Boatswain or Bosun?
Both sons of oceans,
flags and masts,
packed bags
and
chequered pasts.
WHAT. SAY. YOU.
As Jolly Roger flies –
skull and cross bones
and hallowed eyes
for the lost, the loners.
Putting the onus
on a prophetic prize
that’s –
to be a Pirate;
swashbuckled but
never broken.
SIGN. YOUR. LIFE. AWAY.
X marks the spot.
All hands on deck
me hearties, me hearties.
AYE. AYE. CAPTAIN.
Crossed t and i’d dot.
Here’s to self respect
on nautical safari.
I’d rather be a Pirate
than a pen pushing slave.
Never clock-in or get fired
by the crest of a wave.
HOIST. THE. MAINSAIL.
I’d sing a sea shanty
from morning to night.
Watch ocean foam
romance glee
in bountiful
candle light.
EARL. Y. IN. THE. MORNING.
So, Ahoy matey!
Don’t walk the plank.
Send Long John Silver
me thanks.
I’ll swab the deck and
grow my beard long
and hair lank.
Sail the seven seas over
so shiver me timbers
‘til peg leg,
parrot and
scallywag
have sank.
DEAD. MEN. TELL. NO. TALES.
That’s the life for me
treasure troves of free-
dom. Far away from lock and key;
roving on the highest seas.
Argh, to be a Pirate,
a buccaneering riot.
No more hypocrisy
from government or tyrant…
CLEAVE. THEM. TO. THE. BRISKET.
But it’s all a dream
and I wake to no change but the climate.
After realisation is gleaned
in my attempts to scream
all that comes forth is a
sigh and
then…
Quiet.
ON. TO. DAVY. JONES’. LOCKER.
