For Their Love Only, the Sea
Gnarled oak and ale soaked planks,
attest the drunken slurs of many,
in nightly revelry and tales of sea,
echoed long in time’s passing;
as sailors home in ports a many,
each one a tavern of complicity,
where wenches and rage dispel
the long voyages at sea,
the bristled faces and weathered brows,
sea wind blown and sanctity of rum.
Their wretched faces and beards so ragged,
with leather skin and clothes bedraggled,
forever words of mystery,
of sirens, mermaids and gigantic whales,
the more they drink, the grander the tales;
and come closing, heads upon the plank,
drunker than their imagination,
tired beyond a wenches spank,
they’re dragged to the streets,
where sun will tickle their filthy feet
come sun-up.
New day blurred and words of silence,
dragging bodies to moorings near,
they pull themselves together,
for fear the captains wrath,
as soon the high tide will see them off,
to open sea and the call of yet another port;
lined up upon the decks,
the captain does address the crew,
and to action they address,
the bulkhead full of barrels and chests
bound for islands new.
Then at port in taverns thick with sailor boys,
they sing and chant old shanties,
till the foam upon the floor from ale,
as rum upon the boards and nails reek,
and drunk and rowdy sailors speak their minds,
fights and blood and laughter
reminds them of their lives at sea;
and no loved ones wait,
so long between the ports,
their hearts all crusted, and stony
for their love only, the sea.
Tony DeLorger © 2018
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I love tales of the sea. This is a very well penned and expressive piece, Tony. Great work.
Me too Phyllis, I know I’ve been a sailor in past lives, in war and such, and somehow still carry that affinity with the sea and those who live for it. Cheers!