ghost ship was found with the unholy stench of an unwashed Delilah, the foghorn of shipmates passed on their deeply disturbing stories.
Just an innocent Ariel at play in his sea-blue eyes. Oh yes, she lost her voice…a voice that could not carry a carrion-tune. A caricature with no compass - men lose their way when they prattle fairy tales.
4/10/2023
Contest: Writing Challenge - 'S' Words
Sponsor:Constance LaFrance
~
I’m going to sea in a blueberry boat,
macaroon waves I will sail
Far past the girls and the buoys I’ll float,
maybe spout off to a whale
My crew at the ready but still half a sleep,
I’ll have to turn on the charm
Wake up, look alive, for this water is deep,
might have to set an alarm
I stand at the helm with both hands on the wheel,
the compass is pointing due east
Embracing the salt water breezes I feel,
we haven’t moved in the least
All hands on deck, yes, you can use your feet,
who left the anchor in place
No wonder we’re stuck here, dead last in the fleet,
we’ve got to pick up the pace
Finally we’re moving, the sails filled with air
and I with my spyglass in hand
Searching for islands and mermaids to share,
all just a part of my plan
This ocean of peppermint twists as it turns,
currents of grape lead the way
Lemon drop sunshine as bright as it burns,
nausea sets in from the sway
When there off the starboard, I think that’s the bow,
a very strange shape does appear
It’s Davy Jones locker but I don’t see how,
what is it doing up here
It’s then I look down, water up to the hilt
over the sides of my boat
I now see the problem in how it was built
who knew blueberries can’t float
I entered a contest, thought it would be fun,
wrote out my poem in ink
A day out at sea on a boat in the sun,
never once thought it would sink
Hey Nina, you did this, I hope you are near,
it seems that my courage might slip
So toss me a rope for it’s perfectly clear
I ain’t going down with this ship
9/13/19
Written for the: Welcome To My Random World Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Nina Parmenter
Wordsmith's Veneration...
Aye willy nilly understate (trying 2)
tantalize, hypnotize, galvanize...
with "FAKE" trumpeting
spellbinding, rambling, quivering...
intoxicating, hallucinating, gyrating,
stop to take a breather...
English Language vocabulary, a
fascination, intoxication, provocation...
upon me ocular, neurological, mental...
faculties of this nattering nabob
from outer limits of twilight zone
i.e. literary krazy Jewish jabberwocky
issuing haphazard global toll till
fallout exacting deserved damn
cratering nascent (inchoate) career
digitally/electronically bi:
ne'er re: carpet bombing
away upon modus operandi, sans
sesquipedalian shrapnel strafes wrought
realization literary scaffolding
complex edifice thought
out in mind of yours truly,
not popularly sought
opportunity to experience
rush of excitement,
asper choice winner equals naught
inexorable effort to cobble innovative
linkedin words disappointment fraught
submissions witness polite declinations
attesting, lamenting, regarding poetic
expansive glommed language, unlikely
success tubby brought
adulation, commendation, enunciation...
fades into afterthought.
Ablest adept adroit aficionado
applauded aspiring authors accorded
absolute badge because
brevity brews brilliant burnished
bravado bubbling budding bulwark
captivatingly collates, communicates,
constitutes conveys avast literary
Grand Canyon chiseled, sans scribe's
Colorado devoid, asper driven desperado
contrariwise, through prevalent
persistent pinterest proclivity,
plus plethora pronounced propensity
resoundingly regaling readers
re: raffish ridiculous rumination
renders endeavor incommunicado
diligent doggedness ironically -
dampens dueling dynamic dud
dutifully dramatically diminishing
divine dream deemed darling
distinguished doodling I sip
prose poe hit tick drafter
equally or exceeding
prospects envisioning El Dorado,
thus this Neanderthal sites his lumbering
lugubrious trademark, an
immediate attribute sensing
missive heading directly
to Davy Jones locker
dead reckoning deep virtual
waters of cyber sea!
[An old joke from longer ago than I care to believe]
The wizened war vet raised his fist in distress
Them Fokkers, he said, they kept coming
Each Fokker that came was as bad as the rest
The sky, full of Fokkers, was humming
First there’s one Fokker and then one more Fokker
Them Fokkers was everywhere
But one silly Fokker met Davy Jones locker
And crashed in the sea over there
The reporter then turned to the viewers
And fearing foul language complaints
Advised them that ‘Fokker’ ain't swearing
The Fokker’s were old fighter planes
And Fokkers like every old war plane
We’re flown by the pilots own wits
The vet said a Fokker was as you explain
But them Fokkers was Meschersmidts
crisp white uniform
like pure white ocean foam
his eyes navy blue
for he winked at the sea
his shoes polished squid-ink black
with superior shine
his medals proudly gleam
the Captain grins, wants to salute him
eagerly waits his turn
his fellow seaman — some like him
others hold the jealousy of Davy Jones Locker
but the women love him in droves
some with ulterior motives just to be a Navy wife
swooping necklines, netted stockings
long blond silky hair accost his senses
but on the long watches he serves her
the one he loves best — his country
so he trims his neckline, sharpens
the lines of his tailored pants
and protects the deck
day and night
Divin' Deep down there's guttural
gurgles and burbles
Jivin' in the respirator.
I dive deeper, still deeper
than I've ever been before.
The seabed is littered
with littoral lie-there's
just layin' about,
praying to be picked up
by some swim-on-buy kid like me.
It's a jalopy junk yard down there.
Old shells long discarded by hermit crabs
looking for joyrides in new digs
and sporty convertible squats in RV's.
Shells discarded are great do-uppers
for crabs putting on weight.
No one is homeless down here,
for all shells discarded,
are reborn to after-lives
decreed indeed by need
in Davy Jones' Locker.
Daddy's girl
Sinks
To Davy Jones' locker
Of grief.
Dad's earth-shattering goodbye,
So sudden, cruel.
Suicide, no note.
She's too numb
To feel the tsunami
Of looming pain.
In utter disbelief.
Her best friend
Mouths " I'm sorry for your loss"
She mutters
A barely audible "Thank you"
With downcast eyes.
Still numb, in denial.
Pain in her heart unmistakably visible
On face full of tears.
Nothing seems to make sense.
She sits up from bed
Gazing longingly
Into a tenebrious abyss,
Going through a litany of regrets
And missed warning signs.
A sea of confusion
Endlessly churning
In her mind, filled...
With one word question,
"WHY"?
Date written: 12/28/2021