Here follows a very short excerpt of what is turning into a very long poem about a pirate. There’s a small bit that comes before the part I’m about to share, and a lot more after.
This is a first draft with a lot to work on, but I’m having so much fun with it I couldn’t help but share. It’s (loosely) rhyming couplets all the way down, four beats per line, with a pickup at the start of each (I know absolutely nothing about poetry, so I’m using musical terms to describe the rhythm).
—
<unnamed Pirate tale>
by Michelle Joelle
Captain Hengwert was a pirate of a villainous sort
Bent on swashbuckling mayhem that no one could thwart.
He’d gather a crew that was loyal and strong,
Who’d stay true to their Captain as they sailed along.
They’d heed every order and they’d do so with pleasure,
For Hengwert was famous for sharing his treasure.
More pleased by the winning than the things that he won
He’d divide up the spoils when victory was done.
Nonetheless he had riches and jewels by the score
And there was nothing he wanted he could not afford
For from every loot harvest he’d take just one thing,
Amassing great wealth from this slow collecting.
He had pendants of silver and rings made of gold,
As many as his neck and his fingers could hold.
He had chain-mail that jingled and a strong leather vest
And a pair of stout wrist guards that matched all the rest.
Each piece of the set was bordered with weaving
And etched with depictions of sailing and thieving.
On the front there was Black Bart being taken by force
Then turning the tables in a matter of course.
To his left was l’Olonnais playing out his grim part,
Cutting into his victim and eating the heart.
And plundering ships along Hengwert’s broad back
Were the vicious Anne Bonny and Calico Jack.
‘Round his waist hung a belt with rivets of stone
And its buckle was fashioned out of old sun bleached bones.
From this belt hung his purse and several small daggers
That gave off a menacing gleam when he swaggered.
But his weapon of choice was an age-old broad sword,
Which served him steadfastly, both on and off shore.
It’s grip had long molded to the shape of his hand,
But the gilded guard glimmered, the hilt still was grand.
Beyond this his dressing was simple and loose:
A plain white linen tunic, plain trousers, brown boots.
He was not one for ruffles, or bows, or a hat,
And he kept his beard tidy and his long hair pulled back.
The skin on his face was tanned and well weathered,
All wrinkled and roughened like crackled old leather.
His eyes, black and beady, would glimmer and twinkle
And when he laughed (as he did often) his whole face would crinkle.
Hengwert had no possessions, other than these
So he could move ship to ship, commandeering with ease.
His was a life of a nomadic sort;
His home was where he was, no matter the port,
For his name was so well known throughout every land
That his well never ran dry of admiring fans.
In exchange for a chance to be part of his crew,
They would offer him bedding, strong ale, and hot stew.
—
If there’s interest, I’ll post more. There’s a lot of story left to cover!
