a new poem ...let me know what ye think

[callenish gunner]

had an assignment to write

The sea swells and my feet are firm upon the deck

With wind and spray blowing in my face

The well worn line running out through my roughened hands

The sheets bellying out, full of the awesome power of the heavens

This day begins as have so many others

With the body straining to meet the sea

The bosun whistles to have hands aloft

Unfurl the topsail and set the trigallions, we need speed to reach the lanes

My mates are sensing the days peril ahead

We all silently pray that our prey comes gently

Six bells and there be no hail from aloft

Our hands are busy with the preparations for action

When at eight bells less a quarter we hear a cry

Sail off the starboard bow four points

The captains glass confirms the sighting “she be broad in the beam “

“and low in the water – a Spaniard “

I run for my cutlass and pistols the pair, I strike flint

The linstock is lit, the slowmatch smolders

The powder and shot is set to the ready

And now the part that quickens my pulse, the wait

As we close on the barque the halyards they creak

We hard about and circle their bow, let black cloth fly

My gun is the ready, the order comes to fire but a shot across her bow

So I placed it but three spans off, and we can hear the men wail

She stands and delivers with n’ere another shot fired

She was ne’ prepared for a fight, with only four sixes and two stern swivels

We boarded and plundered and found the freeboot

There was coffee and molasses (forty hogheads) in all

And rum, another thirty barrels more

And a small casket of gold and three more of silver

A fine days earning for the cost of a ball

And the ready for providing for those back on shore

The work of the transfer and the stowing of booty

Makes the time pass quickly when counting the gain

With shares in the business outweighing the pain

We know that in tyme we most likely will hang

My wife and the children will neigh starve today

I live as a freeman of the sea and n’ere again slave

I’d rather the rope than a slow death by inches

So heave away lads and home to the wenches

[Silkie McDonough]

I like it ! Over all, very appealing.

As to a critique, if that is what you are interested in let me first say that I usually do free verse and my poetry skills, although excellent at times are a bit rusty. In addition, I have only a few college literature classes under my belt. So take this as you will.

Very good descriptives of the days work. The wait, marked by the bells seems long only if you do the math. That isn't a problem since you do mention the preparations and I don't know that you were trying to emphasize the interminable waits on board between events at sea, just an observation. It is easy enough for the uneducated pirate to visualize and comprehend yet interesting in its detail. When reading it the last two verses tried to fall into a rhyme. I had to recite it aloud to keep from falling into an awkward rhyme pattern that really isn't there.

Just some humble observations.

[The Doctor]

I, to, had to recite it aloud. As to the apparent staggered timing of the bells, I chalk it up the work being performed. That which is drudgery or especially arduous seems to take more time than it really does. Having perfromed such work in my younger days, I get what Hugh's expressing. In such a setting, you have interminable stretches of boredom punctuated by bursts of frantic activity (even terror).

Hugh, aside from some punctuation quibbles with regard to metre, I love what you've written. Even here in Minnesota, I could smell the salt air again. Well done!!

:)