Tweetspeak Poetry

Poetry Prompt: A Pirate On Aging

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pirate on aging poetry promptFor most of human history, life expectancy has been short – perhaps 25 years for our hunter-gatherer ancestors and only 37 years for residents of England in 1700. Dramatic changes began in the 18th century, with life expectancy in England rising to 41 years by 1820, 50 years by the early 20th century, and 77 years today.

But what about the average lifespan of a pirate? Bartholomew “Black Bart” Roberts, one of the most successful pirates during the Golden Age of Piracy began piracy at age 37 and died three years later in a battle with the British Royal Navy.

With a fearsome appearance, Blackbeard, also known as Edward Teach, is often credited with creating the stereotypical appearance of a pirate. His pirating career lasted only two years before he was killed aboard his ship, the Queen Anne’s Revenge. 

What about the pirates or crew members who lived to be a ripe, old age?

Pirate Poems: Try It

Imagine you’re a pirate in the golden age of your retirement years. What does your day look like? How has life changed for you? Have you taken up any hobbies (golf, maybe?) or picked up a part-time job at a bait-and-tackle shop?

Featured Poem

Thanks to everyone who participated in last week’s poetry prompt, here’s a poem from Rick we enjoyed:

‘Tis the good ship, Bless the Wind
sailed proud in the sea of mind.
Up the mast I made my way,
with the birds and the clouds I’d play,
a Kidd with the pirate kind.

For hours to the land, I’m blind,
young wings in a tamarind,
far from home on a branch I’d sway.
On my good ship!

To the way of the world, I sinned,
not for torn pants, nor knees skinned,
but I’d ventured beyond home’s cay,
where I was commanded to stay.
For now, I dream in my room, disciplined.
On my good ship!

—by Rick Maxson

Photo by Charlotte Sanderson. Creative Commons via Flickr.

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How to Write a Poem 283 high How to Write a Poem uses images like the buzz, the switch, the wave—from the Billy Collins poem “Introduction to Poetry”—to guide writers into new ways of writing poems. Excellent teaching tool. Anthology and prompts included.

“How to Write a Poem is a classroom must-have.”
—Callie Feyen, English Teacher, Maryland

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Heather Eure
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Comments

  3. Glynn says

    Retirement, pirate style

    We ran down from the town, loot
    in our hands and arms, to water’s edge,
    small boats waiting to ferry us back
    to the Sea Witch, when Capn, a millennial
    no less and looking more a boy than a man,
    nodded me aside, and rasped quickly
    through broken teeth, his breath rummed:

    “Bluebeard, old man, it’s been a good run.
    Time to rest on the beach a bit.” He smiled,
    knocking me over as two of my mates
    quickly tied my feet and ran for the boats.
    They left me my loot: a gold watch.

    Retirement, pirate style.

    Better than a blade in the ribs,
    I suppose.

    Untying the knots, I watched them
    row to the ship, and would have stayed
    on the sand except I could hear
    angry voices from the town, clamoring
    for blood with only mine available.
    I did what any self-respecting pirate
    would do, and made a run for the trees,
    run being a relative word, similar
    to scuttle and stagger.

    So I lived in the forest for a time,
    until the town could rebuild
    if not forget, eating nuts and
    small moving things, not a diet
    I would recommend.

    I plotted my second career, and one day
    a bedraggled and barefoot man
    washed up on the beach, a castaway,
    the only survivor forced to the plank
    he said, after a terrible pirate attack.

    They took me in, and fed me,
    and housed me, and took care
    of a fellow victim, and I repaid
    kindness with kindness. I worked
    hard, I served, only reluctantly
    did I accept honors and accolades.

    Eventually, they elected me governor.
    And I became a pirate again.

    Reply

  4. Ieva Rasmussen says

    Some pirates never retire 😉

    SPYGLASS EYE PIRATE

    Somewhere in the realm of worlds between us
    Where the ocean’s raging waves can kiss the sky
    On a giant mighty wooden ship called Venus
    Sailed an old pirate who had a spyglass for an eye

    Mermaids would sing, the waves would dance while he was sailing
    And his spyglass eye would search the endless seas
    Safire waters would spray silver foam on railings
    As he’d sail yearning for the lands he’d never seen

    But he would never even notice skies above him
    Nor the striking violent beauty of that world
    Because his spyglass eye could only se the long way
    Seeking restlessly the promised lands of gold

    An when he finally would reach the shores he longed for
    He’d never rest his jaded heart nor troubled mind
    Because his spyglass eye could only se horizon
    He’d scream ‘OHOI!’ and then just leave it all behind..

    Reply

  5. Monica Sharman says

    Cruise Ship Applicant

    The only one here with a cane
    and a peg leg, newest dismembered
    member of the AARP (spoken like Arrrrrrrp!),
    Association of Amputated Retired Pirates,
    I stay up afternoons when they show film clips
    of septuagenarian movie stars still
    doing their own stunts, except now they play
    the fathers of the new Caribbean raiders.
    The last one reminds me of the time I
    escaped the chains and gibbet, and I can’t wheel
    around to the old life. I LinkedIn
    and, ahoy!, sighted a new course, showed them
    my credentials. Now at the helm of luxury
    liners, I still hoard treasures.

    Reply

  6. Andrew H says

    The water glistens in the bay,
    The trees weep silent tears of gold.
    But I, a humble pirate of the seas
    Sit pale and frail and old.
    I once knew many people,
    Many lands and many folk.
    But now they’re gone, whilst I remain
    To dwell on those who once had spoke
    Such words of passion that they moved
    A young, worn scallywag like me to love.

    A ship scuds on the morning dew
    And leaves a trail of silver broad
    Upon the freshness of the bay,
    But I, who’ll shortly go to join the sod
    Must hold my shoulders back and watch
    And wait – and ever wait – upon the day;
    For it has passed and now is gone.
    Once, Jack stood in the prow and laughed
    And Ham-Fist Pete would sing his song,
    A yo ho ho for us who-a merrily must go.

    Now, I am old and they are dead.
    Red Jon, one handed and yet free
    And Captain Black, ah Captain Black!
    Who took me from the dock and raised me,
    Gave me succour and a place to live
    When others scorned a feeble dock-rat’s hopes.
    They gave me joy in joyless times, and hoisted
    Colours ‘gainst the Carribean sky on ropes
    Which seemed to sing the songs of Nymphs.
    Gone, but for that Will which yet drives me on.

    Palm trees above me cast a shade I feel
    Through all the clothes I wear.
    Grandchildren owe their lives to I
    Who taught the living once to fear,
    But still they care to give me cloth
    And food. They give me space,
    And wonder by themselves of this old man
    Whose weather-beaten sea-salt face
    Each morning turns towards the bay
    And pauses, pensive, with the light.

    Reply

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