Three Maroons Poem by Andrew Shiston

Three maroons on this stormy night
Clinkered stalwart lifeboat
On the oily slip, oars in rowlocks
Held by splice and knotted rope

The lifeboat crew touch their forlocks
To the master in the stern, a trawler
From this tiny hamlet, fishing far at sea
Is missing, all have thought she's sunk

On her stern only a coracle
Waves high as a racing horses neck
Troughs black as treacle
Turned this boat into a wreck

On the grey old timbered pier
Grieving wives of fishermen
Stand like soldiers on leave parade
In the wet and soaking rain

Faces drawn and etched by hardship
Small in stature of their pain
The lifeboat slides into the sea
Oarsmen with a fathom blade

Pull with the gravelled shout of stroke
These are local fishermen, none are paid
Row for the lives of fellow men
Soon the lifeboats out of sight

On the shore three burning beacons
A light to guide them home
Suddenly out at sea, a lantern
The grieving women moan

Through the spume of falling waves
A dark prow of the lifeboat
Filled with the hamlets fishermen
Soaking wet, but all are saved.