I once heard a warning from a sailor:
"Don't look at the ocean at night—the darkness offers an escape."
I wonder if it is the same for a soldier staring down a gun barrel.
As they run through dark trenches, fleeing death,does that cold metal cylinder promise a release?
An end to fear.The death of anger.
Or a quiet peace brought to a desolate land.
Many wonder, staring straight into that deep ocean of unforgiving quiet.
But peace demands a price in an empty country.
It means
a mother you will never see,
a wife you will never love,
a child you will never guide—
only eyes wandering a horizon that never ends.
But the sailor never taught me what remains unseen:
the sea always stares back.
It cannot feel your agonizing rage.
It does not share your lonely sadness.
It has no thought of family or friends.
Instead, it only waits for you to jump, and find your peace.
I want to be listened to,
now none is near-
I feel threatened,
yet I stay here.
Those arms that hug and sway-
I never thought they'd betray.
The castle of love
I built so high-
I dream a sailor
someday will try.
Far and far I journeyed through-
this road has turned me blue.
I wish the crew could find me safe-
so I still keep his space.
My primary function is an honourable one
As it involves the lives of others.
You are safe to sail for work or fun
Knowing you'll return home to your mothers.
Often, my rotating beam of light
Is poetically called a beacon of hope
As a symbol to encourage those in plight
To remind them that they can cope.
So in the midst of a wild storm,
Be it literal or metaphorical,
I am the constant, reliable norm.
My record is historical.
I'm best suited to this task. God bless my tailor!
Wethered, but will always be a guardian to the sailor.
Heart, what is this heart I see?
A thousand needles, and I'm still bleeding from Cactuar's attack?
Sailor Moon poem
Sailor Usuki, my fave! You look like a manga screen to anime and back. I am the princess of the Blue Moon, the elastic void of retribution, the original Sailor Moon, Shelina Denise Chapman. Remember me, always, remember who you are: you are Sailor Moon, Sailor Zoicite. Allah, bewildered!
A sailor at heart, right from the start.
Watching the dust on the shelf,
While a ship long sailed
Takes a piece of my former self.
I am missing the blue of the sea,
That sapphire weight, heavy and vast,
Where the horizon promised to set me free
And the ghost of the shore was cast.
I crave the sand of beaches of far away places,
The grit in my boots, the sun on my skin,
The blurred-out lines of nameless faces,
And the roar where the waves begin.
But I listen for the reef’s low roar,
Where the turquoise shallows gleam,
To walk again on a foreign shore
And wake from this inland dream.
© Deborah Seale 2026
Ahoy, there sailor- where have you been
Lost offshore- the sea of green?
Have you docked your vessel onto the land
By the beach that's covered with white-like sand
Where the ladies bathe their tanning skin
I'd bet your trousers that's where you've been
we watch red petals on a couch fall
pistils are blood cells raw opened
falling on white linen watching
grey from wear and tears
our bangles shatter shy shiver
eating opened figs red
S
LICED
knifed you one loaf for eight
near and far you are my star
crazed or tranquil polishing brass
oceans with oil spills rush ship hull
fish dying as gills ooze dna flying
king then peasant or poet, know it !
weaving words regret and regress
how you escape depths, mate of slate
where Persephone eats ocean peaches
the fish are tuna, mackerel and yellowtail
sailors break their bread on rope deck
I watch enthralled from hoping shore
shore and red petals merge with urge
blood cells bright as fire roaring
slaves washing linen at river snoring
tears from stratus clouds dropping bangles
figs fat, ready for pudding angles
we will slice it with your sailor’s knife
g o
BB
LE
IT
UP __________
Old sailor, clad in stone
anchored to the turf,
like a marble statue,
a careless navigator
washed up by the sea,
tastes the sting of salt
feels the wind whipped sand, burn the skin,
squints pitted eyes, staring out, leaning in
to the sun, rising from the sea.
Ship’s mast
at last.
Home is the sailor; home from the sea …
~Robert Louis Stevenson
"The future depends on what you do today." - Mahatma Gandhi
The tiller of the soil does not depend
on a miracle to make his seeds grow.
He ensures good harvest though storms descend;
he waters his crops with sweat from his brow.
The sailor does not leave the ship to chance
to drift and float without lifting the oar.
To guide his vessel through the wild expanse,
he rallies his men till they reach the shore.
The morrow comes surely to those who wait,
to the ones who dream and those who dare not
But whether the future’s to love or hate--
it all depends on what today is wrought.
Standdown Day
USS Coral Sea—Spring 1979
standdown day
no flights
alone I stand upon flight deck
three football fields long
thousands of tons of solid steel
an insignificant gray speck
upon the bounding main
below decks five thousand sailors
and marines on a mission
some scramble, others grind on
some sleep
fourteen-hour days
seven days straight
now standdown day
dusk
gulf water mirror still
a vivid rainbow spans in
a high, full, majestic arc
horizon to horizon
night
below decks I pass berthing
areas crowded with
bed racks stacked three high
eerily quiet for a crammed
metal city
I must work through the
Night and into the morning
Looking forward always to
The next port
by Robert Gorelick
November 11, 2025
Popeye the Sailor Man had a show on TV in the fifties that made us cheer
When the chips were down, we were yelling “Your spinach is near!”
He was beaten up weekly by his nemesis, Bluto, in front of his girl.
Olive Oyl was her name; she had dark black hair with one curl.
When the spinach music started and Popeye reached in his shirt for a can
We knew that he was going to get back at Bluto, because he was the man!
I hear the theme music today, and I think of Wimpy, a friend without a dime.
“I'll gladly pay you Tuesday for a hamburger today, he would say every time.
A Brave Soul
The sea is stormy, with wild waves up high,
A little boat sailing beneath the sky,
Battered by woeful wicked wayward winds,
Has a part of the main sail worn and torn,
Yet the sailor steers on, the soul unshorn.
Popeye the Sailor Man
eats lots of spinach straight from the can.
Then he's strong to the finish, defeating bad guys.
He's a hero in smitten girlfriend Olive Oyl's eyes.
The sailorman named Popeye
better known as Olive Oyl’s guy
seemed nothing more than an affable fishmonger
until he downed spinach to make him stronger
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
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