.

Life on This Boat

Here in this lifeboat we hopelessly wait,
No one rows now, we are all but deadweight,
Minding our manners, and now the first mate,
Starting to smell like the raw fish we ate.
What can we do in our unguided boat?
Helping each other’s how we stay afloat.

Nothing gets better, and now we’re all sick.
Time is off track, and my watch doesn’t tick.
Taking some notes with my black graphite stick,
Ravings poured forth by this starved lunatic.
What can we do to survive on this boat?
Caught precious rain in our canvas raincoats.

We just quit using an oar for a mast.
Don’t have much hope though we claim we will last.
Day broke, our captain had silently passed.
Over the side he was clumsily cast.
What’s left to do in our misguided boat?
Name the First Mate the most likely scapegoat.

Eleven days later and there’s only me,
No water left that is not salty sea.
Neptune in time will come charge me his fee:
One more wet victim in cold misery.
Threw out my knife from this damned cursed old boat,
Not to be tempted to cut my own throat.

Searching all points that are round the compass,
Fate, ever sure, without doubt, obvious.
Time has arrived to resolve without fuss,
Torment and thirst are replaced with cold-press.
Slip overboard—let the sea be my coat.
Parting sweet ways with this hell bound life boat.

White blurs my sight, angel wings that draw near.
Bright, ever bright, as the sun they appear.
Nay, but not wings, but white sails, and I hear,
Voices, a shout, “Come about!” and a cheer,
Given for me who survived on that boat.
But there’s no comfort, no reason to gloat.

Seeking an answer from God and the sea,
__Why was it me?

.

.

Frank Rable is a poet living in Pennsylvania.

NOTE TO READERS: If you enjoyed this poem or other content, please consider making a donation to the Society of Classical Poets.

The Society of Classical Poets does not endorse any views expressed in individual poems or commentary.

 

***Read Our Comments Policy Here***

 

16 Responses

  1. Roy Eugene Peterson

    Your poem has an extremely effective rhyme scheme as well as a metaphor for life. Your words and images are exceptionally well-chosen.

    Reply
    • Frank Rable

      oh, thank you so much Roy,I was so pleased to see your comment. “Metaphor for life” is a very generous insight. I just started out writing a poem about a lifeboat and its passengers perishing one by one. I wondered how many ways I could rhyme with “boat”, ha ha.
      But a good friend read an early version and commented that it made him think about the friends he had lost along the way, and what was God saving him for? As usual, I went for the joke and said, “Well Warren, I guess God preserved you to read my poem and tell me what it means. So then I couldn’t kill off the last guy, could I?

      Reply
      • Frank Rable

        And Roy, I wish to apologize for trampling on “Dear Blabby”. What a jerk move! Everybody loved your poem,as did I. I jumped in to feed my ego. There is no excuse for it. What did you do in return? You could have trashed this poem. Instead you were kind. As highly as I think of myself sometimes, LtCol, you’re a better man than I.

    • Frank Rable

      Yeah, I agree, and I think this has always been the case. But thanks to procreation, God or Mother Nature turns the page to start anew.

      Reply
  3. Joseph S. Salemi

    I love dactylics — the forcefulness, the hammering rhythm, the compulsive drive that they give to a poem. And the AAAABB rhyme scheme makes each stanza as tightly knitted as an Irish sweater.

    As I read the account of this sea-tossed lifeboat, it seemed that the poem might be an allegory of an individual human life (the speaker’s), where all the ups and downs and torments and losses of existence are symbolized. But the rescue in the last stanza broke that spell, and I could read it as a narrative rather than an allegory. Also, the individual details of survival and suffering on the boat were too down-to-earth and tangible to make the tale a figurative one. Raw fish, smells, the oar, the graphite stick, the corpse of the captain — all these were too tangible for the poem to be symbolic.

    I have only one criticism. In quatrain 5, the first four lines deviate markedly from the rest of the poem. The words “compass, obvious, fuss, and press” do not rhyme at all, and violate the rhyme contract that the poet has made with the reader in the four previous stanzas. Near rhymes, slant rhymes, or off rhymes do not work in a poem like this one, where both the meter and the rhyme pattern are very tightly constructed.

    Reply
    • Frank Rable

      Dr, Joe, Thank you for reading my poem, and I appreciate your analysis. Employing the dactylic was my attempt to broaden my range, and the rhyme scheme was something I liked. As you see I kept the last two lines about the boat, the boat. I hoped to express the feeling of approaching doom.

      One last look at the horizon (quatrain 5, where I guess I tripped) and the decision was made. Enough of this! Could I say that I deviated markedly because the sailor has accepted his sorry fate? I guess I could say it, but would you believe it? Would you believe that it was my trying to rhyme with “obvious” three times? Maybe, but truth be told, I couldn’t think of something I liked better. And I may not time to wait for my muse to speak. I want instant gratification, and I want it now. Will I degenerate into free verse? No sir, not ever, I’ll turn to alcohol first!

      Reply
      • Joseph S. Salemi

        Try this:

        Searching all points that surround our small craft
        I trembled that Fate might have mocked us and laughed.
        Time and the weather are driving us daft;
        Torment and thirst have us hooked, speared, and gaffed.

        This revision provides the proper rhymes, and keeps the fishy, wet, nautical tone of the entire poem.

      • Frank Rable

        Damn Joe! I puzzled over that for hours, and you cranked out something better by return mail.

        Nonetheless, I am a published poet.

        Look upon my works, ye mighty, and despair!

  4. Warren Bonham

    This reminded me of The Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Coleridge. Since he is long since dead, I can be honest and say that I prefer your style and storyline. You kept me in suspense until the end

    Reply
    • Frank Rable

      Oh, Warren, if my plumbing were different, I would seek to marry you! But hey Bro, fist bump! Thank you,man. And BETTER than Coleridge? Now THAT is cool? I’m gonna reach him on my Ouija board and say Nyah! Nyah!

      Reply
  5. Susan Jarvis Bryant

    Frank, what a raw and realistic powerhouse of a poem that has splashed my tongue with salt and stung my nostrils with the stench of fish. Your words pulse with life in a creation that engages my brain and my senses. Thank you!

    Reply
    • Frank Rable

      No, Thank You!
      Sorry about the stinky fish Luv. I had intended to prepare fish’n chips,but with all the deaths and throwing mates o’erboard, well, I lost track of time,didn’t I? And my mates still aboard, well they were such good sports and consumed the fish anyway, as they were quite peckish. I did learn to season it with a pinch less salt. Now I hesitate to bring this up, but I suppose the fish MIGHT haveturned a wee bit. I’m a Midlands man,so I wouldn’t have noticed of course. Later, there was what you might call,a “return to the sea.”Not in a”circle of life” way, No they survived to suffer anew. It was more of a “circle of angry despair”manner.
      Well enough for now, stiff upper lip, yes.
      Yours sincerely,
      F

      Reply
      • Susan Jarvis Bryant

        Frank, thank you for this comment, which I must say takes me straight back to my homeland with its familiar lingo and the mention of fish ‘n chips – a seaside staple that has become a dreamed-about delicacy with my move to barbecue climes. On my seaside visits, I will confess to being tempted to aim at a chip-stealing seagull with my crossbow. Having re-read your poem, I’m glad I didn’t. Your poem brings forth many questions – just as Taylor Coleridge questioned faith and reason, your poem appears to navigate this territory in a mystical way that appeals to my curiosity. Frank, you have made me smile – and given me plenty to think about. As thinking is a favorite hobby of mine, I thank you for the inspiration.

  6. Paul A. Freeman

    Survivor’s guilt is a strange thing. We often put it down to God choosing us, but what does that say of those who didn’t make it.

    On another plane, the lifeboat is a metaphor for our beleaguered planet and the crew is perhaps its ineffective leaders, saved perhaps by people coming together and overcoming their animosities.

    Much to think about here, Frank. Thanks for the read,

    Reply
    • Frank Rable

      Hello Paul,
      Thank you for reading and giving thought to my poem. I’m most grateful. I think that with the exception of the ship’s officers, the crew/passengers were victims of poor planning, poor leadership, and just plain bad luck.I think any sea voyage circa 1850 or earlier was a roll of the dice, with some, like the British Navy, having a better chance with better leadership.

      I thank you for mentioning ineffective leaders and animosities, because, as I wrote this, I thought about bad blood between leaders and tried to hint at it without being specific.

      As for God, I lost two sisters at different times. one was four with a sudden and powerful staph infection,the other age three with leukemia, and I continue on, now almost 73. Well, what have I accomplished to merit this?

      Paul, as to God choosing,I think I know what my next poem will be about.
      Stay well and good reading!

      Reply

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.