shore leave
The ship, in the bay, had a load of grain from the fertile soil
of Ukraine, loaded in Odesa, and sent on its way across the Black Sea.
In the Dardanelles, a stop for inspections to see if the ship had
gods other than grain, not on the manifest.
She voyaged the Mediterranean to the Strait of Gibraltar, turned
sharply, starboard, up the coast of Portugal and anchored in Cascais.
Some of the crew was going ashore, shopping and drinking a few beers
as they waited for the launch on the larboard of the ship.
The ship was due to be unloaded in Lisbon on Monday, where other
crew members could go ashore and see the sight of the great city.
The lot, god’s will, for a seaman to be eternally outsider, passing
through, but only at home on the high seas.
Those over 50's holidays
that they advertise on TV
must really do people a power of good,
at least that's how it seems to me.
Their smiles are all truly dazzling,
soft-focus smooth is their skin,
their trim, sun tanned bodies really do suit
the wonderful clothes they're filmed in.
They sit eating salads, al fresco,
a glass of white wine at their lips,
and nobody suffers lumbago
or limps from their arthritic hips.
Disembarking from liners for shore leave,
or boarding an exotic train,
there's never a sign of an arthritic spine
or a bad case of varicose veins.
I've not met these people in Derby,
so maybe they all live abroad,
all sunning their bits over in San Moritz
which is something I cannot afford.
So when I at last claim my pension,
and have lots of more time to kill,
it won't be a sun deck in Paphos,
but more like a caravan in Rhyll.
OLD SAILOR
The old sailor sat on a sea wall
Watching heaving swell of dancing waves
Crowned with foam of swirling white
Hearing shrill cries of seagulls.
Feeling salty spray on weathered face
Closes his eyes remembering
Times long gone of his seafaring youth
Spent beneath mast and billowing sail.
Friends lost overboard in raging storms
And climbing slippery rigging
Pulling in sails, lashing them to yardarms
As monstrous waves broke over the ship.
Shore leave with girl in every port
Getting drunk and spending all his pay
Returning to the ship and hard life on board
Sailor with unruly sea as his home.
Colin Ian Jeffery
Shore Leave
As I sink my toes deeply into the warm sand
I hold ever closer her warm moist delicate fingertips
into my hand
I hear the thunderous roar of the ocean as it thrusts
itself onto the shore
The smell of aged grapes on your breath
makes me drunk with your lust
My heart aching for your intimacy ever more
I know in my heart this is but a fleeting moment in time
As the waves carry out my emotions out to sea
In this moment you are mine
Mine to love as fishes love the sea
you are my sweet delicate fish
that I long to be hooked to me
the world disappears the very moment I gaze into the depth of your eyes
that sweet complex grape kiss
Will either make a man of me or be my demise
I long for air as if I am plunged deep within the ocean
I gasp for air as I am overcome with emotion
She giggles sweet giggles like singing birds at play
But I know this moment will not last as I stare deeply at the waves
Ssshhhh!! She whispers on those sweet grape stained lips
“You are mine my sweet puppy, I own you with my kiss!”
Sinbad and Columbus nautical
Miles from home
Their flotilla of frigates
Sea sailed flags, flown
Compulsorily becalmed
Roped to steadfast bollards
Wharf bound
Red, green marine, sea blue scene
Maritime, party time, home time
Shore leave, can't leave, must leave
When the ship horn sounds
Sirens and mermaids waiting
Can't stand too long on
Unwaving ground
Ask the pilot, for the plot
Cards for money lost the lot
Ladies with port light windows
Sailor's take comfort
What happens, stays on land
Red, green marine, sea blue scene
Maritime, party time, home time
Shore leave, can't leave, must leave
When the ship horn sounds
Sirens and mermaids waiting