By:  Garland Davis

There are good days

The seas are blue/green and serene

Shipboard routine is



Is nothing more than a series

Of interconnected tasks

Lacking meaning

Our days dictated by Chiefs and Officers

But mostly Chiefs

Our knowledge, abilities and self-worth judged

By men who were once us

Suffering is but

A sailor’s duty and due

Sin Loi Mother fucker

They say

Life boiled down

To a comfortable cliché

Then the storm comes

Things change

All that was senseless before

Has meaning and importance

Routine is no longer

The mundane

But suddenly and crucially significant

We strive and struggle

We plead to the almighty

To shelter us from the storm

From ourselves

From ignorance

When the storm and gale rage

We realize the significance of life

When a bad one hits

We devoutly pray

That a good one comes

And takes all this significance