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No one lives on the black sand shore,
Not a soul makes home there anymore.
For there is no peace,
In the land of coal dust.
Evil seeps even into the ocean,
Where 'Purity' once harbored.
What still stands,
Is the gastral rocks gutting through the banks,
Constructing spires to hide,
A skeleton ship parked in ruins of the beachside.
The old SS Purity,
Sent to save those on lonely shores,
From the devil and his kin.
Though now it's the Devil's flag, that hangs half mast,
On the poles of purity.
Don't come too close my boy,
They say it draws you in with soulless cries,

Once you're in the belly of the beast,
There's no hope of escape,
Don't repeat my old sailor's fate
Another sea story, they're too mystical to not write.
MetaVerse Apr 5
Fifteen men on the dead man's chest—
     Yo-**-**, and a bottle of ***!
Drink and the devil had done for the rest—
     Yo-**-**, and a bottle of ***!

Gold doubloons and pieces of eight—
     Yo-**-**, and a bottle of ***!
Pockets of coin is the sailor's fate—
     Yo-**-**, and a bottle of ***!

Gentlemen of fortune and fun—
     Yo-**-**, and a bottle of ***!
Have the most money under the sun—
     Yo-**-**, and a bottle of ***!

Got me a ******* every shore—
     Yo-**-**, and a bottle of ***!
Love 'em and leave 'em and leave 'em sore—
     Yo-**-**, and a bottle of ***!

Jolly Roger ***** in the breeze—
     Yo-**-**, and a bottle of ***!
Life is a sport on seven seas—
     Yo-**-**, and a bottle of ***!
Sailors clubs are better than the rich ones,
We've got sails instead of super boats.
The gentlemen, (the ones we've got)
Don't drink fine wines but draft beers.

There's no sparkle of gold spoons or diamond bowls,
But still a Sailor's Club is better than a rich one.
Why? Because where else will I dance,
A Sailor's jig.
It only takes love to make a place worth being.
Elizabeth Kelly Nov 2021
It’s the early morning that does it for me

I don’t mean to seek it
But I am sought in these quiet empty-full hours -
All or nothing out-with-the-bath-water seclusion.

(Delusions of liqueur
cocksure
Every flavor of azure)

Oh god what I would give to extend the great expanse of 4am, ribbon slick and taut as a ******

And me, warm and creative.

It’s the early morning that does it for me

I’m staying up with a song.

-Call-

Respond

Eyes and lips and abandoned ships
Mirages of **** below long, fluted throats
Gliding between notes
and me too

Ready to drown you.

(It’s the early morning that does it for me)

As you give yourself over to the caresses of the mistress
and dream of flying over perfect fields of wheat

and then land

and then wake

≈furrowed≈

disappointed to find
a cold pillow where a head should be asleep

I release my held breath and meet you
Half way

I was singing
I say
And collapse in a heap

Wet hair
Bare feet
It’s dawning and day

Closing my eyes
Sunset at sunrise
Holding onto a secret key

I dream of the sea
A nice dream
Clive Blake Jul 2021
Sea calm,
Crew slept,
Dark side,
Sea kept,
Tide raced,
Waves crept,
Crew woke,
Sails prepped,
Coiled spring,
Waves leapt,
Overboard,
Crew swept,
Left behind,
They wept.

For the sea has no respect
For the nautically inept …
A Cornish poem about the sea.
By Cornish Poet Clive Blake
Erin Suurkoivu Nov 2019
Peel back the layers
of my rural purgatory.

Figure out
the critical junctures
of where I once stood,
with this one,
now on TV, and this one,
surfing in Hawaii.

I was a **** girl, spreading
my legs for sailors, and
getting crucified for it.

I am guilty
of still imagining
our beautiful possibilities.

Death may yet
claim him, and my ****
are still round
and firm.
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