Demon Seas, Part 3
A towering wave of anguished breadth
our bow just barely breaks,
and flushes down my phlegm and spit
with a shell specked burning taste.
One of my better carpenters,
his toolbox breaking free,
grasping it falls in,
will forever build on the waves and the hills
of the boundless wood less sea.
I fight and I suffer,
I fall and I rise,
I will not plead or bargain
there is no compromise.
The worst lies before us,
the storms verdict anon.
We turn our bow into her,
replenished, by a few moments calm.
I call out to you in this briefest respite,
the soul of my journey, the wind of my life,
on a speck of dry land in a green island cove,
I call to you
my pirate rose.
Again I call out to you,
where there is hope and white sand.
Tell me I am your Captain!
Tell me I am your man!
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
Translated April 2012.
Comments about this poem (Demon Seas, Part 3 by Captain Cur )
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
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