Long Shipmates Poems
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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)
Once knew a jolly old pirate named Sid
Robbed from the rich and kept it he did
The old rhyme is wrong, Sid was a jerk
He'd push old ladies down in the dirt
Heard that his childhood was really quite sad
Not only that, his breath was quite bad
His shipmates wondered, was Sid really happy
He always seemed strange and really sappy
Perhaps in childhood all the girlies made fun
Had backup lights on his extra large bum
Sid was quite sensitive so in later years
He wore a long coat to cover up his rear
One night his pirate ship lost all it's power
Sid to the rescue, his bum shone for hours
So ever since then, he's a proud son of a gun
An old pirate's tale bout Sidney's big bum
© Jack Ellison 2015
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
Written: May 20, 2024
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Siren stunningly sprung a sanguine sway
sailboat sheaths spread, and storms swell
splendid summer shorelines spike
summertime spousal serenade swept
scrumptious, sturdy sibyllic sweeps
silky shorelines settle scrawls
seawater subtly scrubs sewage
skirr is a spectacular sand stronghold
sapphire specks spruce seaside sand
shoreline scoria is sharp
shipmates glide along a sleety seacoast
shivering seafarers' sight.
Straight skyline scaled saddlebow
sighting swallows spawned sibilance
stalls and slumps were scrutinized
strolling solysium soliloquy
stranding Schadenfreude
satisfied spectator
sarcasm serves as a solecism
slanting supplants a sempiternal scintilla
swirl across a snapped soul
supported standout slide
spiraling semantic spondaic species
sweeping synopsis syncope
start to sense surrealism
Sensual, sensuous, slim, and smiling
sits silently staring
sapphire sky sight
the sun casts scarlet shadows
slowly sinking silhouettes
scatter stars on skylines
Sunday sermon supply
searching souls
singing serenade.
Slides speckled sunshine
souvenirs spark strands of subdued shades
sequential surety swelling
strange, scarlet, silky songs
sway symphonic sylphic stardust
store sustained scrupulousness
silver surges spurred the space
snagging scents
step sibilant serendipity
stirred spectrum.
Anne Bonny- Pirate
Anne Bonny preferred the pirate’s life
She turned her back on being a wife
And cleverly hid her womanhood
In buccaneer’s guise ignoring all good
She sailed the seas as gallantly as the rest
Sadistic and callous, she couldn’t care less
She swore and drank with the rest of the crew
Matching strength and skill with energy anew
One day a crew mate spotted her boobs
I’ll kill so I will, he was ready to abuse
Out came her cutlass as quick as a flash
The poor man had no-where to dash
He went overboard to his watery grave
She gleefully watched and gave him a wave
Her sword finesse had definitely paid off
No further hassles, her shipmates laid off
The captain was her friend and lover
who could want someone much tougher
Until one day after a successful quest
In jewels and bounty, they got the best
Too much rum and too much grog
Too drunk to fight, they’ll soon get flogged
A sloop came alongside to retrieve the cache
Anne and friend waded in for a bash
They battled bravely for more than an hour
Alas their fate proved rather dire
The reprisal had been very well fought
But not good enough, they were all caught
The bezzlers would suffer a horrible death
Free, the women went, relief in their breath
They were preggers you see so had a reprieve
Anne’s story rests here, it seems hard to believe
But her ending is still guessed at by all
Now her spirit rides, the waves as are her call
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
Well, here I am again… at my crossroads
I can tell they are mine
The marker I.D. reads “Between a rock and a hard place”
“What a shameful disgrace
As usual, I am not alone
We are not born alone
So, I should have expected company
I nod to the soul on my right
And wink at the left. Our little secret…
Don’t know their names
Yet, who they are is no mystery
We had come together
Somewhere in this world
Born into the bodies of either boy or girl
But they are my shipmates all the same
Here we all stand counting time on the sand
Waiting for the tides to change
I close my eyes and blow a kiss to love
A bygone happiness now estranged
The wind blows in, whispers inaudible words
High winds for high roads
Soft winds for low
The fates beckon where we’re to go
Aye mi-maties… give a cheer, raise a glass in toast
For the outcome is never anything to cry about,
“nay, never one to boast
It’s always the roads many have traveled the most
No one needs to utter a word or deliver a speech
We’ve learned from Life’s Schools of learning,
and all Life has to teach.
Experiences are recorded,
they don’t need to be preached
Don’t call my name, don’t give a shout
Never home… I am always out
Unable to take your call or hear your message
For in my travels, I’m unable to be reached.
Shipmates headed to town on a Saturday night
Ready to party, ready to fight
Passing a bar, I said Let’s stop by
There’s a barmaid inside who had caught my eye
Local boy said I saw what you did
You hit on my girl. You’re a dead man, squid
I don’t let no one hit on her no more
When someone does, then that means war
So I said Please to meet you. I’m really charmed
But if it’s a war on words, then you’re unarmed
Hey, I want you to know, you’re number one with me too
What a coincidence, the same number as your I Q.
Can’t help it if this ole boy set her heart on fire
So back off if you don’t want to sing soprano in the choir
Now I may not be the brightest lad
But it was easy to see he was getting mad
Then I said sorry man, I should have kept my mouth shut
Because I don’t have time to kick your butt
Then as I backed toward the door, I don’t know why
I stopped in front of the bar maid and I kissed her goodbye
The local saw fire and his face turned red
He threw a bottle at me that just missed my head
Then he charged at me and I took out his feet
And he slipped through the door and into the street
I looked at my shipmate and said some other day
We jumped over the bar and went out the back way
I said to my shipmate Let’s go somewhere else and unwind
He said you’re okay for a Yankee but you’re out of your mind.
Portsmouth, Virginia 1965 on liberty.
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.
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 -