The ocean is in my blood.
A 32-foot sailboat
was my home for a year.
Ventura Marina,
and I, a budding teenage poet.
Dad, the captain,
me and my brother,
first and second mates.
The Pacific spitting salt
on our face.
Fishing lines tied to the dock,
maybe a tom-cod
or a little jack smelt
for breakfast,
if luck was on my side.
Melville in my jacket,
Billy Budd’s tragedy
inked across the pages.
“See, self-defense.
Billy had a speech impediment,
no match for Claggart’s slick,
twisted tongue.”
I brought home my book report,
big red C-minus
circled at the top.
Dad smiled,
taught me the waves,
how plot flows,
theme drifts,
and literary device docked.
I aced literature
from that moment on.
I think of T.S.,
distant relative.
He probably caught a few.
Eyes on the East Coast,
lighthouses and lines,
pondering the next rhyme scheme.
Blood swimming
with memory of current
and the stories
that are born.
-
Author:
Thomas W Case (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: December 4th, 2025 08:31
- Comment from author about the poem: I am pleased to announce the release of my latest book, Aluminum Cowboys: Poems and Short Stories. All my books are available on Amazon. https://www.amazon.com/Aluminum-Cowboys-Poems-Short-Stories/dp/B0G33PDHBJ/ref=sr
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 8
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments2
A lovely poem and I can feel the rock in the boat as the waves pass. Very nicely worded this poem takes me out life on the water
Thank you.
You are most welcome Thomas
The ocean is in my blood, too, living here on the Atlantic side of things. Deep sea fishing and all. Been in the Pacific too. From sea to shining sea, as it were. Well done on this, my friend. Very relatable. Excellent poem, Thomas!!! 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Thank you, my friend. I appreciate it.
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