The Captain’s End

Elephantine fisticuffs
With a ghostly fisherman
And seven burly fellows,

A twisted dockland tale
Caught on the thighs
Of a tattooed grunt in glee,

Tossed out on the weekend
Like just another buckled wheel
Rolling down sheep shit lined hills.

The gasping moon in crescent
Ushers the sounds of pubs
And ancient whores

Giggling like a sea storm,
Belching symphonies of rats
And sinking down wormholes,

The blood on my gums,
A farcical iron ale,
A rich becoming wave dream simmering,

The simple nothings of a drunkard
In anywhere corners slumped,
Awake and never knowing,

This is the walking puff
Of tired men retiring,
Of old back doors closing

And people calling it quits,
I wasn’t born for the seashore
And I wasn’t born to lead.

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3 Responses to “The Captain’s End”

  1. Alicia Says:

    Ahh, fucking amazing.

  2. Great use of imagery. Very creative 🙂

  3. Amazing imagery, I really love that pirates feeling I got from the poem.

    Your last verse: “And people calling it quits,
    I wasn’t born for the seashore
    And I wasn’t born to lead.”

    is so profound! Left me dumbstruck. Well done!

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