POEM TITLE
Lobster Pot Life
POEM
Visitor oan the John Muir Way
stopped off at braw Blackness-on-Sea,
an' visitit the Lobster Pot,
at doors open, at twalv o'clock.
Nae puggy looms or telly here,
just wholesome scran, spirits an' beer.
In sicht o' Chrichton's castle jail,
kent as the ship, that never sailed.
Fitloose and skitin' aw weekend,
gless upturned, three sheets tae the wind,
thocht he clocked a helmsman's spectre
in marmaids faurseen een reflectit.
'mang pearly drow at yon ship's wheel.
Trapped, driftin' in a lapster creel.
Wrongly imprisoned in thon jail.
Fest in the ship that nivver sailed.
Blastit by Cromwell's cannon baw,
Limbo fankled forevermore.
Says, gaither roon ah'll sin' ma sang,
it winnae tak me ower lang.
Gin ye hearken, you'll hear a tale
o' a sea dog doomed, doomed tae fail.
When he wis captain o' the ship,
The ship that never sailed.
That never sailed the selven seas,
nor rode lowse billows, wild and free,
ne'er shot his ropes an' seen them freeze
in the snell, birker, bracin' breeze.
Never trawl'd in the devil's hole.
Nivver cleaned oot a sugar bowl.
Lived oot mah lee in Blackness jail,
the so-cawed ship, that never sailed.
That ne'er sailt East, that ne'er sailt West.
I am Captain, Captain possessed.
Waitit too lang, left it too late.
Aye sitten', contemplates me fate.
Waitit aroon four hundrit year,
lost aw the mukkers ah held dear.
When I was maister o' the ship,
The Ship o' Nivermas.
Heave away, drink up, be jolly,
let's droon oot daurk melancholy.
Pearls hae tae bide in oyster shells.
You can't unring the Partin' Bell.
Oor lives can a' seem meaninless,
at times oor muse is teasin' us.
We aw jalouse we are a ship.
A ship that nivver wis.
The periwinkles wink at me,
Sandmen sayin', 'Sail to sea.
Ay time, ay time, tae mak yer vow.'
My dream o' staunin' on yon prow.
Ah ken mah time is runnin' oot.
'Eventually' will come, nae doot.
The switherin' winds aye prevail
aroun' this ship that never sailed.
But noo tis time for me tae go,
I've said too much, or mibbe no'.
Back tae Blackness, back tae mah cell,
this pearly ghosts protectif shell.
Whaur ah cuid dwuam mah lee away.
Ah ken we should come oot an' play
or we wull be remembered as,
the ships that nivver sailed.
Will ye, won't ye, tak your last chance
an' join the lobsters in a dance?
Hummel doddies oan claws that crack,
brammed up shirts o' bombazine black.
Bye, goodbye frae the Lobster Pot,
bogles ur real - or mibbe not.
Spier oor mariner's coothie ghost
and raise your glasses in a toast.
'The captain o' the Lobster Pot,
an a' the ships that nivver float.'