"jeered" poems
A waif on this earth,
Sick, ugly and small,
Contemned from my birth
And rejected by all,
From my lips broke a cry,
Such as anguish may wring,
Sing, — said God in reply,
Chant poor little thing.
By Wealth's coach besmeared
With dirt in a shower,
Insulted and jeered
By the minions of power,
Where — oh where shall I fly?
Who comfort will bring?
Sing, — said God in reply,
Chant poor little thing.
Life struck me with fright —
Full of chances and pain,
So I hugged with delight
The drudge's hard chain;
One must eat, — yet I die,
Like a bird with clipped wing,
Sing — said God in reply,
Chant poor little thing.
Love cheered for a while
My morn with his ray,
But like a ripple or smile
My youth passed away.
Now near Beauty I sigh,
But fled is the spring!
Sing — said God in reply,
Chant poor little thing.
All men have a task,
And to sing is my lot —
No meed from men I ask
But one kindly thought.
My vocation is high —
'Mid the glasses that ring,
Still — still comes that reply,
Chant poor little thing.
9.5k
Oh grace, oh that grace.
I am a sinner, He is my Savior.
I should die but He took my place.
I was saved, He was tortured.
Oh grace, oh that grace.
Oh grace, oh that grace.
Bruised and broken,
tears and blood on His face,
He suffered all the pain.
Oh grace, oh that grace.
Oh grace, oh that grace.
The King of kings was hung and nailed
on that cross, for my case
my Holy God was mocked and jeered
Oh grace, oh that grace.
Oh grace, oh that grace.
I once was lost,
followed my own ways.
and now I am found
Oh grace, oh that grace.
Oh grace, oh that grace.
I don't deserve all of these
The love, the joy,
and the forgiveness,
All He did and all He went through.
It was grace.
Oh my saving grace, oh that amazing grace.
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 9:58 AM UTC
When I was subjected to ragging by seniors,
"It is illegal," I warned them beforehand,
"The kid seems to have gone throughout,
The itenary before boarding the college bus."
A senior student was jeering at me.
I must be appearing like a *******
"Don't worry, we will only ask for your introduction, consider it an interview. Please," said another senior.
"Alright if you request," I replied and I waited for their questions.
"Introduce yourself to us in few words." I was told by the other senior who had jeered.
"My name is Atul Kaushal, thank you." I jeered back at the senior.
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 9:58 AM UTC
Pull up your shirt,
Put them away.
Though it’s the same shirt some girl wore yesterday,
It’s different cause her frame is dainty and chaste,
It’s just your biology causes disgrace.
Leered at by Men,
Jeered at by girls,
Disdained by Authority , making them hurl
Told to be thankful by those less endowed
While men get their wanksfull from staring in crowds .
Cause showing a shoulder
that means I deserved it,
Cause showing my body means I don’t deserve ****
Pull up your shirt,
Put them away.
There’s nothing to do, nothing to say.
You’ll never look pretty but Hey it’s okay!
You’ll look **** or manly or just plain perverse
I’m tryna explain all my feelings in verse,
So why can’t I just say it?
Stop staring at my *****
thanks.
Jul 16, 2022
Jul 16, 2022 at 3:07 PM UTC
I broke up with my gal,
She was my first love.
Even though I tried,
It all ripped apart,
Tearing in front of my eyes!
I escaped my shadow,
Of guilt and loneliness,
By inviting her to curse me.
She said, "You'll repent this,"
I replied, "Who's gonna care about it,"
She started, "You may take it lightly, but one day you're gonna fall off the hill -"
I interjected, "I'm just not gonna take it baby - chill!"
She smiled weakly, "I know that you would love again,"
I said, "No doubt about it, the world is cuter,"
She uttered her curse, "But you won't be satisfied ever!"
I invited few more curses, "Go on, come on - continue your curses!"
She went on, "You'd pay for my tears with your blood!"
I taunted, "Okay! More - just go on baby,"
"You'd die feeling lonely in this whole wide world!"
I jeered, "Whoa! That scares me to death!"
She continued, "You just can't die so easily,"
I jeered again, "Hey that's not like a curse, you can't curse so sweetly,"
She blasted to end it, "Just wait & pray for death to come early!"
True she was,
My life goes on like her curses,
How true they were!
Nov 30, 2012
Nov 30, 2012 at 10:12 AM UTC
The Blue Falcon, cross the spire,
Waits in the gables of the white
House. Wounded in youth by crush
Of air, spent, a wisp perched
In the aerie dark with a view of mountains
Blue as ice under glacier. The wooden
Church from the other side clutches
The sky but the Falcon blue is lost
In a tuft of cloud that bobs but never
Kills. On this strike he is sheathed in stealth
The dull talons slip as they dry
In the tented air, the songbirds at play
In the high-ground underneath warble
And chide but the Falcon cannot hear
The Falcon near. His heart is soft
And muted in the breast, his ears
Are dumb to their tickling-songs.
Before the Falcons time, over
The tilling fields, dropped his world
In the spoils where splendour burst in green,
Rain meant the feathers ran and the woods,
A banquet of game, were bounty's breach
Fording blue currents he was
A fisher in the sun, but the sun
Sank in his drowning sky no store
From plateau to quarry the drought of days
Moved a castle felled in the dancing
Dust, his wings broke in the shuttered
Eye of the sun and etched his form
Into grey silhouette.
Now, the Blue Falcon, jeered
In the branches of the rooted air
Above the yellowed grass, under the pines
And a great blue mountain, stirs a Druid
Shape, vaporous, in the cauldron
Of the attic in the white house
A throw of stones crossways from
The sacred yews of the steeple spire.
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 1:06 PM UTC
The Blue Falcon, cross the spire,
Waits in the gables of the white
House. Wounded in youth by crush
Of air, spent, a wisp perched
In the aerie dark with a view of mountains
Blue as ice under glacier. The wooden
Church from the other side clutches
The sky but the Falcon blue is lost
In a tuft of cloud that bobs but never
Kills. On this strike he is sheathed in stealth
The dull talons slip as they dry
In the tented air, the songbirds at play
In the high-ground underneath warble
And chide but the Falcon cannot hear
The Falcon near. His heart is soft
And muted in the breast, his ears
Are dumb to their tickling-songs.
Before the Falcons time, over
The tilling fields, dropped his world
In the spoils where splendour burst in green,
Rain meant the feathers ran and the woods,
A banquet of game, were bounty's breach
Fording blue currents he was
A fisher in the sun, but the sun
Sank in his drowning sky no store
From plateau to quarry the drought of days
Moved a castle felled in the dancing
Dust, his wings broke in the shuttered
Eye of the sun and etched his form
Into grey silhouette.
Now, the Blue Falcon, jeered
In the branches of the rooted air
Above the yellowed grass, under the pines
And a great blue mountain, stirs a Druid
Shape, vaporous, in the cauldron
Of the attic in the white house
A throw of stones crossways from
The sacred yews of the steeple spire.
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 11:31 AM UTC
If I were firece and bald and short of breath
I'd be the headmaster of a secondary school.
A spotted face boy cries "fight, fight, fight!"
A scrap has begun outside the school.
Greasy adolescents hurry to the scene
To find a boy - bloodied - face down in the gravel.
Instead of showing sympathy,
they portray their callous nature.
The mob-mentality reigns supreme
As he is mocked and jeered by ***** fingers
Of adolescent monkeys.
Meanwhile, in the corridors of the school
A sea of gray sways, as agitated 6th years
Barge their way through piles and piles
Of nervous first years.
Sweaty fingers clutch chewed-on pens,
Taking down their futures from the board.
The vacant stare of the class fool is aimed toward
The blank, unpainted walls.
Were they ever painted?
Or did god create them bland?
The footworn halls of our totalitarian dictatorship
Are kept active only by the zealous actions of our 'noble' teachers.
Every morning they arrive at a job they resent,
And see teachers whose eyes mirror their despair,
Then they feign a smile and proceed
With the monotonous task of teaching
Brain-dead, narcissistic, trogleydtes.
Exciting.
"All in all we're all just bricks in the wall."
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 4:58 PM UTC
The Blue Falcon, cross the spire,
Waits in the gables of the white
House. Wounded in youth by crush
Of air, spent, a wisp perched
In the aerie dark with a view of mountains
Blue as ice under glacier. The wooden
Church from the other side clutches
The sky but the Falcon blue is lost
In a tuft of cloud that bobs but never
Kills. On this strike he is sheathed in stealth
The dull talons slip as they dry
In the tented air, the songbirds at play
In the high-ground underneath warble
And chide but the Falcon cannot hear
The Falcon near. His heart is soft
And muted in the breast, his ears
Are dumb to their tickling-songs.
Before the Falcons time, over
The tilling fields, dropped his world
In the spoils where splendour burst in green,
Rain meant the feathers ran and the woods,
A banquet of game, were bounty's breach
Fording blue currents he was
A fisher in the sun, but the sun
Sank in his drowning sky no store
From plateau to quarry the drought of days
Moved a castle felled in the dancing
Dust, his wings broke in the shuttered
Eye of the sun and etched his form
Into grey silhouette.
Now, the Blue Falcon, jeered
In the branches of the rooted air
Above the yellowed grass, under the pines
And a great blue mountain, stirs a Druid
Shape, vaporous, in the cauldron
Of the attic in the white house
A throw of stones crossways from
The sacred yews of the steeple spire.
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 12:53 PM UTC
The Blue Falcon, cross the spire,
Waits in the gables of the white
House. Wounded in youth by crush
Of air, spent, a wisp perched
In the aerie dark with a view of mountains
Blue as ice under glacier. The wooden
Church from the other side clutches
The sky but the Falcon blue is lost
In a tuft of cloud that bobs but never
Kills. On this strike he is sheathed in stealth
The dull talons slip as they dry
In the tented air, the songbirds at play
In the high-ground underneath warble
And chide but the Falcon cannot hear
The Falcon near. His heart is soft
And muted in the breast, his ears
Are dumb to their tickling-songs.
Before the Falcons time, over
The tilling fields, dropped his world
In the spoils where splendour burst in green,
Rain meant the feathers ran and the woods,
A banquet of game, were bounty's breach
Fording blue currents he was
A fisher in the sun, but the sun
Sank in his drowning sky no store
From plateau to quarry the drought of days
Moved a castle felled in the dancing
Dust, his wings broke in the shuttered
Eye of the sun and etched his form
Into grey silhouette.
Now, the Blue Falcon, jeered
In the branches of the rooted air
Above the yellowed grass, under the pines
And a great blue mountain, stirs a Druid
Shape, vaporous, in the cauldron
Of the attic in the white house
A throw of stones crossways from
The sacred yews of the steeple spire.
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 9:28 AM UTC
Outside the window
a woman is
beaten upon
spit upon
a black man is
unfairly judged
unfairly punished
a gay man is
hated at
jeered at
but none of it can touch me
if I just
draw the blinds
close the curtains
shut it out.
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 3:27 PM UTC
They said you can't do that with a cat—
The world's not ready for that!
And at first they jeered,
but then they cheered,
'cuz my cat is the fanciest hat.
Jul 5, 2023
Jul 5, 2023 at 7:56 PM UTC
Time brought the joyride to a halt,
Incompatibility being her prevailing issue,
She was my first love.
Even though I tried,
It all ripped apart,
Tearing in front of my eyes!
I escaped my shadow,
Of guilt and loneliness,
By inviting her to curse me.
She said, "You'll repent this,"
I replied, "Who's gonna care about it,"
She started, "You may take it lightly, but one day you're gonna fall off the hill -"
I interjected, "I'm just not gonna take it baby - chill!"
She smiled weakly, "I know that you would love again,"
I said, "No doubt about it, the world is cuter,"
She uttered her curse, "But you won't ever be satisfied!"
I invited few more curses, "Go on, come on - continue your curses!"
She went on, "You'd pay for my tears with your blood!"
I taunted, "Okay! More - just go on baby,"
She snarled, "You'll die feeling lonely in this whole wide world!
The way I find myself lonely under your possessiveness,
You too will feel unloved and unwanted."
I jeered, "Whoa! That scares me to death!"
She continued, "You just can't die so easily,"
I jeered, "Hey that's not like a curse, you can't curse so sweetly,"
She blasted to end it, "Just wait & pray for death to come early!"
True she was, the witch,
My life goes on like her curses,
How true they were!
Dec 31, 2023
Dec 31, 2023 at 7:28 AM UTC
The Blue Falcon, cross the spire,
Waits in the gables of the white
House. Wounded in youth by crush
Of air, spent, a wisp perched
In the aerie dark with a view of mountains
Blue as ice under glacier. The wooden
Church from the other side clutches
The sky but the Falcon blue is lost
In a tuft of cloud that bobs but never
Kills. On this strike he is sheathed in stealth
The dull talons slip as they dry
In the tented air, the songbirds at play
In the high-ground underneath warble
And chide but the Falcon cannot hear
The Falcon near. His heart is soft
And muted in the breast, his ears
Are dumb to their tickling-songs.
Before the Falcons time, over
The tilling fields, dropped his world
In the spoils where splendour burst in green,
Rain meant the feathers ran and the woods,
A banquet of game, were bounty's breach
Fording blue currents he was
A fisher in the sun, but the sun
Sank in his drowning sky no store
From plateau to quarry the drought of days
Moved a castle felled in the dancing
Dust, his wings broke in the shuttered
Eye of the sun and etched his form
Into grey silhouette.
Now, the Blue Falcon, jeered
In the branches of the rooted air
Above the yellowed grass, under the pines
And a great blue mountain, stirs a Druid
Shape, vaporous, in the cauldron
Of the attic in the white house
A throw of stones crossways from
The sacred yews of the steeple spire.
Oct 3, 2012
Oct 3, 2012 at 5:15 PM UTC
I am uninspired and lazy.
too jeered to fall in love.
too bored for ***
Blatantly tainted by privilege.
It isn’t as if I’ve become coated
in self served depression but
emotionally exhausted from experience.
I am modern romanticism
disguised by femme fatal.
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 1:47 PM UTC
Water only runs in the house of a holy man
But the prayers of a parched child are ignored
in favour of the money man's plan
Believe in a God all you want
he won't save you
Nihilism saves valor
Believe in nothing and nothing can hurt you
Those empty symbiotic phrases of the faithless
Listen to the chimes of the ice cream van
and despair at the crimes of a suit and tie man
Crunch of steel in a midnight collision
they collude in hopes of derision
Under desk lamp ambiance, in heated rooms
13th floor apartment blocks
where the doorman knocks
where the doorman knocks
Time and crime again, and lie and try again
Paid protests in the streets
Digest your intellect, removal of a safe space
So that they might turn the power switch
The blackout comes when revenue succumbs
In your ancient catacombs, where matted bandages hang
and drip crimson onto dusty floors
Smeared where they jeered at the death of a democracy
This is the corner of civilisation, torn down and replaced with a bank
Dec 21, 2016
Dec 21, 2016 at 9:17 AM UTC
"Good evening lad", jeered the bear,
"What brought you to my chair?",
"To unwind from my fatigues", Kronos replied,
"Care to sacrifice some of your time?"
"You may call me Kronos, wandering spare",
"Names Bowen, Bowen the bear",
"Stories of my travels would you hear?",
"Sure, whatever, I'm all ears."
Kronos and Bowen chattered through the night,
Tales of Kronos' flights and Bowen's fights,
Both shook, brass and paw,
Agreed to meet on the next dawn.
Nov 15, 2016
Nov 15, 2016 at 5:03 AM UTC
On a late foggy winter night,
Walking down the lane with a heavy mind
For it was December and celebrations were at hind,
Harrowing two years, all alone in the metro flew;
Sacrifices for those pennies, for a perfect Christmas back home.
All seemed so near while chatting with him, my plans
Never knowing it was soon to be my “black day”.
Soon to be punched, tossed and gnawed upon
To be jeered and taunted, thrown off like a rag doll,
All for a reason of being born:
For being in this world, born as a ‘girl’.
Oh! in that hell on Earth, with those savage beasts
All alone. Do ask them, didn’t I?
Did I not beg, fall at your feet, as you tore off my tee?
Didn’t I bawl as every atom of me revolted your entry?
Did I not plead for a water drop, as every ounce of my energy drained?
Slowly it hit me how I ceased being a human, more like a prop for them.
Desperately I fought that day, **** and on my own-
Losing battles for my pride and for justice one after another,
Lying down on the road, I did hope for Santa to come early that year
Wishing he would put another day in my ‘Christmas stocking’.
Just to show these cannibals — how it feels,
To be left of nowhere — Neither dead nor living for 13 long days.
I know I am a dying light, yet I wish someone would kindle it;
Awake the sleepy heads across the nation to fight-
For there are more “Nirbhayas” across the country and the world
Battling against many more shameless dastards
Wearing innocent angel like smile in the morning,
But as dusk sets in, the Lucifer returns to hunt.
Find them, **** them — no, it’s not for revenge,
It’s from the brave heart, a prayer-
For there shouldn’t be another me… not now and not ever.
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 2:50 AM UTC
Everyone sacrificed and worshiped
The multi-purpose portable CPU they purchased
They signed away their lives in cursive
For the cyber sermon's service
And the verses remained wordless
In their distracted eyes they were worthless
And they were shut out into the blackness
I asked, "Why would you let it die?"
I only received uninterested replies
And I saw the truths of the world be denied
By pixelated advertisements and the trendy enterprise
And the masters of war formulate their alibis
While our breaths were taken by the polluted skies
As they became the empyrean of blackness
In the darkness I could hear
A sound so loud and clear
It said, "See no evil here"
"Speak no evil my people dear"
"Hear no evil, the light is near"
But the people only jeered
Then the sound was covered in blackness
In my nightmares there it is
The dark, dismal bleakness
The poems and songs where they should have listened
The times and places that they didn't
The insightful message goes unnoticed
I go weeks sleepless to avoid the terror that it's all hopeless
As my mind fades into blackness
Good bye light, I know you well
And I guess only time can tell
When you will come back and break the spell
Of callus, uncaring sleeper cells
I'll be here with my thoughts until
You return and I can ring the bells
And expel this time of blackness
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 1:38 PM UTC
I don’t know when it started.
I don’t know when it ended.
It began when they started shooting.
It began when they started rioting.
We ran for cover under bullet fire and fear.
We listened to our screams as mobs sneered and jeered.
Terror captivated us when they slammed us to the ground.
Horror gripped us when they became bloodthirsty hounds.
Familiar slurs echoed through our hearts and minds.
They kept throwing punches, blurring our moral lines.
Helpless when they smiled their cruel smiles.
Helpless to preserve the peace for a while.
Beaten down by the ones who were supposed to protect us.
Beaten down by the ones we were supposed to protect.
Then they started shooting again.
Then they started shooting again.
We have to protect ourselves, to fight for what’s right.
We have to protect ourselves, to fight for what’s right.
Give into our righteous sins.
Embrace primitive instincts from within.
Turn ourselves into demons.
And pretend we weren’t heathens.
We can’t afford to listen.
Or watch fallen tears glisten.
Sing to our loved ones a song of pain.
Weigh our hearts for those we’ve slain.
Hope for the days when we can love each other again.
But for now, we need to pray for the freedoms we still defend.
Mar 15, 2017
Mar 15, 2017 at 4:17 PM UTC
Oh Lord, it seems to me, You are a God of pain
without which some people say there is no gain.
There is only so much that we creatures can bear
and it’s sometimes I wonder if You really do care.
Throughout the world You’re generally loved, hated or feared
and there are certain times when You are very strongly jeered.
Most people have a hard time making up their mind about You
because of the trials and tribulations that You put them through.
It seems strange and true to say that with Your almighty nature
You somewhat force people to bend to Your imposing stature.
To impress on them that You’re the Only One they should please
You have to prepare and teach them all how Your Will to appease.
Is it because of You’re being Immortal and All-knowing and we are Your heirs
that You subject us all to such rigorous training to overcome illusion’s snares?
One only has to reflect on the lives of Your so-called True Sons of the past
to realize the suffering and attainment their example on humanity has cast.
If I sound to be a little cynical towards You and seem to complain
how could You be so insensitive and not help me get rid of my pain?
Though ignorant as I am to One Who is great as You’re made out to be
please show a little more compassion to those who are helpless like me.
As life in this world demands so much of our time
is it forgetfulness of Thee that You consider a crime?!
This whole world is a cruel proving ground to one higher above
and yet it has been spoken or written that You are a God of love!
If I don’t seem to see the bigger picture now of what really goes on
then You’re held responsible for allowing this situation to drag on.
And even though You have given Teachers to show people the way
the illusion is still so strong that most get caught and lost in the fray.
Remaining a while here where they play out either minor or major roles
being only a matter of time before they too become aware of their souls.
When after much disappointment and suffering that You seem to mete out
they gradually realize by pain that this world is not what life is only about.
_________________________________________________________
Sep 5, 2012
Sep 5, 2012 at 12:14 AM UTC
The Blue Falcon, cross the spire,
Waits in the gables of the white
House. Wounded in youth by crush
Of air, spent, a wisp perched
In the aerie dark with a view of mountains
Blue as ice under glacier. The wooden
Church from the other side clutches
The sky but the Falcon blue is lost
In a tuft of cloud that bobs but never
Kills. On this strike he is sheathed in stealth
The dull talons slip as they dry
In the tented air, the songbirds at play
In the high-ground underneath warble
And chide but the Falcon cannot hear
The Falcon near. His heart is soft
And muted in the breast, his ears
Are dumb to their tickling-songs.
Before the Falcons time, over
The tilling fields, dropped his world
In the spoils where splendour burst in green,
Rain meant the feathers ran and the woods,
A banquet of game, were bounty's breach
Fording blue currents he was
A fisher in the sun, but the sun
Sank in his drowning sky no store
From plateau to quarry the drought of days
Moved a castle felled in the dancing
Dust, his wings broke in the shuttered
Eye of the sun and etched his form
Into grey silhouette.
Now, the Blue Falcon, jeered
In the branches of the rooted air
Above the yellowed grass, under the pines
And a great blue mountain, stirs a Druid
Shape, vaporous, in the cauldron
Of the attic in the white house
A throw of stones crossways from
The sacred yews of the steeple spire.
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 3:05 PM UTC
The candle flames, oh how they taunted.
Stubborn obstacles to her familiar darkness.
Mockingly swaying with the breeze,
Burning through her sanity; singeing her happiness.
As she toyed with the ashes with her slender fingers,
She stared at the flames till her wide eyes were blinded
Despite the despise she felt toward their existence,
Secretly, she liked their warmth.
In the inferno blazed painful memories,
There was a thin line between warmth and searing heat.
While her lips smiled, her eyes wept.
Never did he look into her eyes; never need he know.
She tried to put them out- a final weak attempt,
Oh how the flames taunted, how they jeered.
Watching them dance through the darkness of the night.
She knew she had to first extinguish herself.
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 1:03 PM UTC
"Find the loophole, step on through;
to a fantastic place; to you it's new!"
the Ringmaster bellowed into the crowd
his corners all quirked and perked.
"If nothing is aboslute, then isn't that an absolute?"
"Your clipped wings and speech have tethered you, birds of a feather!
whisper Can you not see? (They're all on their toes)
Someone else controls you and he and she and we and you can't do anything without them knowing exactly what you do!
Your revolutions? Why, they are only circles!"
"All you can do is stretch and push these rules and binds.
Shape them as you will with the will of your mind.
There is always an exception, there are no exceptions.
Tend to your flock, I'll tend to mine
In this we have our own confine."
They all jeered with comical cheer
for the show had been quite queer
Apr 17, 2011
Apr 17, 2011 at 9:27 PM UTC
They ‘pressed me on His Majesty’s frigate
The H.M.S. Carew,
It only took me a day to find
I was lodged with the Devils’s crew,
The Captain, ‘Black Jack’ Hawkins
Was a gentleman by name,
But on the ship he used the whip
To his undying shame.
I slipped and fell from the foremast arm
When I caught my foot in a stay,
And though a net kept me safe from harm
That wasn’t the Captain’s way,
He said I’d swim for my mortal sin
Told the crew to rope me through,
Then dragged me over the side and said,
‘We’re going to keel-haul you.’
The barnacles on the Carew’s hull
Nearly tore my back to shreds,
My lungs were so close to bursting that
I thought that I was dead.
They hauled me over the side again
The deck was red from my back,
At least I knew I was safe again
From a sudden shark attack.
They rubbed raw salt in my many wounds
Till I thought I was in hell,
While some of the crew had mocked and jeered
The Devil’s own cartel,
They wore tattoos of the skull and bones
It was strange for a Royal crew,
But they themselves had been Impressed
So they hated Hawkins too.
He used to stand on the quarter-deck
Quite close to the starboard rail,
Where he could see any slacking off
While we were under sail,
He’d tie the men to the nearest mast
And would whip, before the crew,
Till every man was inflamed and raw
And would plot what they would do.
It fell to me to devise a plan
That everyone agreed,
We had to get rid of this Devil man
It became our only creed,
So I took a rope when I climbed the mast
That was fixed above his head,
Then swung and booted him over the rail
So we thought that he was dead.
The crew then dashed to the starboard side
And they all looked down and cursed,
For Hawkins floated upon the tide,'
It couldn’t be much worse,
He shouted up, ‘This is mutiny!
I’ll flay that man to the bone.’
But all he got were the jeers of the crew
As the Captain sank like a stone.
David Lewis Paget
Dec 23, 2016
Dec 23, 2016 at 6:36 AM UTC