Gather 'round, and hear the sound,
of this me incredible tale.
Gather 'round by my feet, and share of the heat
of my fire and sip of my ale.
I tell a tale of a man like a whale,
not a virtue did this great soul lack.
He was born to be free, but was bound to the sea,
this man we call Samuel Jack.
We open our tail of a man and a gail,
with eyes so distant and black (the man, not the storm)
a ship tossed about, its fate in great doubt,
and that man of the sea, that Samuel Jack.
At the helm he did sit, the sea in a fit,
a rage not easily quenchable.
In the anger of night, the men gave good fright,
the waves were not easily trenchable (a seafaring term, I couldn't possibly explain...)
And up on the deck, a cold breeze on his neck,
his face as set as steel,
Captain Jack stood alone, his features like stone,
expressionless as he grappled the wheel.
From the safe cabin warmth, the 1st mate called forth (it ryhmes, dammit!)
"Oh captain, there's something amiss!
Inside you must come, before you succumb,
to the coldness of deaths icy kiss!"
"That dark angle is near, I can feel him here,
upon my neck I feel his icy breath!
Oh Captain- arret! for the further we get (the first mate is obviously French, no?)
in the storm, the closer your death!"
"Promise me Jack, your pride you will crack,
when the frost forms a beard on your chin!
When your fingers turn black, you must turn your back!
Promise then you'll come in!"
And thus promised Jack, to get off his back,
the first mate that he told to go in.
And back he would come, when the cold bit his thumb,
and the frost formed a beard on his chin.
But as the first mate went in, he turned back again,
and spoke as if heaving a sigh,
"If in the n ight you should chance see a light,
then tonight is the night that we die."
Jack dismissed with a laugh this preposterous gaff,
and sent him back into his room.
"The sea is my friend, it can't make my end.
An ally cannot mean your doom."
So he gritted his teeth, the frost underneath
his chin he did wipe away.
For he was quite made, like a foundation laid,
that he would not die today.
So the ship kept on tossing whilst Jack kept on bossing
the whell and kept them afloat.
With a righteous right hand by the wheel Jack did stand
keeping the lay of his boat. (more sea-talk)
And when frost formed a beard, as the 1st mate had feared,
with ice as a natural plume,
Jack gave quite a chuckle, for he wouldn't buckle!
An ally cannot mean your doom.
And on in the night did Jack press without fright,
His hands soon froze to the wheel.
He glance at his thumb, which had long since gone numb,
and found nought but a blackened heel.
He laughed in spite at insidious fright,
his chuckle a cackling boom.
For tho' danger was near, he was not afeared,
for an ally cannot mean your doom.
The sails were a whipping, the wheel was a flipping,
the sea had a grim grip indeed.
waves pummeled the skiff, and acted as if
their gaping mouths he would feed.
Waves pummled the hull sounds pummeled Jacks skull,
he lunged at the sight of the moon.
The light led the way, he would live today!
An ally cannot mean your doom!
The ship and its crew, as well as Jack too,
all share a watery tomb.
for though the sea is a friend, it can make your end,
and an ally can mean your doom!
Er, this poem is weird... it came to me at about 1:30 in the morning on the plane... I had to disturb every passenger on the flight as I struggled to get my book without popping my shoulder out of the socket, and by the time I'd found it all the thoughts had disappeared! I had to sit and wait for them to come back again, it was a long, painful process, mostly because I knew the thoughts I got were second hand and that the first ones were better. So if you think this poem's mediocre, just think how good the original one was! I need something that automatically records my thoughts... huh, maybe that'd be a bad idea... I'm not sure the world has enough paper...
The Turtle Moves
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