As a sample of the poems which have passed through our workshops, here we proudly present the following poems by our members:
Featured Poems:
Byng
Stephen Wilson
Sir, I have the pleasure to desire
that you will acquaint their Lordships
that having sailed from Gibraltar,
eleven days heeled into the wind,
we got off Mahon; His Majesty’s colours
resplendent on Fort St Philip –
round-shot skidding up the bastion walls.
Sixteen thousand Frenchmen
to a hundred of my fusiliers, unable to land,
untrained in combat at sea.
I made plans to reconnoitre the harbour,
dispatched Phoenix, Chesterfield and Dolphin,
with a letter ashore. The enemy’s fleet,
appearing to the south-east, just as the wind
came strong off the land, obliged me
to call ships in before having found
the disposition of their ordnance.
Twelve ships of the line, and three frigates;
against ten vessels in disrepair. As night fell,
I tacked to keep the weather-gage. By daylight
there were none to be seen save at our rear,
two tartars with the French private signal,
which we chased. Defiance took two captains,
two lieutenants and one hundred and two private soldiers.
From the mast-head we sighted the enemy
forming a line to leeward (having failed to weather me);
Phoenix offered herself as a fire-ship.
At two, I made the signal to engage, ordering every ship
to close down on the one that fell to their lot.
Unfortunately, Intrepid’s foretopmast was shot away
causing it to foul her sail, which backed
so that the ship was not under command;
her fore-tack and braces being cut,
she drove onto the next ship
causing that and the ships ahead of me
to throw all back, lest they too fall on each other.
Once having destroyed our rigging,
I found the enemy edged away constantly,
would not permit our closing with them –
their ships were clean, bearing three feet to one of ours.
We refitted through the night. At dawn I sent cruisers
to bring me the state and condition of the squadron:
Captain, Intrepid and Defiance were much damaged in their masts.
Many were sick, killed and wounded, and nowhere to put
a third of their number if I made a hospital of the forty-gun.
Minorca was at risk but so was the rock.
I summoned a council of war,
desiring the opinion of General Stuart, Lord Effingham,
Lord Robert Bertie and Colonel Cornwallis.
Since we could neither succour nor relieve the former,
logic dictated we protect the latter.
Our loss was heavy, yet we may justly claim victory,
having caused the enemy to withdraw. With reinforcement,
I will not lose a moment of time in seeking him.
Yet I have been troubled by a waking dream:
my effigy, white waistcoat richly edged in gold,
burnt on pyres up and down the land. Me blindfold,
kneeling on the quarterdeck, handkerchief in hand,
before a company of marines, while someone reads
the Articles of War: Admiral the Honourable John Byng –
failing to do his utmost to relieve St. Philip’s Castle
in the Island of Minorca; failing to do his utmost
to take, seize and destroy, the ships of the French King.
© 2007 Stephen Wilson
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NO ENTRY
K V Skene
because nothing fits, because
downtown bars and clubs spill
into the street
as night whines round and round and you
with your roll-up
feel the buzz breaking
just behind your eyeballs and you
too terrified to fill in the missing lines
because it’s too damn late, because
you’re on CCTV
and a white space has opened
between you
and the cut glass bubble of sound
on the margins
of music of
a last memory you leave stuttering
on the kerb
overlooking the graffiti
the unread road sign
because everything has fallen, because
there’s nowhere else to go
© 2007 K V Skene
