THE PEQUOD CREW

Chapter 81 – The Pequod Meets The Virgin

Ungrateful dogs,

down on yer knees,

ye’ve got no business here,

these are our seas!

Pathetic ye are,

with no oil of yer own.

Ye do not belong here,

so why not go home.

Will ya burst a blood vessel, lads?

Spit fire or not?

A humped back old whale

is better than naught

So snag it and you’ll have

Hogshead in yer pot.

Comon, snag it and you’ll have

Hogshead in yer pot.

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Chapter 84 – Pitchpoling

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Pitchpoling

Whale rolling

Stubbs does excel.

Handling

Dandling

The lance he propels.

Aiming to kill,

Blood he does spill,

Sure footing

Caputting

There’s no parallel.

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Chapter 85 – The Fountain

The snowy sparkling mist,

ever-present above a whale

as he emerges from the deep in

a swirl of prodigious commotion,

mystifies the sailor on watch.

Astonished and delighted

but not content with spectacle,

said sailor strives to understand -

the human anatomy serving

as his only reference.

How to make sense of

this curious creature

with misplaced windpipe,

no nostrils, and

a gargantuan ability to

hold his breath?

And what of that mist

shooting towards the sky?

He dare not get close enough

to find out.

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Chapter 86 – The Tail

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Woe to that sailor, whiskers and all,

when the fluke of a whale upon him does fall

and the oars and the crew and the harpoons do fly

til he’s floatin’ on his back starin’ up at the sky.

And the planks of the boat around him they sprawl

very much as a juggler tosses his balls.

Yea, a grudging respect is all he can feel

for a wallop that lands with the weight of steel.

A mere man can offer little resistance.

Tis something to admire – 

but from a distance.

Chapter  90 – Heads or Tails

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Rare tea and good ale,

taken for granted by

the Privileged,

are a fantasy to the Sailor,

who toils for months 

for just a taste,

only to give it up by Law.

Tis mine

Tis mine

Tis mine

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Chapter 93 – The Castaway

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A small boy lost at sea,

insignificant and isolated,

is in the hands of the Gods.

Fear gives way to panic,

 then panic to oblivion.

The thing is common

in that fishery.

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Chapter 94 – A Squeeze of the Hand

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The Pequod loses 

the salty stench 

of sailor sweat and ribaldry, 

overtaken by the scent 

of spring violets.

Up to our elbows in

oozy, convivial buckets,

we lose track of

our hands that 

squeeze! squeeze! squeeze!

every last lump from 

the creature’s 

fragrant spermaceti.

Lulled by the spell 

of our sated senses, 

we lose,

but only temporarily,

what drives us.

Compete. 

Kill.

Conquer. 

​

Chapter 96 - The Try-Works

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Whether your hand be on the tiller

(Never dream with thy hand on the helm!)

or the bedpost,

nighttime has a crafty way

of turning dark things darker,

scarier, more threatening.

Especially at risk is that man

prone to contemplation,

for there are no limits to

such a mind when the sun sets

and the moon disappears.

All he can do is 

pray for morning,

when the light of day 

puts to rest

the torments

 of the night before.

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Chapter 97 – The Lamp

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Bearded and grimy

with faces lit like angels,

off–duty watch rock softly

in their oaken vaults,

soothed by the sea’s rhythm

and sleeping the sleep

of the

uncomplicated mind.

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Chapter 98 – Stowing Down and Clearing Up

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Tis in whaling as in Life,

there is no rest,

for one thing follows another.

No matter how arduous,

still harder tasks will come

and often a man

just catches his breath

when along comes another.

So what is the point, exactly?

Like Pythagoras –

and sometimes feeling like Sisyphus -

we labor, we learn, we complain and we moan.

Over and over and over again.

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Chapter 99 - The Doubloon

​

A coin serves as a magician’s glass

as each man gazes into 

his own mysterious self

and sees what he wants to see.

What will said coin buy?

What does it stand for?

A man can be read by

how he reads a coin.

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Chapter 101 – The Decanter

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First things first

says one sailor to another

Forget the pay

what’s to drink, brother?

Before I set

one leg upon this ship

Before ya say

where we’re off to on this trip

I’ll make it plain

and tell ya face to face

I ain’t going without gin

I drink it by the case

By the case

By the case

By the case, case, case

I can drink it night and day

While still whalin’ away

By the gill by the quart

By the barrel, any sort

Tell me do ye carry gin, man,

by the case?

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Chapter 107 – The Carpenter

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Were it not for a

certain grizzled wittiness,

this fixture of The Pequod

might be mistaken for a

permanent part of the futtock,

so seamlessly does the

weathered and sea-worthy carpenter,

ensconced at his bench,

blend into the deck.

Be it rusty capstan,

aching tooth or

cracked appendage,

he offers both an opinion

and a solution.

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Chapter 109 – Ahab and Starbuck in the Cabin

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“Beware of thyself, old man,”

warns Starbuck,

long years with Ahab

shoring up his resolve

to speak candidly -

hang the consequences.

A shred of prudence, or

perhaps remorse,

even decency,

calms the furrows

in Ahab’s brow,

reminding him for

one brief moment

that lunacy

is a choice.

​

Chapter 112 – The Blacksmith

The curse of the fatal cork is patient

with the man felled by the drink.

He who caused destruction

and heartbreak

and lost all.

So, too, must the man be patient,

with no other choice

but to live out his sentence

and endlessly circle the globe

as his hammer marks

another day,

another year,

of regret.