Sea Poem

A sea Poem. The America’s Cup is on, but the poem is good at any time.

Sea Fever

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.

JOHN MASEFIELD

2 thoughts on “Sea Poem

  1. Things have changed from Masefield – or have they?

    Sea Fever
    I must go down to the sea again, to the lonely sea and the sky
    And all I ask when the steward pukes, its away from our pie
    The weather’s thick and the mate is sick and the DT’s have him shaking
    Our alcoholic cook has that grey look that says he’ll soon be breaking

    Why did I go to sea again, to work on the Jekyll and Hide
    If I’d stayed at school, but a man’s a fool, that cannot be denied
    All I ask when we’re shipping them green and my thoughts turn to dying
    There’ll be someone round in my home town to stop my mother crying

    I must go down to the sea again to the vagrant gypsy life
    ‘I’m just popping out for a paper luv’ – that’s what I told the wife.
    The Chief is gay, but that’s not OK, as the Old Man’s a Baptist who drinks
    But its worse ashore, so given that score, I’ll sign on again I think

    Anon

  2. And another

    Office-Fever (a parody of Sea-Fever by John Masefield)
    I must get back to my desk again, this lunchtime has flown by,
    And all I ask is that if I’m late, I won’t catch the boss’s eye;
    And if I’m ill and white as a sail with limbs and body shaking,
    And I call in sick (third time this month), my boss won’t think I’m faking.

    I must get back to my desk again, and complete my tasks with pride.
    Because if I don’t, I’m pretty sure my leave request will be denied;
    And all I ask is that someday it’s acknowledged I’ve been trying,
    And I get the promotion for which Smith and Jones are vying.

    I must get back to my desk again, to the constant corporate strife,
    I hope and pray my meagre pay can feed my obese kids and wife;
    And all I ask is that today, the damned printer won’t keel-over,
    And that retirement comes swiftly, so this nightmare can be over.

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