SID OATES - POEMS

A 74 year old granddad with a love for the simple life and the written word. Father of two kids and adoring husband to Jennifer.

​THE LETTER 

​Mary McDonald stands in her garden and stares at the stars in the sky’s
She thinks of her husband who’s serving in Flanders as teardrops well up in her eyes
She’s holding a rose that has started to whither remembering their wedding day
It’s only four weeks that they bequeathed their vows, now he’s fighting a war far away
 
Billy McDonald lays in the trenches and thinks of his beautiful bride
Then kisses her letter he reads every hour, imagining her there by his side
He can still smell her perfume and feel her embraces when he held her just one month ago
Recalling his promise that he’d always love her and forever be her lifelong beau
 
A shout from the Captain resounds through the trenches; the order is passed down the line
Heartbeats start racing as emotions unravel as fears of the moment untwine
This fresh faced young soldier that worked as a mill hand now waits with his pals by his side
In less than one hour he’d return from perdition where most of his buddies had died
 
The dark winter night air gives Mary a chill as she stands all alone in the cold
She has no way of knowing that Billy lies weeping as his thoughts of the battle unfold
He takes out the letter he’s writing to Mary and kisses the words that he’d penned
It was found in his pocket, still words left unwritten. A letter he never would send

​There’s an unopened letter that stands on the sideboard with a solitary withering rose
The words it contains have never been read; its contents were never disclosed
Now Mary wears black as she stands in her garden and stares at the heavens above
And thinks of her Billy now sleeping forever, her one and her only true love
 
 
Mary McDonald stares in the mirror at a face that is ashen and gray
Her anguish reflecting the one she has lost in a land that seems so far away
She was just seventeen when she stood at the altar and married the love of her life
And now she’s his widow, no longer his bride, no longer his lover, and wife.
  
Billy McDonald was only eighteen when he left everything he held dear
He gave his own life that others might live in a world without trouble and fear
Mary remarried and had her own children, a boy and a girl she named Ruth
She called her son Billy, well that’s what I’ve heard and I’m sure they were telling the truth
 
 
 
 
 
THE LETTER MARY NEVER READ
 
It is my pitiful duty to inform you that Corporal William McDonald was killed in action on 24th December 1917 in France. He who this scroll commemorates was numbered among those who at the call of King and Country, left all that was dear to them, endured hardness, faced danger and finally passed out of the sight of men by the path of duty and self-sacrifice, giving up their own lives, that others might live in freedom. Let those who come after, see to it that his name be not forgotten No 190545 Lance Corporal William McDonald 10th Battalion Kings Own Yorkshire Light Infantry killed in action, France, Flanders 24th December 1917. 
 
 

​THOUGHTS OF HOME 

Come talk with me and walk with me through natures golden veil
Let’s stroll beside the silver stream and drink cold nature’s ale
We’ll smell the fallen autumn leaves beside the wooded glade
Forgetting ranks with bayonets drawn in battle-lines arrayed
 
Come listen to the meadow lark, rejoice its clarion call
I’ll disregard the cannon fire or watch while comrades fall
We’ll walk beneath a star lit sky, together hand in hand
Dismissive of machine gun fire that awaits in No Man’s Land
 
No more the deathly silence while waiting to advance
Only thoughts of joyous times when you taught me how to dance
I feel my arms around your waist as I waltzed you round the room
Now smells of cordite fill the air, replacing your perfume
 
Anguished thoughts flow back and forth, can nought erase my sorrow
To give this day without regret, so you may live tomorrow
Will heaven’s light shine down on me and spare me from my foe
Or will I walk in deaths dark veil, my halcyon days forgo
 
Far across the village green I hear the church bells toll
Rejoicing autumns bounteous fruits, replenished is my soul
Alas for me no glowing coals from hearth with comfy chair
Supplanted now with dreadfulness of horror and despair
 
The air is filled with putrid gas, no smell of summer here
Though memories of my English rose, I visualise so clear
Tonight, I sleep in netherworld amongst my comrades’ bones
 Laid in the arms of Morpheus, I dream with ‘thoughts of home’
 
 

Foreword
​

​It has always been the case that is history
is written by the victors. So, when Edward
Teach, AKA Blackbeard was killed, it became
a great opportunity for the history writers
To describe him as a despicable cutthroat
pirate, responsible for the deaths of hundreds
of poor seafarers that had the misfortune to
cross his path, thus perpetuating a modern myth.
 
In reality, they are no confirmable records
of Blackbeard killing any of his unfortunate
victims, more likely, Blackbeard was the ultimate
propagandist, using his self-styled frightening
appearance and blood lust reputation as an
inducement for his victims to surrender without
a shot being fired.
 
History has recorded that Blackbeard did actually
 meet an untimely death, being decapitated by a
cutlass blow from the rear during a battle to take
him captive, after which jumping into the sea, for
onlookers to look on in amazement as his headless
body swam round his ship before disappearing
beneath the waves.
 
Using poetic licence, my story of Blackbeard’s demise is somewhat
different, nevertheless, I hope you agree that it is equally as plausible
as all the other accounts.
 

              KILL OR CAPTURE EDWARD TEACH
                       
                                “Introduction”
 
                         An Undreamt Tale of Survival
​

​Heavy hearts with heads bowed low, we stared at the cold open grave
Uttered there those last solemn words “pray Lord his soul now to save”
In my mind I recall Captain Bellew, a man respected by all of his peers
Crystal clear thoughts appear in my mind, my memory not dulled by the years
 
The time had come to bid a farewell, but recall the great man I once knew 
Remembering him that moulded my life. In my crisis he guided me through
For as much as I hate this cold awful place, I am gratefully pleased to be here
To pay my final tribute, to the man I held so cherished and dear
 
               Listen to me then when I was young, a bookish and introspective young race
Bursting from his childhood years, still innocent and gentle in his face
Captain Bellew was my mentor, I worshipped him as idols adored
As all that served before him, praised his prowess with one single accord 
 
Every man must embark on a journey, that’s his own with a story to tell
An undreamt tale of survival, from the hot burning embers of hell
My honour won’t be brought into question, every word of this story the truth
To recall unforgettable horrors, from the past that has haunted my youth
 
So, it was on that day in November, that with conscience of mind testified
That the Lord upon high was my witness, that my soul if untrue cast aside
Death is a constant a man must accept and live such a life to dispel
To step from the shadows of doubters, all cynics and naysayers must quell
 
 
 

​“My Story”

​                                Secure like Castle walls

  Force ten winds steadfastly blow, breakers pound the shore  
Sea birds’ screams are muffled by the fearful oceans roar
Window shutters bolted tight to face the mighty blast
while fishing boats seek haven, while nature’s fury passed
 
No warm lights flickered from the town, no comfort there to hold
Nothing but the howling wind and the driving rain so cold
Now winter held us in its grasp without pity or contrition
So bitter was the winter storm, so sad our disposition
 
The cobbled streets abandoned, there was not a soul in sight
Just three weary travellers, who sought refuge for the night
Howling wind and squalling rain blew with cyclone force
Unremitting was its anger without sucker or remorse
 
Now much in need of comfort from Mother Nature’s wrath
So desperate their necessity, from the creator’s aftermath
So welcome was the tavern light, like a beacon lit their way
 Beseeching hospitality from the sadness of the day
 
Congenial was the Unicorn, secure like castle walls
Now greets three weary travellers, with welcome arms as night-time falls
Good food and much libation now awaits at their behest
With comfort of a homely bed, when time has come to rest
​

This cordial Inn our refuge makes
​

                         This cordial Inn our refuge makes now hindered by the storm
Rejoicing in good comfort while the fire glow keeps us warm
let us gladden of good fellowship as fraternity allows
providing me the favour your emotions to arouse
 
 
 
So, gather round and lend an ear, I have a yarn to tell
I know you’re tired and wearisome, but I’m fatigued as well
You need to hear my story as I reveal to you the truth
As I tell you of the horror, I encountered in my youth
 
As an individual, I claim the privilege of good friends
To describe to you the following tale to its horrendous end
In rescuing from oblivion, the primitive record of my citation
In hope I take no liberty with each word of my narration
 
                               So let me fill your flagons and drink with me some ale
While we sit beside the open hearth, as I recount my epic tale
As the Lord is my true witness, veracity is my desire
Make comfort of our dwelling, while we sit beside by the fire
 
We've had a tiresome interlude, and lamentable, it’s true;
By God’s good grace from wanting, the Lord has brought us through.
But by my disobedience, in sorrow I now confess,
to tell of my redemption from the dark cold wilderness
 
                                  Just three weary travellers
 
Before me sat my closest friends, still shivering from the cold
As I looked into their faces, from each a story told
Pipe smoke drifted on the air, like gossamer angels’ wings
Like seraphim and cherubim and all gods wonderous things
 
Captain Israel Jacob Parker made comfort in his chair
A gangling man with hazel eyes and short cropped greying hair
A man that I respected, a man to be admired
 Still able in a bar room brawl, although long since retired
 
                        He had made his home in Redruth, though Scotland was his birth
A champion of liberty, a true proud son of Perth
The sea had been his mistress and had stolen his heart away
He had listened to her siren call and let her have her say
 
But now he sits before me, in wearisome repose
In keeping with his station, attired in rakish clothes
Beside him sat John Penhallow QC, a gentleman as it implies
Longstanding in our friendship, a man who liked to fraternise
 
A red-faced jolly fellow, that never cleaned his boots
A servant of the county and Cornish to his roots
A cultured man of Balliol, that studied at the bar
Good judgement his best accolade, my dearest friend by far
 
With nervous disquiet in my voice, I spoke with hesitation
Bemoaning in my language, I gave my lamentation
A native child of Bristol, now unclouded thoughts regressed
Now recounts my epic story in all truth I now attest
  
                                                         I have a tale to tell
 
I said farewell to kith and kin, the ones I held so dear
To join the Royal Navy while still wet behind the ear
The start of my adventure I now state in all its truth
As I left behind my childhood and the turbulence of youth
  
                                      I was christened Matthew Makepeace in 1694
By the age of only seventeen, I had joined this Man o’ War
To leave the Port of Bristol to serve my Good Queen Anne
To sail the Caribbean seas in search of just one man
 
                     ‘Twas the 23rd day of April, when we received our Royal Decree
The church bells rang for “Good St George” as I stood there on the quay
Our majestic ship laid ready, its shorelines trimmed and stored
Waiting for the tide to turn, four hundred men aboard
 
The gundeck of the frigate had the stench of lowborn life
A hugger-mugger of disorder, now joined in human strife
The vulgar tongue of criminals was uncommon to my ears
A rebellious lot of ruffians, who would soon become my peers
 
Bristol women came aboard to work without discretion
Between the guns and hammocks vending their profession
Experience of pleasure on an admiral’s man-o-war
Brought distain from the very sight of things not seen before
 
 
 
 
Nine commissioned officers, young cabin boys and runners
Carpenters and blacksmiths, midshipmen and gunners
Criminals running from the law, press men forced to join the crew
And our Master and Commander was Sir Barkley Jacob Bellew
​

​The Contract

Kill or capture Edward Teach and bring him back in chains
And rid the Caribbean of his murderous campaigns
A man whose name brings terror that’s infamous and feared
The Captain of Queen Anne’s Revenge, the notorious “Blackbeard”
 
                                       Perversity personified, perceived by all mankind
Who’s name and reputation justifiably maligned
Abandoned by morality a heart consumed with hate
Now duty bound by Royal decree, his reign to mitigate
 
                          And so, it was, that fateful day we embarked upon our quest
Fifteen hundred leagues or more through Atlantic seas south west
Through southern gales and stormy seas, we sailed at upmost haste
Unknowing what our fates behold, what perils would be faced
 
                          I was a fresh-faced lad from Avon that seldom shaved his lip
Commissioned as an officer aboard a fighting ship
Build at Woolwich Dockyard with cannons by the score
My home the “Interceptor”, a naval man o’war
 
Between the thousand islands, Blackbeard roamed at will
Exacting toll on everything to plunder and to kill
Innumerable ships of every rig abandoned beyond reach
Cursed are the bloodstained hands of murderous Edward Teach
 
                                 So, listen close as I forswear the truth of my narration
For all it’s worth I will define each word of explanation
Though my faith in God did falter and put me to the test
To break the fifth commandment was now at my behest
 
 
 
 
The hempen jig awaits the man whose scourge we must curtail
Through howling storms of doubt and fear my efforts must prevail
The merchant men of Bristol had put a price upon his head
Not troubled by morality if Edward Teach were dead
​

​The Storm

The devils luck beseeched us from protected harm and danger
The sanctuary of Bristol Port was now a long-forgotten stranger
Adversity and rigour now replaced my flawed romance
That fair winds and good favour would advance the hangman’s dance
 
Not five days out of Bristol the heaving ocean changed its form
The sound of distant thunder did abide the coming storm
The rolling of the ocean gave way to angry billowing seas
The “Interceptor “now waits for him that holds the fearful keys
 
Blackened clouds hung in gloomy folds to hide the celestial sphere
As sudden gleams of lightening flashed throughout the atmosphere
The pleading voice of innocence implore the Lords protection
Resound from hardy crewmen now feeling shear abjection
​

The mighty storm blew hurricane force as blackened night time fell
As the devil’s work engulfed the ship to drag us all the hell
Our faith in God and patron Saints as prudence did suggest
Judiciousness and seamanship would prove the final test
 
                            Our mighty topsail double reefed, we furled all other sales
The master heaved a starboard tack to face into the gale
For three whole days he manned the helm, never faltering to sleep
Through skill and shear endeavour, to protect us from the deep
 
All lives hung in the balance, but no quarter would be taken
All thoughts of death abandoned, or failure forsaken
No resting till the battle won, until the turmoil passed
My cold eyes starred in spectral glare, with fatigued eyes aghast
 
Unforgiving turbulent sea morphed to mountainous waves
Angry wrath and tempest now beckoned watery graves
The air was thick with briny mist, eternity doth scorn
As if this was the moment in which I was truly born
 
I witnessed men swept overboard, though silent were their cries
Unheard above the howling wind that blew from leaden skies
But in these hours of darkness, I felt no sense of fear
Protected in the comfort that the hand of God was near
 
Through day and night, the cyclone blew, let loose its sweeping blast
Trembling strong the mighty ship still straining at the mast
On came the wind both day and night through fearful rushing foam
Beseeching him that formed the waves with thoughts of those back home
 
                             Grown men wept with open hearts to see St Elmo ’s fire
Expelling lungs with piteous cries and heaving breath respire 
Their patron saint shone like a star with incandescent light
Delivering atonement and rescue from their perilous plight
 
A dreadful toll had now been paid, ‘twas time to count the cost
So many men of Bristol born, two score plus eight were lost
Their names now in memoriam, committed to the deep
Now resting in eternal peace one thousand fathoms deep
 
“Break out the grog” the Captain cried, “lets drink the barrel dry”
“Good cheer to Captain Bellew” expeditious was our reply
Redemption from the depths of pain, where no light had existed
Now hearts rejoice with merriment, their spirits reenlisted
 
Within the hour the mood had changed, normality now restored
True faith in the Commander elicit their reward
A hearty hornpipe fills the decks while sailors dance a jig
As carpenters and sheet men conduct to fix the rig
 
“The lads of Chowbent were there 
And had brought their dogs to the bear
But they had no time to play 
They danced away the day 
 
For thither then they had brought Knex
to play Chowbent hornpipe, that Nick’s
Tommy’s and Geffrey’s shoon 
Were worn quite through to the tune”
 
 

​ “The lads of Latham did dance
Their Lord strange hornpipe, which once
Was held to have been the best
But now they to hold to be sober
And therefore, will needs give it over
They call on their piper then jovially
Play us brave Roger O’Coverley”
 

My Damascene Conversion
​

​A sudden voice from heaven, had flashed into my mind
To question my conviction to the task I’d been assigned
I felt that God had touched me with his power of resurrection
To follow in his footsteps and remove me from abjection
 
And in that single moment, I came into the light
Illumination lit my life, replacing what was night
My Damascene conversion was shameless, full and undiluted
To question my morality of the task I had been recruited
 
With an air of much solemnity, I breathed my benediction
Then gave my invocation, to state my own conviction
The Lord had blessed my mortal soul and saved me from damnation
To walk the path of righteousness and dwell in God’s creation
 
Would I ever see my home again or lose my virgin state
Or see once more my kith and kin or die here in testate
I pledged a life of piety all doubts in God forsaken
And cursed the Bristol merchant men and the accord that I had taken
 
Not so, for murderous Edward Teach, a disciple of the dark
An image of ungodliness that bares the devils mark
Perdition waits his blackened soul, consumed in Hades flames
To dwell in hell for evermore, in darkness bound in chains
 

The tortures of self-doubting
​

​My inner voice of conscience now battled with my mind
To act as judge and jury for the task I’d been assigned
Could I be the executioner and strike the fatal blow
Or put my sword back in its place, my bounty to forgo
 
                                Could I trust my own emotions, was my enemy inside
Does the tortures of self-doubting in my mind doth still abide
Would I find my own Jerusalem when I stand on Calgary Hill
Will I falter come the moment for my duty to fulfil
 
 
To justify a homicide weighed heavy on my mind
Though greater harm to innocents, my heart could not abide
My thoughts could not exonerate or dissuade my circumstance
My duty clear, the devils seed should perform the hempen dance
 
                            The soft blue vaults of heaven appeared in all its splendour
A new course set to hunt our foe with all we could engender
Full canvas rigged, all hands-on deck, our compass set due west
All notions of my shortcomings now were finally dispossessed
 
                    No more the thoughts of pending doom, no more the hanging sword
The time was nigh to face our foe and claim our just reward
T’was time to face my enemy and cleanse his blood-soaked hands
My duty now I will perform with all that it demands
 

Elysian Fields 

Bermuda’s seas belong to him and all that sails its waters
Death awaits each mariner for Blackbeard gives no quarter
Shipwrecked souls discarded; islands strewn with bleach white bones
Twisted corpse in watery graves, now sleep with Davy Jones
 
Abandoned and forgotten, left at mercy to the waves
All levels of humanity from noble men to slaves
To die their only mercy, for death to toll the final bell
To passage to Elysian Fields from the belly of their hell
 
Now untouched by sorrow of their unforgiving coil
Eternal sleep with Chronos waits, free from tortuous toil
In shaded groves they now reside and lie on mossy beds
Aeonian everlasting sleep, now lay their weary heads
 
The creeks and shoals of Chesapeake were Blackbeard’s hunting ground
Where untimely graves for many a poor soul now piteously abound
Treacherous waters wait our mighty ship to jeopardise our fate
To compromise our solemn oath, his black heart to ablate
 
                          The day was nigh to test our faith and steal from all the gods
To strike against our nemesis and conquer all the odds
But was Blackbeard just a mortal soul or a ghostly apparition
Spawn from the loins of Satan, his flesh and blood cognation
​

This valiant Band of Brothers
​

​From the grog shops and prison cells the crew had been amassed
Excludes from society, worthless rejects and outcasts
But on that day of reckoning they were united one and all
And fought like men of honour as they watched their brothers fall
 
                             The worst of all humanity found zeal and ardour to inspire
Raising voices of hostility strove headlong into hells fire
With bitter cold indifference they fought without regard
To kill the Prince of Cutthroats, their ultimate reward
 
                       Their unique sense of brotherhood and acceptance of their station
These foul-mouthed cursing rabble fuelled by plentiful libation
Made the supreme sacrifice, their lives for the sake others
Strove headlong into the dark abyss, this valiant band of brothers
                              

​​                               Rum soaked swarthy ruffians lay quiet in contemplation
Waiting for their orders to join their battle stations
Silence fills the lower decks, for they know the time is near
As salty eyes scan out to sea, awaiting Blackbeard to appear
 
Such a gallant band of fellows, united in one quest
Unified by the master, to follow his behest
As deckhands reef the mainsail, our mighty ship hove to
The time to strike the final blow is now long overdue 
 
                       
 
                         The stormy skies of cragginess were replaced by pink and gold
Now sunrise through to sunset were a wonder to behold
Crystal clear blue waters now supplanted chilly grey
In view of shores of milk-white sand, we anchored in the bay
 
With leeward space between the shore, now fitful sleep awaited
Would Blackbeard descend upon us as we’d anticipated
Humanity had been compromised as he broke the common thread
Now judgement day awaits him, as payment for the dead
 

Master and Commander
​

​                   Our Master and Commander was incomparable to his peers
Born a clannish Cornishman, who had served the crown for years
Pugnacious in adversity, yet love for those who serve the mast
Extolled in fortitude and courage, both truly unsurpassed
 
His nature like his temperament was Bellew’s stock in trade
His fraternal sense of brotherhood was his unique accolade
Each man aboard the man-o-war prepared to give their best
To stand four-square in battle to peruse this glorious quest
 
“Sangfroid” whilst in battle, inspired with burning zeal
Unequalled in adversity, a true man of “Sans Pareil”
Born to lowly Cornish stock, a baker’s son from Hatherleigh
Dismissal of his enemies was the “Un Garson Patisserie”
 
From penniless youth to master and commander of the fleet
Bellew waits his moment, his mission to complete
Would Blackbeard break his cover, would his downfall be his greed
Was the hour nigh for just reward to sleigh the devils seed
 

​Black Sails by Nor’ Nor’ East

Now barrel men from foremast high scanned with squinting eyes
Awaits the sight of coal black sails through lookout glass espies
The flagship of the Devil bedecked in shrouds of blood-stained souls
In God’s good time awaits its fate as the final death knell tolls
 
From rigging high the lookout shouts “black sails by nor’, nor’ east”
The sands of time had left the glass, t’was time to slay the beast
A resounding clarion filled the air “Get the buggers” came the cry
As we turned the Interceptor to face our foe, we raised our standard high
 
The black ship neared through morning mist as a ghostlike emanation
But Teach had made his first mistake, a disastrous miscalculation
Though eight miles lay between us, Blackbeard now knew his fate
Once the hunter now the hunted had recognised his prey to late
 
                    The wind blew east from Chesapeake as every sail was trimmed
Our ship advanced from leeward and leant into wind
Gun crews manned their cannons “keep your station” came the cry
“Let’s blow them all to Kingdom-come and keep your powder dry”
​

T’was time to pay the piper
​

With pounding heart beneath my shirt, so nervous and afraid
I screamed my own profanities, let lose my own tirade
Emotions spinning in my head, sensations at their height
Exclude me from normality, would I now freeze or fight
 
We struck our colours without haste and gave three rousting cheers
Harmonious sounds of creaking masts now ringing in my ears
Thrumming rigging caught the wind, sea creaming from our prow
My senses heightened for the fight I openly avow
 
                          
 
                         Our Master, and his trusty crew were unpartable in their chase
To preclude Blackbeard’s run for home, we fought to pick up pace
With all sail that we could muster our great ship took the stress
To battle with the elements with all that we possess
 
Our mighty ship in hot pursuit drives us on into the fray
Soon the time of “light or dark” awaits the judgement day
Each passing hour we neared our foe, with mounting aspirations
The moral high ground surely ours, now heightened expectations
 
                                Luck was in our favour, the dark sky eaten by the moon
‘Twas time to pay the piper to play the hangman’s tune’
We had chased for almost half a day when we came upon her stern
At last we face our nemesis and point of no return
 
The Master called me to his side, his prayer book in his hand
And spoke with reassurance as we faced the final stand
Then bade me read his scriptures, out loud with fervent voice
Vociferate Psalm 23 in the Lord we will rejoice
 
My sermon was our battle cry, received to great applause
How sweetly could we give up life for such a noble cause
We put our faith in God that day, his comfort was our sword
The trust that Bellew placed in me, my ultimate reward
​

​The Final Battle

Fire shells flew into the air to some prodigious height
Bursting, rising skywards to illuminate the night
The autumn sky glowed like the sun, as we brought our guns to bear
Now cold indifference filled my heart, renouncing pity I’d forswear
 
                           Cannon roared from both sides now, as carronades deployed
All sense of human brotherhood now rendered null and void
The thunderous boom of broadsides penetrates the night
As dark grey clouds of acrid smoke block out the pale moonlight
 
Both ships now embattled, to fight out to the end
Each had crossed the Rubicon, their point of no return transcends
Sharpshooters in the rigging rained death from towering heights
No quarter spared to man or boy that entered in their sights
 
Barrage followed barrage in an unceasing fusillade
Though Blackbeard still defiant “the devil must be paid”
With death and carnage all about, t’was time to pay the cost
The moving hand of time was nigh, the battle almost lost
 
The deep well of morality weighed heavy on my mind
As Blackbeard screamed out epithets, condemning all mankind
His evil eyes gleamed burning red, without pity or repentance
As he fell into hells ashes, now committed to his sentence
 
“Again, again” our Master roared “send them all to hell”
As our gunners fired a broadside, the powers of darkness to dispel
Cannon fire ripped through their hull between their bow and quarter
So many dead now strewn the decks, tremendous was the slaughter
 
The Queen Ann blazed from stern to bow, consumed in ageless fire
What once a mighty sailing ship is now a funeral pyre
What fate now waits their mortal souls, the gods will now decide
The splendour of the firmament or infernal Gehenna, all must abide
​

All hope of life abandoned now, the inferno lit the sky’s
As I stared out at the burning ship, with blood red tear-soaked eyes
The shouts and screams all silent now as we gazed upon the scene
Only smouldering flotsam now, where the mighty ship had been
 
The sound of cannons roared no more, our thirst for death now quelled
All thoughts of glorious victory were dutifully expelled
Though devastation all around, my conscience free of guilt
To smite the walls of deepest hell, the devil himself had built
 
                              So many friends that fought that day, alas did not survive
Now lay amongst the wreckage, countless more barely alive
Our decks were stained with crimson blood, horrendous was the scene
Was this the glory that we sought in honour of our Queen
 
                                Silent was that August night, no more the battle cry
Just the fundament of heavens stars, that lit the coal black sky
Below the deck’s physicians toiled, so desperate was their strife
As life’s hung in the balance beneath the surgeon’s knife
 
The power of God was with me now, to hear and answer prayer
He had quelled the storm and hushed the waves, when all was deep despair
He had blessed me with authority to uphold all creation
To guide us to eternal light and protect us from damnation
 
The sense of execration was upmost in my mind
 
                        Something deep inside had died, t’was the innocence of my youth
Engendered thoughts of England’s shores to live my new-found truth
Atlantic waters wait once more, fair passage was my prayer
To serve the Lord from now on hence, I did fervently forswear 
​

​Was our victory worth the cost

​My name is Matthew Makepeace a son of Bristol born
The pastor of this parish, my life to God forsworn
My compass is my bible, its scriptures my salvation
Please lend your ear as I conclude my final peroration
 
                           Two score years and four have passed, since my days at sea
My pestilence of fire and sword was spared by God’s decree
I never went to sea again, my bounty never claimed
Now righteousness and piety and faith once more regained
 
                                Some say Blackbeard was “Dagon” the devil of the sea
A ghost like apparition, though myself I disagree
Our victory over evil was complete and ultimate
The demon, the tormentor, did not escape his fate
 
                                    
 
                                  So devastating was the toll, so many kinsmen lost
Now echo words of Pyrrhic “Was our victory worth the cost”
Merchant men grew richer, was the slaughter worth the price
Was justice served that fateful day or was their greed the sacrifice.
 
                             The stench of death was all around, it’s in my nostrils now
Engendering recollections, as my memories still allow
They say that time heals everything, they say you can forget
But pain and tears across the years, they twist my heart strings yet
 
                  The midnight hour has long since passed, lets with feathered pillow lie
To rest with dreams in Ovid’s arms now we’ve drunk the barrel dry
Thank you for your listening and the company of good friends
Now is the time to slumber, for it’s now my stories ends.