Alone at sea

With a guttural cough the sails clear
their throats billowing the exhaled
salty spray of the sea. She leans like
a full thigh maiden lusty and ripe
begging for the thrust of the wind.
The helm is tight heeled over
whispering through the azure sea.
Freedom calls to the shrouds,
whistling past the lanyard.
There is magic in the air, sparkling
with the diamonds of dreams cast upon
the winds of tomorrow a bet against
the far salty horizon. I am alone
with the rolling waves and we are one.

©2012, Donald Harbour

Life of a Blue Footed Booby

Dancin’ the Booby Stomp

Oh, if I were a Blue Footed Booby,
I’d strut my stuff and sing a song,
I’d stretch my neck and stomp the deck,
I’d whistle all day long.

Oh, if I were a Blue Footed Booby,
I’d live most of my life at sea,
I’d fly away to an island cay,
I’d find one Blue Footed Booby for me.

Oh, if I were a Blue Footed Booby
I’d dive into the blue ocean foam,
I’d catch fish to served as a Booby dish,
I’d take them to my chicks at home.

Oh, if I were a Blue Footed Booby,
I’d fly far from the ships of man,
I’d do my best to avoid that pest,
I’d stay away from the cook’s frying pan.

©2010, Donald Harbour

The whimsy of Spindrift

Spindrift sailed over the surface,
Content with catching a zephyr,
Or, playing tag with flying fish.
Ever so often a word or a prayer
Rose into the air and Spindrift
Caught it, held it, listened to it.
It did not understand the thought, but
It felt the hum of the expression,
It felt the warmth of urgency, and
Let it go to pass on it’s way.
Spindrift joyed in effervescent foam,
Bubbling, frolicking on wave crests,
There dancing,  it pirouetted ,
Then sliding down the wave,
Skating across the rolling trough.
Gently, its father,  the wind,
Would reach into the swell
Again,  setting Spindrift on the crest,
Its brother and sister Spindrifts
Spewed sparkling drops of sea water,
Greeting each other with diamonds of light.
The magic of the moment was so grand,
So brief, so unpredictable, so capricious,
Spindrift did not mind disappearing,
Did not mind what it could not mind,
Nor, did it sense passing,  or ceasing,
It was a part of the whole of the sea,
A greater fanciful delight of Nature,
And like all other whimsies,
It had no meaning other than to be.

Copyright: 2009, Donald Harbour

Why Sailors Do Not Bathe

One day a bark from Kingston,
Took sail upon the ocean,
It drank from the mariner cup,
A deadly salt water potion.

The sailors on the bark,
Encountered a mighty gale.
It tore away the yard arm,
Shredding every rope and sail.

The captain yelled avast,
Boys she’s going down,
So grab something that floats,
And head for drier ground.

The waves let out a roar,
Splintering the deck and keel.
Into the boiling ocean froth,
The ship broke up and fell.

Sea creatures from the depths,
Saw the crew struggle about,
Rushed to the surface feast,
With hunger in their mouth.

No sailor had bath that day,
Nor for many weeks a’fore.
They smelled of putrid mackerel,
Rotting on the ocean floor.

The shark and other fish,
Could only stop and look,
The sailors were a horrid lot,
No flesh the denizens took.

King Neptune caught the stench,
Bellowing this cannot be.
My kingdom is pristine pure,
I’ll not have them in my sea.

He sent a a mighty wave,
A hundred fathoms high,
Gathering all the sailors up,
It threw them through the sky.

They wrestled with the tempest,
Thrown by the watery hand,
Until they dropped from the blue,
To fall on palm and sand.

The crew lived to tell the tale,
Known in each port and realm.
Repeated to every swabby,
Who takes to sea and helm.

That is why to this day,
No one before the mast,
Will take of soap and water,
Lest into they sea they’re cast.

Copyright: 2008, Donald Harbour