Full ahead in the dead of night
Steaming in the moons half light
Boilers working at full capacity
Hissing steam with such tenacity
Down below in the engine room
Men shovel coal in the fires gloom
Sweat is pouring from their brows
Through the ocean Titanic ploughs
Every pound of steam is raised
To reach New York a trail is blazed
To be the fastest ship afloat
So men of rank can sit and gloat
But in the coldness of the night
An iceberg, comes into sight
From the crows nest, a piecing scream
An iceberg on the starboard beam
The second mate, with concern
Rings for engines, full astern
Hard a port the helm is wound
Then they hear that dreadful sound
Under the plimpsol line, on the starboard beam
Ice water poured in like a stream
The design of the bulkheads they could not seal
A gap was left between deck and keel
Twelve hundred passengers her on her list
Submerged engines steamed and hissed
To few lifeboats to save them all
Save our souls went out the call
She went forrard first to her watery grave,
Not many lives could they save
Steerage passengers they were last,
' Class' for them, their fate was cast
Lessons were learnt but at a cost
That being the lives of people lost
Titanic now lies in the mud
The sea again has called for blood
What a discription! As if you were actually there, dear Bob! I was invited to 'Tiatanic Number 2' (read my poem) , and I had similar shocking emotions. Thanks for sharing
A cryptic ending to a truly historic event and one in which you draw the reader in Bob. The sea, yes, once again wins, and living beside it I really understand the truth in that. A ten for this for sure Bob.
I find this poem fantastic as if you were actually there! ! incredible...keep it up.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Lovely atmospheric poem...made me feel like I was there...thank you for sharing....