68 years ago
68 years ago, I was onboard the world's oldest tank ship
wooden decks and looking like a sailing ship more than
a tanker in the Black Sea on the way to Odesa.
The sea had ice flakes, fishing vessels got stuck, and a Russian
minesweeper was on its way to help it was painted dark
blue and red; the sky was slightly overcast.
What I remember best was the silence, no TV. no noise
from constant communication in the cold air, above all
no mobile phones had yet to intrude.
Now, ships loaded with grain follow a mine-free lane
on the way to the Dardanelles for inspection by men
in uniform before heading for Africa.
Not destined for the famished population, not yet
the grain is stored in gigantic silos by trying governments
distributed by them at an inflated price, the poor
cannot afford the starvation continues unabated.
We have been here before, in the winter of 1949, people
froze to death when fishing and fell like nine pins when
spring came; few families had any furniture left.
68 years ago, I recall the unmoving stillness, now
there is a cacophony of angry voices protesting against
the burden they are asked to carry for our leaders.
Categories:
minesweeper, books, conflict, devotion, history,
Form: Blank verse
You may talk of submarines
And of other war machines
As you sip your beer and talk of yesteryear.
You may even look with awe
At the ships that roll and yaw,
And the carriers as steady as a rock.
And what’s prettier to see
Than a ‘can’ while out at sea
With her bow that’s dancing through the brine.
A destroyer, tough as nails
Boarding seas bury her rails
Staying vertical is truly an ordeal.
To the frigates plaudits go
They put on a graceful show
As they sleekly speed along at sea.
But there is a far-famed ship
And to her our caps we tip
To the Sweeper who was where we’re heading now.
See their sweeps when they outreach
Clearing paths from deep to beach
For landing craft to bring the soldiers through.
Knowing mines unswept ahead,
Resolutely then they thread
And their sweep gear clears a channel for the fleet.
So we give them our salute
Every mine-sweeping galoot.
And raise a toast to them when they’re ashore.
Categories:
minesweeper, boat, devotion, history,
Form: Rhyme