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Lost At Sea

Lost At Sea

It was a quiet night when I woke up in the small cabin I shared with
the other deck-boy. The porthole was open and brought a welcoming
cooling breeze and I fell asleep again wondering idly what the other
deck boy was up to. He was missed at eight o’clock by, the time his
watch began, the ship turned around and on the enormous sun sparkly
mirror, we looked for him. We knew this was hopeless but something
had to be written in the ship’s logbook.

His name was Terje, a puny little boy who cried a lot when shouted
at and therefore was an easy target to make fun of by the crew.
His steady masturbation had gone on my nerves, mostly because
he dried his fluid on the curtain that covered each bunk for privacy.
Crew, silent for a few days, feeling guilty for teasing him, I too felt
a nip of guilt I enjoyed having the cabin by myself, when we docked
in Port-of-Spain, Trinidad, Terje was all but forgotten.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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Sea Life Remembered

Tropical night with extras added on like moon and stars.
I stood by the railing dreaming as the ship tilled its way
towards Jamaica, jet black sea but the transient furrow
the ship made was white; the ocean sang a sweet dirge,
and before I knew it I nearly fell overboard.

Stepped back, would anyone have heard my screams as
I swam amongst sharks and saw the ship´s lanterns fade
like dying stars? I reflected on my life wasn´t it time to
stop this infinite voyage between ports I had seen before,
harbours, which had nothing new to offer a jaded sailor?

Sat in my cabin, porthole open, I heard the mesmerizing
dirge; closed the porthole, cruelly hot the air fan giving
a sad attempt of cooling, the ship had no air conditioning.
This has to end, before I become a hollow eyed seafarer
lost on a misty island in the Saragossa Sea.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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Kimono

The Kimono

I was joining a ship in another town; mother followed me the railway station,
which was not far as we lived nearby? From the train I looked down at her and
saw what I had never seen, a woman with unkempt hair, in an old overcoat
with missing buttons and shoes that needed heeling. There were many other
people on the platform, but she stood out looking like a bag woman.
I felt ashamed and guilty for feeling embarrassed. When returning I will have
money to buy her a new coat, shoes and send her to a hairdresser, I thought.
The train moved forward and I waved as long as I could see her.
A year later my ship had just left Tokyo, bound for the Panama canal, when
the radio operator came into the galley with a cable, I could see in his face he
had no glad tiding. I sat in my cabin grieving, took out the kimono I had bought
her it was made of silk and was as soft as a mother’s embrace; and I cried.
A knock on my door it was the captain who said: “No time for tears son, crew
needs to be fed and you are the cook.“ That night and many nights thereafter
I was lulled asleep by the ship’s steady heartbeat.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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Bantry Bay

On the eighteenth of October we lay in Bantry Bay,
All ready to set sail, with a fresh and steady gale:
A fortnight and nine days we in the harbour lay,
And no breeze ever reached us or strained a single sail.
Three ships of war had we, and the great guns loaded all;
But our ships were dead and beaten that had never feared a foe.
The winds becalmed around us cared for no cannon ball;
They locked us in the harbour and would not let us go.

On the nineteenth of October, by eleven of the clock,
The sky turned black as midnight and a sudden storm came on--
Awful and sudden--and the cables felt the shock;
Our anchors they all broke away and every sheet was gone.
The guns fired off amid the strife, but little hope had we;
The billows broke above the ship and left us all below.
The crew with one consent cried 'Bear further out to sea,'
But the waves obeyed no sailor's call, and we knew not where to go.

She foundered on a rock, while we clambered up the shrouds,
And staggered like a mountain drunk, wedged in the waves almost.
The red hot boiling billows foamed in the stooping clouds,
And in that fatal tempest the whole ship's crew were lost.
Have pity for poor mariners, ye landsmen, in a storm.
O think what they endure at sea while safe at home you stay.
All ye that sleep on beds at night in houses dry and warm,
O think upon the whole ship's crew, all lost at Bantry Bay.

poem by John Clare
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On the mountain top at a seaside?

I saw the ship near the rocks
Her anchor drops
And on the mast
A segull rests!
It's getting darker the sky
And the lights flickering
On board the Vessel.
A Watch-keeper walks on the deck
And a Seaman sits on a bollard
With a fishing rod.
I shouted; 'Have you got a spare cabin
For an old bard and I could have work voluntarily Captain
If it's possible? '
I threw my tattered Seaman's Book
Which was not endorsed since a long time.
O the painful early morning my dream-ship already sailed
To her destined port and I grabbed my old book with a lament!

*[My deceased poor Mom always says; 'The joy of being an old is nothing but sadness.']

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Log Book

From a ship’s logbook
Sat on deck another long day I smelled of chippy fat
and the sweat of honest labour

The stove in the galley was oil fired but I wanted to
read a few poems before I had a shower.

The light wasn’t any good so I read a western book,
as I always had wanted to be a sheriff in Texas.

The book was good I knew the words before I read
them, fell asleep when I awoke it was midnight

I knocked on my cabin door, give roaches a change
escape; impossible long days and blithe was the sea

In the morning I was still reeking of chippy fat and it
was too late to have a shower.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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The Great Escape

The Cook’s Escape

As cook on a ship I hated her crew, rats posing as seafarers.
A night when the ship passed by the shores of Panama, and
I saw my chance. Loosened the ships raft and as it glided into
the sea I jumped after. Moon lit night I sat dreaming listening
to the song of the sea. In its embrace I fell asleep when I woke
the raft was tugging a beautiful white strand. The locals were
frying red snappers with lemon juice for breakfast. I thought
of the crew, thugs from hell, had to make their own breakfast.
This glorious morning I was free of the sea and narrow minded
men who had never read a book and whose idea of pleasure
was a harbour whore. Yet, such is the pull of the ocean that
I still dream of its sun showy surface, on days when her crew
was resting on their scruffy rust dirty cabins. Yet, know I know
the fault was mine not seeing their despair.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 2. The Musician's Tale; The Ballad of Carmilhan - IV.

And now along the horizon's edge
Mountains of cloud uprose,
Black as with forests underneath,
Above their sharp and jagged teeth
Were white as drifted snows.

Unseen behind them sank the sun,
But flushed each snowy peak
A little while with rosy light
That faded slowly from the sight
As blushes from the cheek.

Black grew the sky,--all black, all black;
The clouds were everywhere;
There was a feeling of suspense
In nature, a mysterious sense
Of terror in the air.

And all on board the Valdemar
Was still as still could be;
Save when the dismal ship-bell tolled,
As ever and anon she rolled,
And lurched into the sea.

The captain up and down the deck
Went striding to and fro;
Now watched the compass at the wheel,
Now lifted up his hand to feel
Which way the wind might blow.

And now he looked up at the sails,
And now upon the deep;
In every fibre of his frame
He felt the storm before it came,
He had no thought of sleep.

Eight bells! and suddenly abaft,
With a great rush of rain,
Making the ocean white with spume,
In darkness like the day of doom,
On came the hurricane.

The lightning flashed from cloud to cloud,
And rent the sky in two;
A jagged flame, a single jet
Of white fire, like a bayonet_
That pierced the eyeballs through.

Then all around was dark again,
And blacker than before;
But in that single flash of light
He had beheld a fearful sight,
And thought of the oath he swore.

For right ahead lay the Ship of the Dead,
The ghostly Carmilhan!
Her masts were stripped, her yards were bare,
And on her bowsprit, poised in air,
Sat the Klaboterman.

Her crew of ghosts was all on deck
Or clambering up the shrouds;
The boatswain's whistle, the captain's hail,
Were like the piping of the gale,
And thunder in the clouds.

And close behind the Carmilhan
There rose up from the sea,
As from a foundered ship of stone,
Three bare and splintered masts alone:
They were the Chimneys Three.

And onward dashed the Valdemar
And leaped into the dark;
A denser mist, a colder blast,
A little shudder, and she had passed
Right through the Phantom Bark.

She cleft in twain the shadowy hulk,
But cleft it unaware;
As when, careering to her nest,
The sea-gull severs with her breast
The unresisting air.

Again the lightning flashed; again
They saw the Carmilhan,
Whole as before in hull and spar;
But now on board of the Valdemar
Stood the Klaboterman.

And they all knew their doom was sealed;
They knew that death was near;
Some prayed who never prayed before,
And some they wept, and some they swore,
And some were mute with fear.

Then suddenly there came a shock,
And louder than wind or sea
A cry burst from the crew on deck,
As she dashed and crashed, a hopeless wreck,
Upon the Chimneys Three.

The storm and night were passed, the light
To streak the east began;
The cabin-boy, picked up at sea,
Survived the wreck, and only he,
To tell of the Carmilhan.

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Closer To Home

(m&l - farner)
Everybody listen to me
And return me
My ship
Im your captain
Im your captain
No Im feeling mighty sick
Ive been lost now
Days uncounted
And its months since
Ive seen home
Can you hear me
Can you hear me
Oh am I all alone
If you return me
To my home port
I will kiss you
Mother earth
Take me back now
Take me back now
To the port
Of my birth
To the port
Of my birth
Am I in my cabin dreaming
Or are you really schemeing
To take my ship away from me?
You better think about it
I just cant live without it
So please dont take my ship from me
Yeah yeah yeah
I can feel the hand
Of the stranger
As its tightening
Around my throat
Heaven help me
Heaven help me
Take this stranger
From my boat
Im your captain
Im your captain
Though Im feeling mighty sick
Everybody listen to me
And return me my ship
Im your captain
Yeah yeah yeah, m getting closer to my home

song performed by by Helloween
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Old Superb

The wind was rising easterly, the morning sky was blue,
The Straits before us opened wide and free;
We looked towards the Admiral, where high the Peter flew,
And all our hearts were dancing like the sea.
'The French are gone to Martinique with four and twenty sail!
The Old _Superb_ is old and foul and slow,
But the French are gone to Martinique, and Nelson's on the trail.
And where he goes the Old _Superb_ must go!'

So Westward ho! for Trinidad, and Eastward ho! for Spain,
And 'Ship ahoy!' a hundred times a day;
Round the world if need be, and round the world again,
With a lame duck lagging all the way.

The Old _Superb_ was barnacled and green as grass below,
Her sticks were only fit for stirring grog;
The pride of all her midshipmen was silent long ago,
And long ago they ceased to heave the log.
Four year out from home she was, and ne'er a week in port,
And nothing save the guns aboard her bright;
But Captain Keats he knew the game, and swore to share the sport,
For he never yet came in too late to fight.

So Westward ho! for Trinidad, and Eastward ho! for Spain,
And 'Ship ahoy!' a hundred times a day;
Round the world if need be, and round the world again,
With a lame duck lagging all the way.

'Now up, my lads,' the Captain cried, 'for sure the case were hard
If longest out were first to fall behind;
Aloft, aloft with studding sails, and lash them on the yard,
For night and day the Trades are driving blind!'
So all day long and all day long behind the fleet we crept,
And how we fretted none but Nelson guessed;
But every night the Old _Superb_ she sailed when others slept,
Till we ran the French to earth with all the rest.

Oh, 'twas Westward ho! for Trinidad, and Eastward ho! for Spain,
And 'Ship ahoy!' a hundred times a day;
Round the world if need be, and round the world again,
With a lame duck lagging all the way.

poem by Sir Henry Newbolt
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A Cook’s Battle

The ship -cook was tired it had been a long day, the ship was old
full of cockroaches, one had found its way in his bread dough and
when the captain cut a slice of bread it was there, a brown raisin;
the old man had been very angry. The cook’s trouble was roaches
they were everywhere. He had asked to have the galley fumigated
when the ship was in dry dock, but no it was far too expensive.
Every week he boiled a big pan of water and squirted into corners,
it helped a bit and he had buckets full, but soon they were back
encroaching his galley. Then there were mites in the flour which
he had to sift before baking bread, not his fault yet he had to take
the flack. He often worked till late evening to keep the galley clean
he had even painted it so on the surface it looked bright and nice.
He was losing the battle against insects he often felt he was losing
his mind as well, they appeared in his dreams strangulating him.
Time was hard not easy to get a job, still when his ship docked in
Bombay he was off and the crew could get someone else to insult.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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Poet Without A Pen

A Poet without a Pen

On terrace I see city’s light shine as cold pearls along the bay,
but night sentinels have a duty to shine till first light of dawn.
Clouds are pushed around but sometimes there is a gap and
moonlight shines through. In the bay four cargo ships are
anchored, their mast lights are as low hanging bright stars.
Eight o´clock, evening and cooks on each ship are standing on
deck smoke a cigarette drinking coffee, glad this day is over.
Perhaps they see what I see before going into their cabin
leafing through old newspaper trying not to think of tomorrow.
Cooks on ships are dreamers neither crew nor officers and
every day they have to try to create something new with hand
and mind, sometimes overwhelmed, and since they never have
a day off, they tend to drink too, yet always do their duty.
A cook can´t articulate his longings or has he awareness to change.
Yet he continue his lonesome, unappreciated quest, because he
is a poet without a pen.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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Let Her Go Down

Sometime in October
we sailed from England's shore
When we sailed into a raging storm
like I never ever seen before
And all of the crew they were brave men
but the captain he was braver
and he said
"Never mind the ship me boys
There's none of us here can save her"
Let her go down Swim for your lives
Swim for your children swim for your wives
Let her go down Let her go down
Lost in the open ocean
there was some of the crew and me
while the captain steered our wounded ship
to the bottom of an angry sea
And with his dying breath
we all heard him say
"It's just the fortune of sailor"
and he said
"Never mind the ship me boys
There's none of us here can save her"
chorus
He wondered if his shipmates
were ready to just pray and give in
so he called their names out one by one
but there was no one else around but him
He saw the ship go down the fading light
and he knew that they could have saved her
He said
"The captain lied when the captain cried
'There's none of us here can save her' "
chorus
Swim for your lives
Swim for your children swim for your wives
Let her go down Let her go down
Swim for your lives

song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nagasaki mon amour

Nagasaki Mon Amour

There are moments when things become clear. A night, the Pacific Ocean was,
as its name, calm; I sat on deck and listened to the heartbeat of the ship,
which seemed to beat faster when one of the engineers opened the door and
came out on deck. I heard laughter from the mess-room they were playing
cards but I knew I would never be one of them, I had tried, the swagger and
the misogyny, living in a world where women were either whores or mothers.
The ship was bound for Nagasaki, which for the young crew meant little, but
I had been here before and visited a graveyard where Portuguese sailors had
died long time ago when Japan was an unknown land. At sixty I was a relic
and accepted that. Berthed. Walking down the gangway, I didn’t bother to look
back, didn’t shake anyone’s hand- it was dinner time anyway. Before flying back
to Europe I tried to find the Portuguese cemetery, it wasn’t there anymore;
another relic gone.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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Thanks A Lot

Its all in your mind she said
The darkness and the light
The clock it bleeds for you
But you never got the time in right
I woke you up
And I slit the throat of your confidence
And we laughed in the night
And I felt all right
All hands on deck boys
Cause this ship was made to sink
Your swabber salutes you now
But I know what hes thinking
I woke you up
And I slit the throat of your confidence
And we laughed in the night
And I felt all right
Thanks a lot
Thanks a lot
Thanks a lot
The clothes she wears mis-fit
And shes nervous when she speaks
Her zombie mom and dad
Live in a separate house of freaks
I woke you up
And I slit the throat of your confidence
And we laughed in the night
And I felt all right
Thanks a lot
Thanks a lot
Thanks a lot
Im the one for you
Cause I know all the dirty things youd like to do
Im the fear in your eyes
Im the fire in your flies
Im the sound thats buzzing around your head
Thanks a lot
Thanks a lot
Thanks a lot
Thanks a lot

song performed by by Third Eye Blind
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Ship Called Christianity!

Christianity, a ship afree,
Is found tossing upon the sea!
Upon the deck, there’s mutiny;
No bond of love but just envy.

Selfishness, no humility;
No amity, just enmity;
The fish around, none can well see;
And the sea appears too stormy!

The nets are old, tattered fully,
Fishes don’t come up properly;
The ship moving unsafely;
Jesus is forgotten truly!

Lost are precious time, energy;
Forgotten is sense of duty;
No fishes caught yet revelry;
Ship’s in waters of piracy!

Rescue the ship, O God, we pray;
And be its captain, night and day;
Steer it safely and show the way;
With nets o’er-laden, reach the bay.

Copyright by Dr John Celes 21-09-2010

poem by John Celes
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Closer To Home / I'm Your Captain

Everybody listen to me
And return me my ship
I'm your captain
I'm your captain
Though I'm feeling mighty sick
I've been lost now for days uncounted
And it's months since I've seen home
Can you hear me? Can you hear me?
Or am I all alone?
If you return me to my home port
I will kiss you Mother Earth
Take me back now
Take me back now
To the port of my birth
(bridge)
Am I in my cabin dreaming?
Or are you really scheming
To take my ship away from me?
You'd better think about it
I just can't live without it
So please don't take my ship from me
I can feel the hand of a stranger
And it's tightening around my throat
Heaven help me
Heaven help me
Take this stranger from my boat
I'm your captain
I'm your captain
Though I'm feeling mighty sick
Everybody listen to me
And return me my ship
I'm your captain
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
I'm your captain
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
I'm your captain
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
I'm your captain
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah...
I'm getting closer to my home
I'm getting closer to my home
I'm getting closer to my home (repeat until fade).

song performed by by Grand Funk Railroad
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Harpooner

He told me over the deck to call him
Whenever there was a theatre of war;
A whale may inhibit me at times,
It is caretaker of the voyage home.
Another ship can be brought to buy
The slaves and jewellery and fuel.
Clear and contrasting was the report,
Idle chatter beamed on the people of the port,
People had the answers to questions they quoted.
The harpooner came on deck
And was in evidence.

poem by Naveed Akram
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Im Your Captain

Everybody, listen to me,
And return me, my ship.
Im your captain, Im your captain,
Although Im feeling mighty sick.
Ive been lost now, days uncounted,
And its months since Ive seen home.
Can you hear me, can you hear me,
Or am I all alone.
If you return me, to my home port,
I will kiss you mother earth.
Take me back now, take me back now,
To the port of my birth.
Am I in my cabin dreaming, or are you really scheming,
To take my ship away from me?
Youd better think about it, I just cant live without it.
So, please dont take my ship from me.
Yeah, yeah, yeah ...
I can feel the hand, of a stranger,
And its tightening, around my throat.
Heaven help me, heaven help me,
Take this stranger from my boat.
Im your captain, Im your captain,
Although Im feeling mighty sick.
Everybody, listen to me,
And return me, my ship.
Im your captain, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.
Im your captain, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.
Im your captain, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.
Im your captain, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.
Im getting closer to my home ...
Im getting closer to my home ...
Im getting closer to my home ...
Im getting closer to my home ...
Ohhhh ...
Im getting closer to my home ...
Im getting closer to my home ...
Im getting closer to my home ...
Im getting closer to my home ...
Repeated to fade

song performed by by Grand Funk Railroad
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sargasso Sea

I stand on the deck of my ship
stranded in uncharted seas
wondering where the west wind
will be carrying me.
Will it be to some treasure island,
but from the dark clouds forming
will it be to some distant doom,
or will be to the Sargasso Sea.
The sea of weed unmapped
where many good ships and men
from have failed to homeward sail.
The wind is bellowing my sails
as my wooden ship begins to creak.
Oh how I long for sight of land
and a way back home.
Each wave smacks again the hull
with a dragon’s roar.
My ship reels roughly in the waters
as lightning crackles above my head.
The sky is now as black as pitch
and the wind whips spray into my face.
The dark clouds of torment drive my ship and me.
Will be to a watery grave or still waters calm.
Only the ticking hours of time will reveal when it is right.
Now I must ride with the storm
and wherever it is taking me.
I can only pray to my lord for help
to deliver me from that dreaded Sargasso Sea.
I fear no foreign lands only a sea unknown to me.
The storm of torment bellows,
restlessly through day and night,
but I am not a sailor to give up without a fight.
I curse the wind to leave my ship and me alone.
It ignores my curses and carries me further on.
Even the moon and stars are afraid to show their light,
but I stand firm upon my deck
to see the sunlight in the morn.
I curse some more
as the west wind hammers at an open cabin door.
Slowly the lightening fades
and the dark clouds dissipate overhead.
The west wind runs out of breath
as the sun glitters on the waters
that wander over watery graves.
The sea becomes placid
no more raging foam,
a gentle breeze arises
so I can chart my way home.

27 July 2009

Author’s Note.

The Sargasso Sea is one of the great myths and legends of the sea. Ancient mariners used to talk about it entangling around ships so that they could not move and remained stranded there. Countless stories and poems have been written about it, each embellishing it more. I, myself written two poems about it, the first being Sea Of Dead Ships.

The truth is that Sargasso is Gulf Weed, is a brown seaweed that forms thick floating masses in the tropical Atlantic waters.

DVH

poem by David Harris
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Shipwreck

As the ship exploded and sunk, her crew
died a hundred times.
Through portholes they saw the green sea,
getting darker; they couldn´t hear their own
screams as the noise of crushed iron´s was
louder, like hundred express trains hurdling
toward obliviousness
And then the sea blew open doors
filled every cabin with incomprehension
…and then, yes then, they died again.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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