O Captain, My Captain++

Monday, 05 September 2011
  • By
  • Jeff Ammons
  • Tags:
  • Poetry
  • Humor

By Albert, Lord Graspington from source material by Walt Whitman

O Captain, my Captain!
My wicked-AWESOME Captain!

Our fearful trip is done;

The ship has weathered every rack,
and we had a lot of fun!
Plus those aliens who came down from space,
we kicked their asses back!

Not only did we kick their butts,
the prize we sought is won;
though I am not sure what we should do
with a bunny, giant and plush, O.
Perhaps the tiger or the snake would fit the ship's decor, O.

The port is near,
the bells I hear,
the people all exulting,
except that guy, on the left,
who seems to be convulsing.

While follow eyes the steady keel,
the vessel grim and daring;
But, O heart, heart, heart!
Heart, heart, heart, heart! O!
O the bleeding drops of red,
intestines draped about the rail,
brain spatters on my shoes, O!
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
fallen cold and dead.
Ask not my heart how I know he's dead,
when you can see the hole in his head, O!

O Captain, my Captain!
rise up and hear the bells;
you hate the bells,
this well I know,
but people like to ring them,
so I guess you'll have to deal, O!

Rise up--for you the flag is flung--
you could just pick it up (but NO),
for you the bugle trills,
for you the circus thrills!
For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths--
and nearly naked girls, O!
for you the shores a-crowding,
for you the whores are shouting,
For you they call, the strumpets all, their eager faces turning;
Though I must admit, when last we docked,
they left my loins a burning.

Here, Captain, dear father!
this arm beneath your head!
But not MY arm,
for it is too gross,
how the ichor leaks from your perforated head, yo.

It is some dream that on the deck, you've fallen cold and dead.
Yet I pinch myself, and it does hurt,
so I guess it's not a dream, O!

My Captain does not answer,
his lips are pale and still;
I poked him with a pencil,
but his reactions were just nil.

My Captain does not feel my arm,
or hand upon his wallet,
he has no pulse nor will;
For comfort's sake I think one thought,
"At least he's not a zombie."

The ship is anchored safe and sound,
its voyage is closed and done;
I'll miss my Captain, yes I will,
but that trip was still quite fun.

From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
but I with mournful tread,
burdened by giant bunny plush
Walk the deck where my Captain lies, fallen cold and dead.
But at least he's not a zombie.