Where shall we adventure, to-day that we’re afloat,
Wary of the weather and steering by a star?
Shall it be to Africa, a-steering of the boat,
To Providence, or Babylon, or off to Malabar?
- Robert Louis Stevenson
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Showing posts with label pirates. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pirates. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 30, 2024
Wednesday, February 14, 2024
October Creek
April 20: The six of us met tonight. From midnight until one o'clock, we planned the death of Blake and his comrades. I tell myself that Blake's gold will allow the church to be built, and our small settlement to become a township, but it does not soothe the horror that I feel being an accomplice to murder.
Monday, August 1, 2022
Thursday, November 25, 2021
Sunday, January 29, 2017
Wednesday, December 30, 2015
Oh For The Breath Of The Briny Deep
Ho! For the plains where the dolphins play,
And the bend of the mast and spars,
And a fight at night with the wild sea-sprite
When the foam has drowned the stars.
And, pray, what joy can the landsman feel
Like the rise and fall of a sliding keel?
Paul Laurence Dunbar
Image source.
Saturday, November 14, 2015
Saturday, June 28, 2014
Webs
My old bud Rob of the late SkullandBone Haunt once told me that faux spider webbing was the great untapped resource of Yard Haunting (homeless people are another untapped resource).
Using it effectively is an art form.
Love it in the photo below.
Friday, October 5, 2012
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Saturday, August 13, 2011
6 Must Die
I don't believe in luck, good or bad. I don't believe in anything much. Something did happen once. My father was a fisherman. He ran a trawler out of Whitley Reef. One night, late, he was coming back in. He was out beyond the reef, out near Spivey Point. He looked to windward and saw a brig under shortsail, heading right for him. And he radioed, there was no reply. Nothing moved on deck, but she held her course. My dad and two of his hands, they boarded the brig, the Risa Jane. No one was on board. There was food on the table, and a hot, steaming cup of coffee. But underneath, the tin cup was rusted to the table. And then something caught my father's eye. It was a gold doubloon, minted in Spain, 1867. My dad picked up the coin, put it in the breast pocket of his jacket, and zippered it up. He came home, told us the story, and unzippered the pocket to give me the coin. It was gone.
Image by Andrew_Simpson.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Friday, May 28, 2010
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Friday, February 26, 2010
Monday, September 21, 2009
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
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