Short Sea Captain Poems

Short Sea Captain Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Sea Captain by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Sea Captain by length and keyword.


Premium Member Eric Patrick Clapton

Eric Patrick Clapton failed at being a sea captain great guitarist who started many bands and earned the sobriquet Slow Hand
Form: Clerihew


Premium Member Ahoy Mate

An aging old sea captain named Hook,
Was a bloodthirsty pirate and a crook.
He leaned as he stood,
On his left leg of wood,
And from only his right eye he did look.
© Tom Wright  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Limerick

Premium Member Seaworthy

Ship
Sonar
Sea captain
Sailors aboard
Search

Squall
Strike sails 
Starboard side
Swinging the lead
Swell

3/10/19

Light Up The Page 2 Contest

Sponsor: Joseph May
Form: Lanterne

Off the Port Bow

Shaving your
Scales mermaid, 
And against
your will. 

Beautiful sea 
Creature, a siren
Entrancing the
Loneliest of 
Seamen. 

I bless the 
Sea Captain, 
The Admiral
Inside you. 

To your rescue.

Private Moment

A private moment
As a boy, I liked to fish
in a creek that had a narrow stream
where I sat on a stone dreaming
as I didn’t care for trout.

I wanted to be a sea captain
sailing to Africa 
that, in my mind, an idyllic place
My ship never sailed to that continent 

In Portugal, I met a woman
from Kinshasa
one can say without being sentimental
Africa came to me.
© Jan Hansen  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Bio


The Old Sea Captain

In a Mediterranean blue cabin of sleep rocked to the sea beat in his ears
what big seas of dreams run in the Captain's sleep
over what blue whaled waves does he sail in a rainbow hail of flying-fishes 
he can see the Atlantic from his bed where he now lies
night and day night and day eating his bread and slops
the quiet cripple dreaming staring at the sea and the skies
he will lie here till the sky goes out and the sea stops
© Nigel Fox  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member WIND CHIMES IN NOVEMBER

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The meteorologist gestures grandly at his map~ meanwhile, my knees whisper clandestine truths in Morse code crackles. The barometer lies, but my hips remember every coming storm with impeccable timing, like a retired sea captain who still smells salt in the wind. Seventy years, and the best forecast comes from vertebrae chiming like wind chimes in November.

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