Ahoy, MuddyUm Outlaws

Story with a poem in it challenge

I joined this pirate ship full of pirate poets. They were the swashbucklinest poets I ever did see on land or on the sea.

They could write like the wind and I don’t mean the kind you pass, but the kind that blows past you. Them pirate poets could sure blow a man down, matey.

These here pirates had quite the sense of humor. They could turn anything into a joke.

Well, the thing was I wasn’t really a poet, but I didn’t want anyone to know it. I was only a cowpoke pirate, not Cap’n Jack Sparrow.

So I stirred up some words, but my poem sounded like turds.

I just couldn’t compete with these poem writin’ pirates. I feared if they found out that I was a fake, that they might make me walk the plank.

I mean these poets was good. And they was mighty fine pirates on top of it.

If you seen the face of one, you surely would run from her attack. She knew how to aaaarrrrgghhh better than Calico Jack.

The patch on her eye made you know her piracy weren’t no lie.

The one thing I knew I could do as good as any other ol’ seadog was to get three sheets to the wind. Our Cap’n Brearley brought out the rum and gave all us buccaneers a sip from the drum.

Once I’d drunk my fill, I got a bit too brave and asked everyone to say a poem. They took their turns and said some mighty fine poems that made you crave more.

After they all took their turn, they saw that I was the last. I didn’t know what to do, but I had to think of somethin’ fast.

I was afraid if I couldn’t produce a poem, they’d send me down to Davy Jones’ Locker. But how was an old cowboy like me s’posed to write a poem?

I took another swig of rum and said I’ll do or die. I might end up feedin’ the fish, but here goes. I’ll try.

Here’s my poem and you decide. Did they hang me from the Crow’s Nest or did they declare me a scurvy dog? Or did I pass the pirate poetry test and sail the seven seas with the MuddyUm Outlaws?

My Piratin’ Poem I told From the Yardarm:

I ain’t got know idear how to write a poem and make it rhyme. Maybe I’ll figure it out how to do it if I give it some time. It seems like poetry oughta use them fancy words to make you think. If I cain’t come up with any, I may get tossed in the drink.

I probably could say a whole lot about beer if that’s what you wanna hear. I could talk about the taste and I could tell you how it can get rid of your fear. I think beer is mighty fine, but sometimes when I drink it, I get out of line. I been in many a fight where the beer I’d been drinkin’ made me go right past a stop sign.

Like that time I was too drunk to know that the other guy punchin’ back was a boxin’ champ. He hit my jaw and punched my face until he knocked me right out like a friggin’ table lamp. I hit the floor like a tilted pile of bricks or so my buddies tol’ me later. After I woke up, I nursed my black eye with a beer and a bag of ice from the waiter.

It looks like even an ol’ goat like me can play this poem writin’ game.

I may lose the game, but it looks like even an ol’ goat like me can play this poem writin’ game. Course I know that my dumb ugly poem just ain’t the same As them real poets like ol’ Shakespeare and Cap’n Brearley. But I done wrote a poem that ain’t all that good, not even nearly.