"privateers" poems
A tavern built on misdeeds and insurrection,
House of rascals, whisky and imperfection
A hideaway for rebels and racketeers,
Where drinks are served to outlaws and mutineers,
Where the pianist plays for pirates and privateers,
Where the wicked and the wayward can be served,
And are respected however undeserved.
It’s a rag-tag bunch of outlaws and anarchists,
A cavalcade of rough revolutionists,
So come on in my dear insurrectionist,
Welcome to our lawless little band,
Welcome to the Tavern of the ******
Come and join our banished battalion,
Join our cause, oh revered rapscallion,
So calling out to nature’s abominations,
We’ve got bourbon, bombshells and indignation,
Come and wait for imminent and sure damnation,
No matter what your deviance may be,
Come and join the drunken reverie.
It’s a monument to lost souls and deviants,
A shrine to every small disobedience,
A riotous, cathartic experience,
Where radicals are safe from reprimand,
Welcome to the Tavern of the ******
Welcome back, my worshipped renegade,
To the place where freedom’s sweet as lemonade,
Where skanks and outlaws, sing so intoxicated,
The anthem of the unkempt and agitated,
The mantra of the evil and of the hated,
Laughing as they sing their merry tune,
Unified by their impending doom.
It’s a testament to chaos and anarchy,
A haven for the worst of humanity,
A house of lawlessness and profanity,
Welcome to our lawless little band,
Welcome to the Tavern of the ******
Aug 19, 2020
Aug 19, 2020 at 6:59 PM UTC
The Spanish and the English had been joined in matrimony with a seal of approval and instructions to Prince Philip he was not to try and rule.
In time a Heir would be born to his wife Queen Mary and then order would be restored, Queen Mary who was admired and adored died childless in 1558 leaving her sister as the Heir.
The relationship was a tentative one, holding on by a string, the English plundered Spanish boats and took all of their nice things.
They set their bounty before Her Majesty The Queen and duly she admired and asked for more to be brought to her, she was a greedy squire.
It didn't take long before King Philip of Spain did declare that we would fight the English and stop the robbing Privateers.
Then one day on Plymouth ***
Playing bowls one night, one of these Royal Privateers
Spied a fleet of Spanish ships and ran with all his might
To inform Her Majesty we were under attack
Her Majesty's orders given, we must of course fight back
The Spanish Fleet sailed past Plymouth and dropped anchor off Calais
Storms abrewed and vessels were lost
The Aramada ships scuttled away, returning back from where they had came
Francis Drake was a hero
Her Majesty The Queen was delighted and called him to the Palace where he got down on one knee and was duly knighted.
Jan 21, 2018
Jan 21, 2018 at 5:27 PM UTC
I don’t see enough written about the bluest seas
The azure splendour calling to adventure
The myriad of islands and islets
Floating emeralds in a sapphire expanse
Dreadlocked smiles and gleaming eyes.
A heat easily quenched by the crystal seas
Privateers delight is easier to understand
You could drown here. You could die here.
Casually suffer an infinite torture and blissfully grin
Into the endless summer.
Feb 9, 2018
Feb 9, 2018 at 11:39 AM UTC
My Uncle John was a woebegone
In the all out way of things,
Wherever he went, no sun had shone
And we all were ding-a-lings.
He had no time for the hoi poloi
Or women who rant and tweet,
He’d pick on their saddest attributes
When he said they had ugly feet.
But those that he hated most were men
With money, and stick-out ears,
He said they could overhear him when
He whispered to privateers.
When I was a boy, I looked for joy
But he only gave me grief,
He’d say a bloke with a silly joke
Was simply a petty thief.
He’d never praise original thought
He’d say that it sounded dumb,
His wife Elaine said he’d still complain
As long as he sat on his ***
She once cooked him a glorious meal
He muttered, and spat it out,
So Aunt Elaine said, ‘it’s such a shame,
I thought it might give him gout.’
I have to tell it was just as well,
He came to a terrible end,
He fell right back with a heart attack
When somebody called him ‘friend.’
We planted a bed of chrysanthemums
On his plot in the cemetery,
It gives him something to ***** about
When the cats go there to ***
David Lewis Paget
Nov 24, 2017
Nov 24, 2017 at 4:11 AM UTC