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Pirate Poems: A Pirate’s Life For Me Prompt

By Heather Eure 42 Comments

a pirate's life poetry promptAvast, ye scurvy dogs! If you are looking for freedom, adventure on the open sea, long work hours, battles, treasure, and a fantastic wardrobe then a pirate’s life is for you. Hygiene is always optional and the cultural jargon can’t be beat. Pack your bags (don’t forget your poet’s blouse) and come aboard. You’re a pirate now.

Although piracy has been in existence for centuries, the Golden Age of piracy took place from the mid 1600’s through the 1730’s. An increase in valuable cargo traveling to and from Europe was the cause of this sea-faring rapaciousness. Many of the most recognizable names in pirating history belong to this era. Sir Henry Morgan was a buccaneer responsible for plundering and destroying Panama in 1671. Captain William Kidd and Sir Francis Drake were privateers who worked for Queen Elizabeth of England. Jean LaFitte was an infamous pirate who lived on the island of Padre, a popular dwelling-place of pirates. There were also a few notable women pirates of the age. Anne Bonny followed in the footsteps of her lover, “Calico Jack” and practiced piracy along the Caribbean Sea. Another famous female pirate, Mary Read disguised herself as a man in 1721 to join the crew of Calico Jack. So you see, there’s plenty of room for everyone.

Pirate Poems: Try It

Pirates Wanted. What skills do you have that would make you a great pirate? What attributes do you bring to the table that would make you an asset to a pirate captain’s ship? This is your chance, write a poem telling the captain why you should be a pirate.

Featured Poem

Thanks to everyone who participated in last week’s poetry prompt. Here’s a poem from Maureen we enjoyed:

Once upon a time

he was a toddler,
dimpled hands plump.
Innocent

once upon a time
but then angry, his whip
a switch

from a persimmon tree,
the measure of struggle
to be.

He changed
in a moment of mistakes,
gentle hands

lost in the shucking box,
and with them
all he wanted. Once,

before but also after,
he was someone who needed
and all my life I tried

to save. I couldn’t
but I also do not forget
this image of a father’s hands,

their vulnerability, the weight
of their hooks
tender on my head.

—by Maureen Doallas

Photo by olle svensson. Creative Commons via Flickr.

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  • Author
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Heather Eure
Heather Eure
Heather Eure has served as the Poetry Editor for the late Burnside Collective and Special Projects Editor for us at Tweetspeak Poetry. Her poems have appeared at Every Day Poems. Her wit has appeared just about everywhere she's ever showed up, and if you're lucky you were there to hear it.
Heather Eure
Latest posts by Heather Eure (see all)
  • Poetry Prompt: Misunderstood Lion - March 19, 2018
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Filed Under: Blog, Pirate Poems, poetry prompt, poetry teaching resources, writer's group resources, writing prompts

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Comments

  1. Donna says

    April 4, 2016 at 9:20 am

    Maureen, I so loved your poem! Glad to see it here.

    Reply
    • Maureen says

      April 4, 2016 at 10:54 am

      Thank you so much, Donna.

      Thank you, too, Heather, for sharing the poem here.

      Reply
      • Megan Willome says

        April 6, 2016 at 8:03 am

        Yes, that was really something. I’d missed it the first time.

        Reply
  2. Glynn says

    April 5, 2016 at 9:01 am

    Where have all the pirates gone?

    I went to Penzance, expectant,
    but found only gift shops
    and excursion boats.

    I stopped at Neverland,
    but the Captain had retired,
    the croc ran a clock store,
    and Peter was selling insurance.

    I sailed to the Caribbean,
    but Jack Sparrow had left,
    some said to tend bar in Key West.

    I flew to Panama,
    to seek Drake’s coffin of lead,
    but the birds of the sea were silent.

    And no sign of Blackbeard’s head
    by the Hampton River, or Mary Read’s
    and Anne Bonney’s prison cells,
    or Henry Morgan’s plantation in Jamaica,
    or William Kidd’s three deaths by hanging.

    Only the waves of the sea,
    only the smell of salt in the air,
    only faint echoes of yo-ho-ho
    by boys chanting on Halloween,

    and not even a bottle of rum.

    Reply
    • Rick Maxson says

      April 5, 2016 at 11:03 am

      Ah! Glynn, ’tis a sad day when the pirates have gone away. When all ye need is a patch and a bottle of Appletons and, most of all, a good mental sail.

      As Jack Sparrow would put it: “Mate, if you choose to lock your heart away you’ll lose it for certain.”

      Excellent poem!

      Reply
      • Glynn says

        April 5, 2016 at 7:39 pm

        Rick – thank you, me hearty!

        Reply
    • Heather Eure says

      April 5, 2016 at 8:27 pm

      This is delightful, Glynn! I’m singing a familiar folk tune with altered words, “Where have all the pirate’s gone?” 🙂

      Reply
      • Glynn says

        April 6, 2016 at 1:45 pm

        Those things will stick in your head. 🙂

        Reply
    • Megan Willome says

      April 6, 2016 at 8:04 am

      Love this! Love that you have history and theater and film all together.

      Reply
      • Megan Willome says

        April 6, 2016 at 8:11 am

        And literature and Peter, Paul and Mary. Well done you!

        Reply
        • Glynn says

          April 6, 2016 at 1:45 pm

          One pirate told me, “All my bags are packed, I’m ready to go, I’m standing here outside your door…”

          Reply
    • Donna says

      April 7, 2016 at 10:37 am

      OH NO! Rum, too? All? GONE? Please pinch me and tell me it’a all a dream! If pirates and rum can become castaways, what will become of unicorns, and Merlot?

      Glynn, what a wonderful poem! 🙂

      Reply
  3. Rick Maxson says

    April 5, 2016 at 10:53 am

    Maureen, your poem is both heartbreaking and affectionate. What an ending!

    Reply
    • Maureen says

      April 5, 2016 at 7:12 pm

      Thank you, Rick.

      Reply
    • Bethany says

      April 6, 2016 at 12:38 am

      Yes, I second that. Beautiful poem, Maureen.

      Reply
  4. Will Willingham says

    April 5, 2016 at 3:14 pm

    O Cap’n! My Cap’n!
    I hear the crunch
    of your black cuffed
    boots against the timbers
    a-shivering in me
    quarters far below
    the deck where some
    scallywag stood on his toes
    curled over the edge
    as they jabbed
    his blindfolded self
    with that quill and ink
    bellering “Write yer poem
    or walk the plank.”

    Reply
    • Maureen says

      April 5, 2016 at 7:13 pm

      What a fun one this is, LW.

      Reply
    • Glynn says

      April 5, 2016 at 7:40 pm

      LW – good one! And Captain Crunch is one of my favorite cereals.

      Reply
    • Heather Eure says

      April 5, 2016 at 8:33 pm

      How fun, LW. I love the unexpected, “Write yer poem or walk the plank.”
      Methinks he should write. 🙂

      Reply
    • Will Willingham says

      April 5, 2016 at 7:53 pm

      Whenever I think of pirates I think of this computer game my kids had when they were small, and in one of the scenes (the game had to do with hygiene, and choosing pirates for that is a puzzling notion) the gruff pirate voice would say over and over, “Wash yer hands or walk the plank.”

      Reply
      • Megan Willome says

        April 6, 2016 at 8:06 am

        Now go read “Challenger Deep” by Neil Shusterman. Read it for the reveal on Cap’n Crunch alone.

        Reply
    • Donna says

      April 7, 2016 at 10:38 am

      LOL! I mean really … O. L.! 🙂 This is such fun!

      Reply
  5. Monica Sharman says

    April 5, 2016 at 4:26 pm

    Pirate’s Résumé

    Treasures quickly spent,
    rarely buried.
    Career longevity
    (three years).
    Strict adherence
    to crew regulations.
    Favorite rum: Puerto Rican
    but experience not limited
    to Caribbean.
    Keel-hauled only twice.
    Divides loot fairly
    and according to code.
    Speech always courteous
    and grammatically correct.
    References available upon request
    from previous surviving
    employer.

    Reply
    • Heather Eure says

      April 5, 2016 at 8:35 pm

      Haha! This is clever, Monica. You had me chuckling. Oh, and your pirate is hired. 🙂

      Reply
    • Donna says

      April 7, 2016 at 10:41 am

      You’re hired.
      I’m most especially impressed by apparent committment to dividing loot fairly, according to code, of course.

      😉 Loved this, Monica!

      Reply
  6. Andrew H says

    April 6, 2016 at 9:04 pm

    A Retired Sailor Seeking Work

    I am he who the poet said once flew
    The sound-fraught bay, vex’d the dim seas
    And sped the globe around to chase
    The rainy Hyades.
    I’ve smelled the ocean brine
    And knew it well – each curve,
    Each twist of its tempestuous swell
    Laid open for my eyes.

    The far-off wooded cove oft struck my sight
    When on the sea-tossed boards,
    And often when the ship was slow
    Strained forward, ever forward
    With thought and mind in equal store
    Yearning to set my foot upon the distant shore.

    But now a sea-dog left to dry,
    I while away the dreary hours,
    Well liked, and oft remarked to cry
    “Oh how I’d sell my soul for but one fee,
    To ride once more upon the rolling sea!”

    Yet I am old, and age hath left me
    But a shadow of my youth,
    Kept nothing of my features bold,
    But graven on me the likeness of death.
    The blood that courses in my veins is cold,
    But not from just the passing years.
    You may not see it, who hears this tale
    But I have wept a thousand tears
    For every week away from Neptune’s hold.

    Take me on board and I will serve
    As faithfully as God does man.
    Let me once more feel land’s retreat
    And I will kneel down at your feet,
    The broken remnant of a broken sailor.
    Once, I fought on land and sea for glory,
    For distinction well deserved. And such I won,
    But it does me no favour now
    When I must ask with bated breath
    If when you leave this god forsaken isle
    Your crew will house an extra one.

    Reply
    • Donna says

      April 7, 2016 at 10:43 am

      I would hire such an experienced pirate if my boat was still afloat!

      Love this, Andrew!

      Reply
      • Andrew H says

        April 7, 2016 at 6:18 pm

        Thank you, me hearty!

        Reply
    • Heather Eure says

      April 9, 2016 at 1:43 pm

      Who could refuse a loyal and experienced applicant?

      Tremendous enjoyment reading it.

      Reply
  7. SimplyDarlene says

    April 9, 2016 at 10:56 am

    [It looks like young pirate’s momma got into the whiskey as she cut & pasted the former ditty. It duplicated itself in a most tragic manner. If a TSP matey wants to delete the prior, young pirate’s momma will repeat it – here – but without the oddities.]
    .
    .
    .

    A giant tomato
    trellis, eight feet tall, rotted
    boards, the family’s plush red picnic
    blanket, blue twine tied, snagged on
    rusty nails – pirate ship sails
    across a clear-cut toward thick
    trees. Hoots, yells roll down the dirt
    road, curl up the hillside. Young pirate’s
    momma hangs wet
    laundry on the taut clothesline.

    Young pirate’s dingy straw
    cowboy hat is crammed
    sideways (if ye listen, ye hears Stetson
    shrieking at the horror), a plastic eye
    patch loops over head, his daddy’s
    old belt dangles loose on narrow
    hips, a cardboard boot
    knife scratches ankle between sock
    and leather. A long white pipe red stripe
    painted is duct taped to a hickory
    stick for a sword. Beneath a small man’s
    pinstriped thrift store dinner
    jacket, young pirate holds
    a hook for a hand.

    His daddy leans forward in the
    saddle, AiiyyMatey!
    presses spurs to hairy flanks, gallops
    away, young pirate eats
    dust (and snacks his momma
    packed), urges an unlucky barn
    cat along a 2×4 plank. Asks feline
    one more time if she knows Jesus –
    then shoves Clawdia into the raging
    swashbuckling sea. Young
    pirate plunders
    treasures of the deep until
    momma’s dinner bell
    diverts his needs.

    Reply
    • Heather Eure says

      April 9, 2016 at 1:45 pm

      This poem made me smile, Darlene. Particularly the ending. 🙂

      Reply
    • Samuel Smith says

      April 9, 2016 at 2:04 pm

      Ah, very clever. I enjoyed the careful, quirky detail here.

      Reply
  8. Paul Willingham says

    April 9, 2016 at 10:58 am

    This Pirate a weathered plank,
    did not deign to walk.
    But with a club of ash
    And a mighty mash,
    the pinstriped Yanks were sank.
    (An Ode to Bill Mazeroski)

    Reply
    • Heather Eure says

      April 9, 2016 at 1:47 pm

      How clever of you to make it about baseball!

      Reply
  9. Samuel Smith says

    April 9, 2016 at 11:21 am

    The Luck of the Irish

    Have you heard the tale of Dubious Don —
    Of Donald O’Shaughnessy —
    Who left his Love in the Emerald moors
    For a fortune on the sea?

    He signed on a brig to the Orient
    With a captain taking gold for trade,
    And had barely rounded the first Azores
    Ere he threw the man overboard.

    He thought the way around Africa
    Too steep for the promised gain,
    So he steered away from the Orient
    On a course for the Spanish Main,

    ‘Till he came to Haiti, to the City,
    And there he reasoned that since
    They were so wealthy they should live as kings
    If they stayed in Port-au-Prince.

    So stay they did. Then the crew took wives
    From the poor French colonists there,
    But O’Shaughnessy kept in the upper courts,
    And there he found a Lady Fair,

    And began to learn their ways and their tongue.
    And he might be alive there still,
    Were it not for a love of banqueting
    And a surfeit of ale.

    The night he announced the daughter
    Of the Governor as his fiance,
    He babbled in broken, drunken French —
    He told all, O’Shaughnessy.

    Then the Governor hung the crewmen
    From a cliff overlooking the sea,
    Hung the crew with the Captain they had come to loathe:
    The Dubious O’Shaughnessy;

    And then he promised his daughter
    To the son of an old Marquis
    Who owned a plantation of sugar cane;
    So she forgot O’Shaughnessy.

    Reply
    • Heather Eure says

      April 9, 2016 at 1:54 pm

      It never ends well for pirates, does it? 😉

      Reply
  10. JoyAnne O'Donnell says

    April 9, 2016 at 5:15 pm

    Pirates Soul

    To be a pirate is an oceanic love
    the waves carry our light
    provided by the sea’s insight
    the echo of the shell’s stay with us
    inside our dreams bus
    blue skies
    never tell lies.

    Reply

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