Authentic Nautical Accessories, and Custom Furnishings
One could refer to parts of my life as hapless excursions into absurdity
Fights always make me nervous, scare me and make me almost ill. I was taught and trained to avoid them, and if not able to avoid them, end them.
Twilight is not just a simple fading of the light. If you're a sailor, there is civil twilight and nautical twilight. Then some sit, gin and tonic in hand, waiting to see the green flash as the rapid tropical sunset fades into the short tropical twilight
Griping about things is part of being a sailor. I discovered this from my father, a Merchant Marine engineer, and had it confirmed while in the Navy. Griping as an art form was re-affirmed to me while working in the marine trades as a carver and catch as can boatyard worker.
"luck is what you stumble upon in life. Providence is what God plans for you, and planning is how you thread your way between the two without getting crushed."
I do not sport a tattoo, and by force of habit will never put an arm or chest under the needle.
If you read the "about my stories" page on my blog, you'd see that I love and appreciate sea stories. These generally have the approach of TINS - this is no shit. In other words, " I heard this from my buddy, who served aboard the USS Pig Tail when it happened." Sea stories do not have the classic "they lived happily ever ending." More likely, they end with everyone heading off to the Blue Anchor for an evening of carousing. Well, to each his own. But each genre has a perverse "you just know this didn't happen" take on things. For example, visiting the Unseely Court for fairy tales and mermaids for sea stories. So there is a sort of connection.
Sailors can fill idle hours with stories about the sea's mysteries. And popular literature is full of tales about the Kraken, mermaids, the sirens, and other ancient inhabitants of the deep. It's easier for the land-based to accept fantastic myths than cope with a deck of foaming green sea threatening to wash you away despite lifelines.
It was the barest glimmer of gold. Barely a speck. I took the empty cup and dug into the coarse sand, trying to recapture that gleam.
If you've read my work for a while, you know that I'm a prose person. I'll read poetry, but other than a lousy haiku, I don't write it. A while ago, I ran into the poem I am presenting below.
You must be logged in to post a comment.