Long Seafaring Poems
Long Seafaring Poems. Below are the most popular long Seafaring by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Seafaring poems by poem length and keyword.
Beware young lad, tis the dawning of thy demise,
For the water witches screams, are carried on the
Winds breath, of the tidal waves hurricane.
Be-she, the banshie of the fathom’s abyss, treacherous
Mistress, beguiling temptress, enslavement's captive,
Whom belongs to the sailors devil himself,
Thus she announces her masters arrival,
Known is he, as Davy Jones.
Aquatic demon, the soul feast-er, appearing perched
Upon the four masted sailing vessel, a seething fiend,
With ivory white fangs, red piercing eyes flash against
The storms rage.
The predator to prey ratio, delights this beast, from hell's
Deepest pit, it's relishing laughter, does chill the mariner,
To their very bones within.
Atop his ghoulish head, arises bullish horns, to drive
The undead, beneath the seas watery realm.
Fly swiftly, all seafaring men aboard, for the dark wrack's
Shadow, mars thy voyage, for death's imitate sacrifice.
Crimson gloves, do hold a set of golden keys, to chains
Shackled locks, behold phantom wave stalkers.
Lost souls of the forgotten, servitude’s salves of the
Murky bottoms depths.
Treasures locker keeper, within the heart of the sea,
Does lie, a cold guardian stands watch, over it's
Precious contents, bound forever as persecution's
Divine punishment, from Poseidon, the great
Lord of the seven seas.
Answering their captain's hailing, the soulless crew,
Climbs aboard his ghostly craft, heading ever upwards,
To the unknown beyond.
Accursed windjammers, cutting against the rough surf,
Emerging as a seaweed covered derelict, it charges forth,
Riding upon the edge of the ultimate storm.
At fates spinning wheel, Davy Jones hands are set steadfast,
Awaiting the newly undead, to join his brackish crew.
The living pray for mercy grace, salvation's angels
Save us, pleading on knees bent low, Oh Lord Almighty,
Hear the sailors voices, crying out in sheer terror.
But the devil dues must be paid, for other
Mariner’s safe passage.
To night behold the tolls collection plate is passed,
And is served by evils blackest hand, nay it's filled
Not in gold, but instead ti's flesh to the living bone.
Served on a silver platter, to none other then
Davy Jones himself, listen to his echoing laughter,
Filling the chilled air's darkness,
Than plunging beneath the briny depth's below.
Nothing remains but a legend's myth or so
It is said.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
My life and my love are the open sea. I do not fear her and she has come to respect this old sailor man.
Alas, it may be that my life of bliss is only temporary because a magical conclave has condemned my tidal journey.
Today, you see, I crossed paths with a dark mermaid whose trickery has anchored my adventures with the briny deep.
That salty wench took the wind out of my sails, leaving me as an empty hull, a moored starfish, writhing in the summer sand.
The gypsy mermaid led me astray with her siren song of sea foam trysts and moonlit water dances.
At once my eyes took sight of her damp bosom and over the bow of my beloved vessel I jumped, nary a hesitation.
Stalwart journey lost.
I swam with all my might so that I could lay my weary head among her iridescent scales with the hope of exploring her seafaring mysteries.
In her arms I laid and to my dismay, the spectacle of a creature more hideous than any life form should spawn, violates all that I can see.
With a hiss more guttural than a sea serpent, she opened her maw.
To my eyes appeared a cavernous gap filled with remnants of my beloved ocean life.
Disgust crawled over my skin as I stepped away in horror, the stench of death permeating the air.
Falling back into the wet abyss I could hear the gypsy mermaid sing her song of death all around me.
Harder and harder I raked my bony appendages, struggling mightily to widen the wake until my despair took over.
One last breath and I let my old friend the sea, take me away.
Fluttering slowly into the liquid unknown, I closed my weary eyes and let go.
At once I sputtered to life, woken by a brackish breeze on my check, burning eyes open as my spent body writhed in the hot sand.
My thoughts are a blur, no conscious desire to wonder upon my seemingly swift arrival to the quiet shore.
I live.
While death continues to burn deep within the recesses of my throat and my heart beats, still I feel lifeless.
Death came for me in guise of that gypsy mermaid and I ran to her without pause, arms wide for embrace.
So, it seems not even the cooling swells are enough to secure me this earthly plane.
Clearly my soul longs for life in the blissful, ethereal realm.
Perhaps next time I cross paths with the gypsy mermaid I will give in to her voracious hallow.
Next time.
Dear Lori, my lady, my darling divine
My vision of beauty, my radiant shine
More precious to me than the tulips you bring
That opened for me in the sips of my Spring
Your lips are the dells of the wells that I drink
The pink in the blues of the bells in my sink
The sweet summer smells in the fragrance of rose
That rise in the swells of the scents in my nose
Your eyes are the orbs in my heavenly sight
They sparkle and shine with the heat of delight
They will me and fill me with starlight above
They spill me the wine of your free-flowing love
Your heart is my hearth and my pillow of peace
My calm in the balm of a soothing release
My ocean of milk in a free, flowing tide
That follows my silk in a three-second glide
The bubble you burst is my right of command
The trouble you cursed by the sight of my band
The fool that is me is no true folly dodger
Perhaps what you see is a blue Jolly Roger
The lack of a lift is a lofty complaint
The loss of a gift to be more than I ain't
The wreck of my ship and the flight of my crew
Is leaving my trip in a seafaring stew
The pleasure of you is the peak of my perk
To leisure with you in a week after work
A matter of lust that we leak in restraint
A tatter of trust for the meek and the Saint
To 'bide in your glow is to pause in your light
The side that you show for the cause that is right
The row that we hoe in our quest to succeed
Will grow in the flow of the best we can feed
The sorrow of loss is the second you choose
To borrow the cross for the minute you lose
The sting that we lack in our struggling ahead
Will bring us right back to our snuggling in bed
The loneliest heart is the strongest to feel
The homeliest part that is longest to heal
The rapture I seek is no climb of regret
To capture the peak of a time to forget
The tender respite is the right kind of love
To render it right is the height of above
The good that you show by the smile I see
Is something you grow by the mile for me
Dear Lori, my lady, and soon-to-be wife
Your story of love is the glory of life
Your gift is my song and the powers you bring
To gather my heart in the flowers of Spring.
Standing at the tavern door,eyes dark and brooding
Neath his floppy hat, stared into the crowded room,
A Raven flew from his shoulder settling in rafters high,
He smiled a sardonic smile and ordered a mug of ale.
All turned to look at this dark eyed traveller tall,
His leather boots dusty ,cloak trimmed with mud,
And from his belt around his coat hung a dirk long
No one thought to say a word they tried to look small.
Around the smoke filled room his gaze did wander
Settled on a crowd of rowdy sea going lads noisly
Drinking ale and rum and telling bawdy tales,
Just back from foreign voyage across the seven seas.
Within their midst a vision sat with a smirk on ruby lips
Long hair framed her face like waves of swelling sea,
Like kelpie mane, ran that hair ,her eyes like deep sea green,
And at once his dark eyes shone beneath that floppy hat.
The night wore on, the air grew warm, the raven fluffed his wings
From somewhere a shot rang out lodging in rafters deep,
Laughter raucous and shrill cut across the misty room,
Silence fell heavy among the gathered crowd.
He slowly turned his head in the direction of the rowdy lads
Dark eyes flashed as stepped towards where they sat,
As one they rose and laughed in his face,swords drawn,
In his hand a wooden staff and they laughed no more.
Faces stunned into disbelief at what they had seen,
Around his feet six men lay still blood seeping from their wounds,
He turned on his heel and slowly went through the door,
The Raven cawed, spread his wings as he flew out the door.
Standing by his horse the sea going beauty waited patiently,
She smiled as he approached with a swagger and dark eyes flash
He tipped his floppy hat and beckoned with outstretched hand,
She went to him in full embrace held him like a band.
They travelled the land, the sea faring beauty and the dark eyed man,
Their tale told throughout the fair sun kissed land,
From village to village and taverns where seafaring folk met,
The legend grew of the Dark Eyed traveller and his mermaid bride.
Andrew Provan McIntyre © 2015.
The Sinking of the Cargo Ship, El Faro
The Bible, itself, speaks of the men of the world that go down to the sea in ships
because notably, they see the Hand of God move more than we all,
For in the midst of a storm, these seafaring men cry out with all of their might
to God, Who alone can calm the waters when He hears their fearful call.
What started as a pleasant voyage and one they thought
that they would remember until the day that they died,
became a horrendous nightmare of gigantic proportions
one that took their breath away and caused these strong men to cry.
For unexpectedly they all heard a dreadful loud noise that
they had never heard before which caused the ship’s engines to come to a screeching halt,
franticly they tried over and over again to fix the problem to get back underway
yet they were not able to accomplish it at no one’s, again I say at no one’s fault.
To top this all off, suddenly the wind picked up the waves to 30 and up to 40 feet high or more
and tossed this small ship like a toy in the hands of a child round and round,
the crew wondering if they had to abandon ship would it be at all possible
in a storm like this to be found?
Then wailing was heard from the Captain, himself
as he repeatedly said, “My friends, what have I done”, he cried,
“Why I have plotted a course so close to this storm
and now, our engines, they to have died”!
Yet, some of the men began to remember at last
how their parents had taught them to pray,
but when they had left their homes and went out on their own
they forgot about God till this day.
Lastly, though I cannot be sure and say with certainty
yet I believe most, if not all were eternally saved,
for I believe that these seafaring men called out to the Lord of the storm
and are now in Heaven because He saved them that day!
Written by: Marilyn S. Jennings
November 9, 2015
I like to be the hero in my dreams,
a seafaring captain steering my ship
to a new conquest with a beautiful woman
in every port. I like my dreams dancing
with movement and adventure.
I like to be the victor over opposing
forces, the savior of the weak,
I want to loot the riches of evil.
Damn it all, for being unable to control
the beast of sleep that pirates my
dreams away from its heroic feats
and the saving of beautiful women.
Why do the demons of dreams devour my flesh?
Those monsters gorging themselves
on my good dreams, leaving me spent,
suffocating in a hot river of sweat,
dimming my lucidity and making me see
my dreams from a prison of terror,
leaving my mind in a smoky glob,
thus making me a prisoner of madness.
They run me through fields of rotting flesh
and gleaming bones, naked corpses
with staring eyes, hands that strangle,
knives that disembowel and blood that
pours out. They humiliate me and beat me!
They make me a slave and become my master
I end up sucking my thumb before they lead me
away and feed me to sharks.
why do they plunder my good dreams
when I turn out the lights.
Parents methods, a question asked
Mothers rule one, questions, answers forthcoming
Fathers think they are kings of the family domain
As said previously see rule one if ever questioned
Mothers watched from afar so proud of her Children
My Father dealt with life as fun
Ruffled hair, winked when complimenting
A show you how, the way to learn kind of Dad
His shed a place of wonder and colour
Full of budgies and canaries chirping
My job, change water and feed the song birds
Dad loved woodworking, left-over skill from seafaring
Most evenings, sounds of his music would lead me to him
A ukulele a banjo and accordions on show
Sea shanties sang low and slow
His Spanish guitar his pride and joy
I sat at his feet but never learned his music skills
A quiet life is all he asked for
No hugs no shake of the hands, his smile and wink sufficed
One cold and wet Welsh morning
A railway station the final farewells were given
Goodbyes were said, a son was leaving the family fold
A land far away called Australia, offered a fresh start in life
Mothers tears flowed; Dad just stood in silence
Our eyes showed our emotions
"Will I see you again" his only words
We stood face to face, both lost in the moment
A shake of the hand brought smiles to our faces
Dads emotions always kept under control
Despite his smile, tears were running down his face
Mother held her grandchildren close
Her thoughts, scoop them up and take them home
Her eyes showed questions never asked
My Mothers final hugs were full of warmth
The scent of her perfume with me forever
The train was ready to leave, London town its first destination
Sydney Australia here we come
The railway station platform now deserted
Empty spaces waiting to greet other travelers
The sea is beautiful, strange, and mercurial -
tour de force of nature,
since time, immemorial.
A vast mighty ocean,
when it rises and roars,
fathom upon fathoms
down -
to the sea floor.
A friend of the fishermen,
the sea sustains us,
with great gifts from heaven,
yet, sometimes, perilous.
When storms arise,
the wall-like waves
break men, like mannequins,
and few are saved.
Yet great ocean journeys may set our minds free,
when expanding horizons
blur sky and sea.
Away from the commotion
of day to day life,
one meditates,
loses all track of the time.
Our minds
swim the ocean,
dive, and collect
the long buried treasure,
they can not forget.
They return to the surface,
and they come back,
with stories to tell,
that arise from the depths.
The nature of the ocean’s,
in the paradox,
of lives it has taken,
cast ‘gainst the rocks.
Yet through our desire
to master the sea,
man traveled the globe,
made discoveries.
The sea has some secrets
that she likes to conceal -
she speaks in a whisper
in a conch shell.
Listen to her murmur words in your ears,
and listen, most carefully,
to all that you hear.
You’ll hear stories,
and legends of the sea,
of seafaring warriors
and mysteries,
of land that was plundered,
and stolen at war
from indigenous peoples -
from countries, afar.
And sometimes, the sea,
as she heaves mighty breaths,
steals the land back,
that the victors kept.
Hostile, inhabitable land will remain,
when the sea rises up,
to take her terrain.
Copyright Suzy Davies 06/19/2016. All Rights Reserved.
"Upon this rock I will build My Church!"
There it perched upon a bluff high above New England's rugged shore.
Its glass-stained windows, now shuttered, were closed forever more.
What once had been a vibrant house of worship now stands forlorn,
Surrounded by wind-swept cedars, a few wild roses and brambly thorn.
'Twas during a Sunday morning stroll that I came upon this pastoral scene.
A congregation of one, I communed with the past on what once had been.
I felt a kindred spirit with those now gone as I mused about times of yore,
And listened to the soughing winds and the oceans booming roar!
I pictured 'all day meetin's with dinner on the grounds' by the congregation.
I could sense the pastor's sermons dealing with the devil and damnation!
In my mind's eye I saw happy brides and grooms on their wedding day,
And little children reciting The Golden Rule and learning how to pray!
I saw happy families arriving on Christmas Eve by horse drawn sleigh,
To enjoy the candlelight service and the Sunday school Nativity Play!
The old church must have also been a beacon of hope for seafaring souls,
Who after sailing upon the billowing seas neared those treacherous shoals!
A long-abandoned graveyard with moss-covered stones was situated nearby.
Alas, names etched upon the stones were eroded and many stood awry.
Though long forgotten by man, He knows the names of each and every soul,
And they'll join Him with the elect when Gabriel sounds that triumphant roll!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 2 in Constance's "The Church By The Ocean" Contest - October 2011
The noose is a nightmare for any seafaring man
Especially those who thrive the best they can
Danger lurks on the waves like a mugger in the shadows
The only concern is the prize and the gallows
For the young pressed into service have two labors
Cabin boy or powder monkey are their favors
A fair share for those who survived
Though not to many lived to enjoy the ride
Mostly master gunners would employ the young ones
For the task of loader and powder runs
A grizzly sight to any mother of today
Blood spattered, powder covered, limbs severed portray
I dare say I met one intact and conscious
He was rude and quite audacious
No name had he just an X above the knee
His mark given by Captain of the Breeze
A sloop of war in Caribbean was this
Massacred whole crews drunk as piss
The boys attitude so moved my heart
That I had to set him free from his part
Before I saw him he was the only one left to be hanged
Port Royals mob clawed and fanged
I set to watch when I saw how young he was
I had to do something for his cause
I bid the court give me custody immediately
They awaited the response from the Admiralty
The response was yes almost to late
For the executioner just removed the safety plank
He kicked and cried for a moment then released
With the knife of the kings lease
A bruise found its way around his neck as a reminder
For a life against the grinder
I sailed him back to London to learn a trade
And go to school for a decade
I later named him after my name kidd
Later to be known as William Kidd