I’ve been in dodgy joints throughout
my varied life – strife uppermost at
times – and now my joints are dodgy
too. Is that a coming together by my
various parts in sympathy – and know
me better than I know myself. Mirroring
in memory the schoolboy’s happenstance
who sailed when tides were right to Curacao
and sun drenched destinations where dusky
damsels dwelt giving smiles of welcome and
sometimes a great deal more than that.
Nowadays, I roll again my gait at least in
thought, as if I journeyed still upon the decks
of vessels now consigned to history in the long
Lloyd lists of shipping broken up and thus are
now the tales of ancient mariners to some. Yet
still I think of foreign ports where peace and calm
had reigned after raging heavy seas. But often
too I think of crossing past the Mersey Bar where
bell buoys warned of wrecks that lay upon the
post war ocean bed amid the dead men’s souls.
It was for seamen such as these I think of all the
bonging sounds that wrapt our varied thoughts.
It is for the lawyer types to register their salvage
claims and mull them in the maritime courts.