For this week’s Creative Writing class exercise, our Tutor brought in a tallship in a bottle to use as a springboard for our writing. It was a 3-mast sailing ship in a Smirnoff bottle. I imagined an old salty dog/ sailor sitting with is drink remembering his old days on a whaling ship.
The drunken sailor’s revelry
Smirnoff on ice, clear and cold,
Yet strangely warm,
His old blood pounds and pumps up
images of glacial artic waters
Whalers riding out
Fast and furious, flapping sails bellow in the wind.
“All hands” the cry goes up.
The deck, a sudden rush of bodies pulling,
lanyards lashing, sea spray splashing,
curses lost to nature’s noises.
The hunt is on
boats bobble to the rowers’ rhythm
rocking the waves
to Shanty chanting voices.
All stilled now , as woosh,
the harpoon flies across the bow.
its target hauled home upon the flows
for chopping, slopping, slashing
until the silent, sunset sea encircles the remains of man and beast.
The ice cube’s melted in the glass.
© Sheila Ash 14th September 2016
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