Pyrate poetry

From The National Library of the Republique of Ryendor: These maps where donated along with a sea chest once belonging to the female pirate Fiona Consuela Blackwell.

On the back of a couple of the maps are scriblings that were once thought to be code signs leading to a hidden treasure. Several literary treasure hunters have tried to decode them, but in vain. In 1973, however, a female student of literature solved the code; it wasn’t code as such, but a sort of short hand. It is common knowledge that the pirate Fiona Blackwell could not read nor write well, but this seems to be her way of writing. As it turned out it was not directions to a hidden treasure, alas, but love poems… Not of great quality, but a rare insight to a pirate’s romantic mind.

Here they are decrypted:

“This is torture!
He stands there; mere two inches starboard
And I cannot reach out and touch him
My own principles stay my hand
Captain’s orders and common sense as well.
Ah, but pirate am I!
I take that which is forbidden to me
I steal kisses of passion
I trick my way to hidden embraces
I board his cabin and have him at my mercy!
I keep these stolen moments in my treasure chest
And nothing is more precious to me”

“I had thought myself beyond such foolishness
Had never thought that feelings for a mere man
Could surpass my love for the Sea
Now he is the wind that tugs at my hair
He is the spray of salt water on my skin
He is the wave that breaks on my bow
He is the calm days of smooth sailing
He is the storm that wreaks havoc in me
And the wind in my hair is his caress
The salt-water sprays are his kisses on my face
The storm is his embraces
Crushing me tightly to his chest
He is the Ocean from horizon to horizon
And beyond
And I drown in him willingly” 

“I am a fish out of water.
With desperate eyes and gasping mouth
I cast myself about,
choking on air.
And all these people staring
are like cruel children who,
with grinning faces and hands on knees,
just wait for me to stop flopping, lie still and die.
Only you seem to care about my predicament
With gentle hands and great speed
you carry me towards the ocean
and uncerimonously toss me back
where I belong.
As cool water surround me once more
and dried up gills comes to life
I am suddenly grabbed by panic
at the sight of you
still on shore.
Maybe you belong to this place
where I cannot be?
Then without any further ado
you jump in beside me
transforming your body
into smoothness and shining scales
and happily I sigh;
You are merefolk
– just like me”

Offentliggjort af Den tatoverede børnebibliotekar

Bibliofil rollespiller, Æventyrer, lystløgner, mor og zeppelinerstyrmand. Jeg har knytnæverne resolut plantet i siden og med en kappe, der blafrer i vinden

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