This poem was fun to write about, well to me at least. It's a quatrain with no rhythm, but a rhyme pattern.


I one met a sailor at a beachside pub,
He was old, wise, and instead of a leg had a club.
He looked around the pub, then beckoned to me,
at which point I reluctantly walked over and grabbed a seat.

He put down his mug and looked me in the eye
He asked me if I'd heard the saying, "Dead men tell no tales," and I nodded with a sigh.
He shook his head and began smoking his pipe,
"Thought so," he mumbled to me. "I know your type."

He took a couple more swigs from his mug,
and doused his old pope with a toss to the rug.
"Listen well, kid, 'cause I got one for you,
Many a'tale I have from sailin' the ocean blue."

He then proceded to tell me about incredible tales,
Ones of deceit, battle, romans, and the gustiest of gales.
I guessed he was probably bluffing, about it all,
but I found myself captivated by his tales, no matter how tall.

He told me of brilliant sunrises on the horizon,
and how he wrangled the toughest of bison.
He told me of his role in the Civil War's navy,
which made me think he was truly crazy.

Hours later, he concluded his tales with a satisfied sigh,
I asked him if it was all true and he said to me, "Aye."
Being polite, I told him what amazing stories those were,
and how I was sad that they had to be over.

Then, his face lit up, and he showed a big grin,
and just as suddenly, the pub began to spin.
The sailor faded away in a twinkle, and as my world spun,
I heard the distant sailor's voice saying,

"My boy, they've only begun."

Nice, i'm not a very good poet.

I like the ending most of all. Good job.

Very nice, I like.

I found your poem quite enjoyable to read. It told an interesting story about what I thought was an interesting old ghost sailor. Good work!

Thanks bunches.