Misery On The Ocean's Lungs Poem by John W. McEwers

The Captain calls noon
and poor boys, midshipmen, run
and up the coast a ways
where it cuts into the sea
a cold wind blows a portent
speaking dastardly decree
and the tide is getting higher
and the oarsmen start to shout
before their lifeboat could be ready
and their time is running out
because a wave as high as Babel
rises to the stormy west
and its terrible visage
takes the heart of all the men
and they scamper and they struggle
with the mast and mooring lines
but the anger of the current
doesn't plan to spare their lives
and the massive wall of water
bears on them like a sunrise
and overturns a hapless boat
of pilgrims to love's isle.