deepundergroundpoetry.com
A Buccaneer’s Soul
- A Buccaneer’s Soul -
Being a Tale of the Flying Dutchman…
Prologue: The Coasts of Jamaica
Off the coasts of Jamaica, my ship sailed on,
Along Caribbean waves that rocked, in time.
The crew is singing, and drinking much rum,
Whilst I keep to myself, preferring red wine.
I pen, some poetry to a goddess I once loved,
When in other flesh I walked, in times past…
I look out a window, at the gray skies above,
And I turn the hourglass over, as time is fast.
I watch a solitary gull, and it seems so free…
Why do men make themselves prisoners, so?
Even these hearty lads who sail on with me…
We are slaves to the wind and if it will blow!
I sharpen my cutlass, preparing for our task…
As we near English waters, our long lost port.
We seek a safer harbor, where crabs do bask!
Our vessel dares not near the Redcoats’ fort…
No welcome would be ours, only cannon fire.
And so we sail on, seeking a secretive cove…
Where a treasure lies buried, which we desire,
Though not nearly as much as I long for love!
Part One: Bloody Spanish Gold
Captain, they call me, with fear in each voice.
Am I so terrible, or have stories traveled far?
We near the ancient cave; we come by choice,
Guided by the horizon, and many a noble star.
Less noble, indeed, are these greedy sailors…
Who call me a monster without knowing true!
The gold is Spanish, bloody from many wars,
Along with sapphires glowing fairly and blue.
Men died for us to claim it as such is the way,
The bones that guarded it knew the story full.
Telling not of their secrets until the final day,
For the dead are silent, and stubborn as a bull.
The booty is divided fairly, in accord to code,
And soon we set sail again, for French waters.
But on our way the skies darken, evil to bode!
We make fast the hatches on all the quarters…
But soon, we are caught up in a mighty storm,
Of which legends speak of, and seamen fear…
As ‘woe’ cries the gulls ‘you’ll see not morn!’
We saw not the morn, nor the one I held dear.
(Alone upon some windswept crag…
He gazed out long upon the cold sea.
A voice was calling from the depths,
Which kept on saying: “Look at me!”
Of his fortunes, he dared never brag,
For they brought him not: his victory.
So many men had met bloody deaths,
During his voyage of lawless piracy!
Hell dared not accept his own bones,
And so the sea one day called to him.
She craved his passion for her own…
Prepared to drown his every dark sin.
Though he was a legend on the main,
Blood was on his hands, a dark stain!)
Part Two: The Sea Goddess
The sea took the gold, in tribute to a goddess,
As I was cast adrift, the only survivor to live!
I was wrecked on a beach, and in my distress,
I resigned myself, my soul unto death to give.
That is where she found me, most royal lady!
I call her that, for her bearing was imperious.
Though her blood was not noble it beat hotly,
And her way, to speak truth, was mysterious.
‘A buccaneer’s soul, I sense in your breast…’
She said unto me, her eyes dark as the abyss.
‘But all such times are passing, going to rest!’
And she said no more, for lusty was our kiss.
She sang me a song that took me way back…
I was adrift on the melody, her eyes my light.
I forgot about my sins under the flag black…
And my soul was lost in a dance of the night.
Morn never came, and I knew I’d passed on,
Finding peace for a time with she I’d served.
But then I spied dawn’s rays, the warm sun…
And I could not die; for that, I was unnerved.
(The pirate had known all her charms,
That undying goddess, from below…
Not spoken of by men of true reason.
She swallowed his sin, took his soul!
He forgot his name, and his old scars,
Though he could not be pure as snow.
Her time was nigh in that wild season,
And the maddest wind began to blow!
He dove from the crag in dawn’s mist,
His crew beheld his fate from the ship.
By the sea goddess he was so kissed…
And his soul was lost, with a final slip.
But his ship had sunk so long before…
And her crew drew breath never more!)
Part Three: Voyage of the Dead
How long was I captain of the black galleon?
No hourglass was there to track time passing.
She stood at my side, after all that I’d done…
Beautiful as ever, her smile perhaps laughing!
The pale crew, all taken from a watery end…
Those same who had perished under my flag!
Many of whom once I had even called friend,
In search of treasure: of which we could brag.
Hands stained with blood from their lost loot,
Their voices chill as they sang almost merrily.
Damned men all, all from head down to boot,
Never caught, by the gallows or hanging tree.
But all things we do have a price to be paid…
And no gold can stave off the hands of death!
On the seas between worlds we sailed, afraid,
My only comfort, was my goddess’s breath…
Until at last, we sailed out of that life forever.
Each man to his fate, be it perdition or peace!
Death makes of each mortal, a true believer…
And there are some torments that never cease.
(They say he arose from his wet grave,
Unable to die till dire judgment day…
His crew shared his fate as heavy cost.
They sail the seas still, all debt to pay!
No matter how much love he so gave,
Unto his ancient mistress in his way…
His soul was fated to remain thus lost.
And so closest to the sea he must stay!
Ferrying the dead to the farthest shore,
Where he himself cannot disembark…
He seeks to redeem himself once more.
In the night, he sails, when all is dark!
Still plotting a course to the next life…
Hoping to escape his eternity of strife.)
Being a Tale of the Flying Dutchman…
Prologue: The Coasts of Jamaica
Off the coasts of Jamaica, my ship sailed on,
Along Caribbean waves that rocked, in time.
The crew is singing, and drinking much rum,
Whilst I keep to myself, preferring red wine.
I pen, some poetry to a goddess I once loved,
When in other flesh I walked, in times past…
I look out a window, at the gray skies above,
And I turn the hourglass over, as time is fast.
I watch a solitary gull, and it seems so free…
Why do men make themselves prisoners, so?
Even these hearty lads who sail on with me…
We are slaves to the wind and if it will blow!
I sharpen my cutlass, preparing for our task…
As we near English waters, our long lost port.
We seek a safer harbor, where crabs do bask!
Our vessel dares not near the Redcoats’ fort…
No welcome would be ours, only cannon fire.
And so we sail on, seeking a secretive cove…
Where a treasure lies buried, which we desire,
Though not nearly as much as I long for love!
Part One: Bloody Spanish Gold
Captain, they call me, with fear in each voice.
Am I so terrible, or have stories traveled far?
We near the ancient cave; we come by choice,
Guided by the horizon, and many a noble star.
Less noble, indeed, are these greedy sailors…
Who call me a monster without knowing true!
The gold is Spanish, bloody from many wars,
Along with sapphires glowing fairly and blue.
Men died for us to claim it as such is the way,
The bones that guarded it knew the story full.
Telling not of their secrets until the final day,
For the dead are silent, and stubborn as a bull.
The booty is divided fairly, in accord to code,
And soon we set sail again, for French waters.
But on our way the skies darken, evil to bode!
We make fast the hatches on all the quarters…
But soon, we are caught up in a mighty storm,
Of which legends speak of, and seamen fear…
As ‘woe’ cries the gulls ‘you’ll see not morn!’
We saw not the morn, nor the one I held dear.
(Alone upon some windswept crag…
He gazed out long upon the cold sea.
A voice was calling from the depths,
Which kept on saying: “Look at me!”
Of his fortunes, he dared never brag,
For they brought him not: his victory.
So many men had met bloody deaths,
During his voyage of lawless piracy!
Hell dared not accept his own bones,
And so the sea one day called to him.
She craved his passion for her own…
Prepared to drown his every dark sin.
Though he was a legend on the main,
Blood was on his hands, a dark stain!)
Part Two: The Sea Goddess
The sea took the gold, in tribute to a goddess,
As I was cast adrift, the only survivor to live!
I was wrecked on a beach, and in my distress,
I resigned myself, my soul unto death to give.
That is where she found me, most royal lady!
I call her that, for her bearing was imperious.
Though her blood was not noble it beat hotly,
And her way, to speak truth, was mysterious.
‘A buccaneer’s soul, I sense in your breast…’
She said unto me, her eyes dark as the abyss.
‘But all such times are passing, going to rest!’
And she said no more, for lusty was our kiss.
She sang me a song that took me way back…
I was adrift on the melody, her eyes my light.
I forgot about my sins under the flag black…
And my soul was lost in a dance of the night.
Morn never came, and I knew I’d passed on,
Finding peace for a time with she I’d served.
But then I spied dawn’s rays, the warm sun…
And I could not die; for that, I was unnerved.
(The pirate had known all her charms,
That undying goddess, from below…
Not spoken of by men of true reason.
She swallowed his sin, took his soul!
He forgot his name, and his old scars,
Though he could not be pure as snow.
Her time was nigh in that wild season,
And the maddest wind began to blow!
He dove from the crag in dawn’s mist,
His crew beheld his fate from the ship.
By the sea goddess he was so kissed…
And his soul was lost, with a final slip.
But his ship had sunk so long before…
And her crew drew breath never more!)
Part Three: Voyage of the Dead
How long was I captain of the black galleon?
No hourglass was there to track time passing.
She stood at my side, after all that I’d done…
Beautiful as ever, her smile perhaps laughing!
The pale crew, all taken from a watery end…
Those same who had perished under my flag!
Many of whom once I had even called friend,
In search of treasure: of which we could brag.
Hands stained with blood from their lost loot,
Their voices chill as they sang almost merrily.
Damned men all, all from head down to boot,
Never caught, by the gallows or hanging tree.
But all things we do have a price to be paid…
And no gold can stave off the hands of death!
On the seas between worlds we sailed, afraid,
My only comfort, was my goddess’s breath…
Until at last, we sailed out of that life forever.
Each man to his fate, be it perdition or peace!
Death makes of each mortal, a true believer…
And there are some torments that never cease.
(They say he arose from his wet grave,
Unable to die till dire judgment day…
His crew shared his fate as heavy cost.
They sail the seas still, all debt to pay!
No matter how much love he so gave,
Unto his ancient mistress in his way…
His soul was fated to remain thus lost.
And so closest to the sea he must stay!
Ferrying the dead to the farthest shore,
Where he himself cannot disembark…
He seeks to redeem himself once more.
In the night, he sails, when all is dark!
Still plotting a course to the next life…
Hoping to escape his eternity of strife.)
Published 18th Sep 2012
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 2
reading list entries 1
comments 2
reads 944
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
5th Oct 2012 11:04pm
10th Oct 2012 5:52am
Thank you very much, Zenith! The legend of the Flying Dutchman is always a fascinating one to write about, as are many of the stranger tales of the sea. :)
