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Man of War Leaves Port for the Seven Seas

I am attired

In my navel uniform,

Which I am sometimes

Expected to wear,

In service

To my Monarch.


I represent the might

Of Majesty,

As sole subject,

Yet overlord,

Of the Lighthouse

On Partridge Island


I am to stand at


Attention,

And even salute,

As a Man of War,

All three masts

And 124 cannon,

Sails past from harbour

On its way to sea.


The Captain

Will stand


On the bow


To salute me.


I am going to give

Each owner,

Of every telescope

Trained on me,

A treat,

And

A tale to tell.


I am going to be holding

Paw,

My cat/kitten,

Black as night

With one white mitten,

In his cage,

To let him

Inspect this departing,

Fighting ship.


I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2021 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

DE BA. UEL

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Thanksgiving Feast For Man And Beast

My black-as-night kitten
With one white mitten
Is called Paw.
He has become
A favourite of the ships
That pass my Lighthouse.
So
I was not totally surprised
When an outgoing schooner
Hove to, and a row boat came
To my dock, to bring me
My Thanksgiving dinner.
The Masters of the Port
Are very good this way,
To me,
For all holidays.
And in my basket of
Food (and – yes – wine),
Was a fancy small pot
For Paw.
Exactly the same as Mine.
Except
With the addition of
A gingham bag
Of catnip.

I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2021 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

DE BA. UEL

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Kitty Cat, Kitty Cat, Where Have You Been? For I’m The Only Game In Town

I don’t know if,
I have proof,
Or not,

That it was a

Ghost ship, out in the Bay,
Last night.
But
This morning,
As I waked the shore,
I found a

Kitty cat,


Little more than
A kitten,


As black as night,
As sin.

And unless he’s been
Fishing
He was hungry.


I’m sure it will not
Be difficult
To satisfy him with
My questionable stew,


And
Yes
I am going to call him
Paw.

I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2021 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

DE BA. UEL

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I Doubt It Was A Ghost Ship – But I Just Don’t Know

I was tending the Light,
For the last time at Night,
When I saw a glow
Way out in the Bay.
Not the usual lantern lights,
At bow, and stern, and
Up the mast.


It was glowing,

Steady,

Not the flickering

When brushed

By the wind.


It’s the First of October,
And the ghosts,
Well,
The ghosts are getting ready.

It’s that time of year.
The dying time.

I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2021 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

DE BA. UEL

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Making Way For Lighthouse Provisions Of Food

Fall Fairs
Bring fair foods.
At good fares.


And the provision boat
Comes next weekend


So
I must
Finish off what I have
This week.


A feast of hardtack
And beans
And a roast of pork
Still embedded
In the ice.


And moldy cheese
With the mold
Scraped off.


And a big cauldron
Stew
From those bits and bites
And pieces
That are not
Precisely
Identifiable.

I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2021 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

DE BA. UEL

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I Heard A Dog In The Dark And Wondered

It was the last ship
I expect to see tonight,
Its ruddy lanterns
On the stern
Passing my Lighthouse
On its way to safe harbour.


Most ships do not want
To sail after dark,
Near the coast,
Near the rocks.


And a dog barked from
The deck,


And i wondered
What it thought,
What is smelled,
So close.


What were its
Expectations?

I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2021 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

DE BA. UEL

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A Hurricane At Sea Brings Ships To Port

They are a raggle taggle

Fleet of vessels.

Not of the same fleet

Of course,

But members of that fleet

Of vessels

That got caught in

The hurricane at sea.

Which only brought me,

Winds and moderate rain

In my lighthouse

On Partridge Island.

So they limp in,

On this Friday

Day and night,

With no thought of

Beer and food and women

And glorious debauchery,

But rather of sleep

And care

And comfort, that

Is other than carnal.

And to have no

Fear of instant Death,

From one heaving minute

To the next.

I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2021 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

DE BA. UEL

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The Inviting Lights Glow On A Friday Night In A Distant Port

Except the port is


Not that distant.


I don’t even need


My spyglass


To see the street lamps


Well-lit,


Especially the Three Sisters Lamp,


Lined up straight with


The steeple of Trinity Church


To give the captains


Of the ships


Somewhere to aim.


For they all aim,


Past me,


In my lighthouse


At the mouth


Of the harbour.

.
And they all


Go past me


To safe haven

,
And Friday night


Deviltry and celebration,


And rum galore!


Whilst I can


Only watch


From a distance.

{I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2021 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}
DE BA. UEL

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Ghosts At Sea Make Sailors Sing A Song

sea-shanty

And the wind is whistling past the  graveyard and past the land and past the sea and past the ships upon the sea and past the sailors upon the decks and in the companionways, tethered by their ropes and harnesses and heaving their axes and mauls against the shattering ice coating their still upright ships and even here even in this peculiar time the sailors revert to their age-old method of coping with their labours at sea and the perils of the sea and they break out into thunderous shanties – yes, even thunderous enough to best and beat the thunderous wind and crashing waves – that tell of wind and waves and women and graveyards and ghosts and the whistling that is supposed to keep the ghosts at bay, and, keep the bodies beneath the ground.

“Heave ‘er to, boys/

“Heave ‘er to and smash her down/

“Get the rhythm, boys/

“Get the rhythm so we won’t drown//

“It’s girls or ghosts, boys//

“Girls or ghosts that we next meet/

“Smash that ice boys/

“If you want our meeting sweet.”

“They’re singing about you,” says Alison Alexandra.

“And you, too,” says R/Jane-the-Ghost. “And I don’t mind if you’re the one to win.”

“It’s the wind, boys/

“Screaming like Banshees from Hell//

“Give ‘er Hell, boys/

“Or that’s where we will dwell.”

(Image) https://www.stives-cornwall.co.uk/wp/wp-content/uploads/Sea-shanty.jpg

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