mizzen

sifting through the creaks of wet wood
the creases of my face
in my safe hands.
an aspirin in the face of sundries
plundered and blood-sullied
to the warehouses of exotic lands.

the chorus of the foams fill my lungs:
‘and is this Henry Leech?’, they say
this spray-ridden mutiny
dutifully wrapped in a black mizzen mast’s
sail,
the last of the Trail’s four captains
casketed and seeped in kelp and gilt,
the keep of the seas
with shale and silt
to credit our valued dog.

Frank and Fish

Old Frank the fisherman was always brimming over with his tales of aquatic heroism. There was the time he wrestled an octopus that had hold of some damsel or another. Then there was the time he clobbered a hammer-head shark. Usually I’d just nod and smile, but there was one evening I felt a touch mischievous.

“Frank,” I said, “What I want to know is, have you ever been involved in a battle of any sort with a Great White?”

Frank looked startled, “Oh, Heavens!” he said, fingers twitching nervously at his pint, “Sure, I’d have more sense than that!”

“I see,” said I, “Well, I suppose it’s a different mettle of fish.”

Old Frank was crestfallen.

Jack Countenances the Water

For your collective titilation, and by popular demand, the following is from the chapter entitled "Onions", from the work in progress that is "Aboard the Ship the Sunday Morning":

Jack may have countenanced in his consciousness the onions and their quantity, indeed, he may even have been amused by them. The dirty water, however, for it was nothing if not dirty, leapt to his mind’s forefront, shoving aside any notion of onions, or anything else, vegetable or otherwise or indeed the swabbing of decks, for that matter, following Fat Pete’s addition, and in spite of Clancy’s reiteration. Gladly such states of single-mindedness didn’t tend to linger too long in Jack’s well-defined skull, but, perhaps even more gladly, major realisations reached during these states, as we shall call them, were moderately frequently remembered. Little Jack the scullion reached the following realisation: “The water acquired in Penitence at Pig Gantry’s insistence, and I couldn’t be more certain that coincidence isn’t so much as a shadow of a factor in this matter, is so dirty as to be, at very best, infected, but quite possibly poisoned in addition” Jack, wide-eyed to allow as much light as could be harnessed in the gloom of the galley to assist in thought processes pertaining to survival, reached the following conclusion: “By all possible means, I shall avoid drinking the water in question.”

This would prove to be more complicated than Jack might have hoped it would, but until he felt particularly thirsty he continued in his conversation with the other galley-folk without mentioning the seemingly fetid water.

Later Reference the Bones of a Cat.

Simón was sharply interrupted, he had long since been an admirer of the sea and he often sat in a similar spot to the one he was in now to confirm that. As a cat he didn’t feel obliged to do anything, he just marvelled at the ripples and eulogized that tide until he was sure the sea would’ve seen him, whatever the weather. Now, for example, was tempestuous, to say the least: the rain was driving and the wind riproared through his whiskers. Dusk might’ve been two shades away but it was hard to tell, as the darkness hadn’t left all day. After staring at the sea for so much Simón really had become familiar with it, he could never remember each lilt or twist and expect it to be there next time, (that was part of his love of the thing) but he would recognize an oddness.
And that’s how he was interrupted and exactly what he had done. Simón had spotted a glint, a small glint just glowing through the sea and the sea had never had one of those before. He watched a little longer, his eyes bleating in the rain. ‘What could possibly make a glint just glowing through the sea?’: a bonfire for the barnacles, the bright lights of a pirates plight or a vigil, perhaps. The wind convinced Simón not to investigate just now even though he could think of little else.
“Sleep and dream”, it moaned, “sleep and dream.”
The next day the storm hadn’t gone home and Simón hurried his breakfast to see if he could still find the glint. With a squint passed the rock that looked only a little like Ecuador he spied it, still gleaming ‘gainst the unusually darkened sky. The wind pushed him back and the sea rioted. No conditions for investigating. Simón had to quell his interest. For the next two days he observed the glint and the waters ran amok.
[Welling turned to necessity and a splash of desperation.] Simón found the third day had gotten the better of him so he edged down towards the shore, eyes focussed on the glint. The sea was still raging. He stood feet facing the tides. He had to know what was making that glint. What was needed was a closer look. Walking right to the border of the water he peered towards it - a gust blustered his coat – but he still couldn’t find the answer. Rolling up his trousers he waded a little way in to the sea, it’s cold love was just as unwelcoming. Closer. The water went passed his knees and skirted his middle yet telling what the glint was was still impossible. Chest. Neck. No answer. The waves slashed his face and fired his temper; he didn’t know how to turn back anymore, not until he had the answer. He lifted his feet from the kelp of the beds and swam a little towards the glint. Closer. Further. And far less safe, a step too far for spangle’s sake. The currents overthrew him, outnumbered but the glint was just a dozen strokes away he mayswell take the risk. Still no clearer image, he was nearly at its source. Just below the water it should’ve closed a hundred hearts. It wasn’t the gold or glory, he just had to know its cause.
Now peering for that answer the murk beneath his eager paddling paws, he paused. The glint grew brighter, larger, consuming the once murky sea beneath Simón. As he beheld what he’d been waiting for.
Now he knew what was making that glint.
It was the eye of a whale.
“Finally I know.” he gasped as he broke inside the belly of the answer.