A poem by Nathan Cocker

Slow, sad sails, empty of all their power,
Wagging through the trailing mists of morning.
Quiet decks, awash with fluttering foam,
Robbed of regimented hands battening
Quarter hatches, holes and starlit skylights.
Each cabin lost of all souls except phantoms
That shift in time like the absent Bosun's call.
No hurried feet clambering the rigging
For a glimpse of the dawn's early glimmer
Riding the racing white horses into the day.
Where are you now, brave, young crew?
Aboard some greater ship en route
To rich green-wrapped leeward Carib isles?
Or, sailing away upon those heavenly tides
To planes reserved for spirits beached
Upon shores far beyond this tangible earth?

Commentary

I wrote this piece to capture the Mary Celeste’s eerie, hollow stillness. In composing it, I wanted to contrast the lingering imagery of the ship—its empty decks, fluttering sea foam, and idle rigging—against the frantic, regimented life that would’ve been there. My focus was on that haunting absence, moving from the physical decay of the abandoned vessel to a speculative wonder about where the crew might have gone, whether they are still sailing on some distant, earthly route or have drifted entirely beyond our world into the spiritual unknown.