Hornblower, Horatio

My father-in-law’s favourite.
Charlie H.
And ships, bells, moorings.
Messing around the decks at Port Stanley.
Smiling, and getting
Special privileges betimes.
Perhaps with daughter Hilary.
But I digress…

Hornblower, middle ranking
Ship’s Officer in His Majesty’s Service.
Keeping lookout for cursed
“Frogs” to cannon blast.
With horrible splintering effect.
Drilling speed and accuracy
Of smoky volleys. Reload Lads!
Scampering to topsails, crow’s nest.
Where the world and horizon
Would rock and reel.
The blue all mesmerizing.
Deadly fall at one’s elbow.


How to establish firm, equitable
Governance.
When to issue large rations.
And so inform Cook.
When to double the issue of grog
For courage sake.
When to flog, or heaven’s sake
When to keelhaul, with one Man’s
Very life at stake.
Scraping, barnacled bottom
Abrasions, blood, sharks.
Oxygen spent.
Shipmates looking for results.
Aforedecks.


Cannot question such measures.
More than likely burial at sea.
Appropriate Psalm .
Surely the 16th, and Resurrection.
Respectful slow snare drums.
Slipped beneath. No splash.
Covered honourably with
Colours of the Jack.

Would be a good night
In officers’ mess
For stories of seafaring,
Ugly seas, women ashore, over port or brandy.
Ribald jokes and plays on words.
English Words.
Irish could only wait at tables.

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