The World's Longest Poem (A Work In Progress)

“No matter where the place or when the time
Whatever else, a narrative must rhyme,”
Gullish observed, his body now denuded
Of all its feathers and Ozzie concluded
From observations of the sun and stars
And the actions of the planet some call Mars
And others Ares – still others have no name
For the wandering star. They’re not to blame.
It’s just that in their native weltanschauung
The stars are from a sable ceiling hung
And dangle there from a celestial thread
Swinging without rhythm overhead
Like swords of Damocles and as the proof
Sometimes the thread is parted from the roof
And little stars crash fiery to Earth
And to gigantic craters give quick birth
As happened many years before our tale
Somewhere NorthWest of where our heroes’ sail
Cuts a white triangle from the sky
As flying fish and wavelets do rush by
In an increasing breeze which worries Bjorn
As near a savage ocean he was born
And all his kinfolk too. So well he knows
Of Poseidon’s wrath and ebbs and flows
His many moods, his passions and his rages,
His love of fish and squid and coprophages.
(Not many have it in their weltanschauung
That Neptune’s fond of creatures that eat dung.)
“I don’t like the look of this ocean at all
“And I really think we’re looking at a squall
“Of Neptune’s wrath proportions,” opined Bjorn,
“And if we don’t want our anuses new-torn
“Then we’d better head for land and right away!”
“Agreed,” said Harlan. “I don’t like the way
“This raft is tossing. So, with any luck,
“We’ll make it to the shore before I chuck.”
“Which way’s the shore?” asked Greeley. “Don’t you know,”
Replied Vern, “in which direction we should go?
“You’re a bloody map! You must know something
“This wind is getting fierce, these waves are humping!
“Not in a good way, either, but with menace
“Like Venus and Serena playing tennis.”
“What the hell does that mean?” asked the goat
As sea foam topped the gunwales of their boat.
“These references of yours are quite obscure
“And if we’re going to drown here let’s ensure
“That everybody’s comments are explained.”
But Bjorn with Viking anger unrestrained
Remonstrated angrily with Vyvyenne
“Explain it when this storm has been and done!
“We need not any of Vern’s explanations
“Every sailor to his tempest stations!”
Somehow each crewman knew just what to do
Which requires some explanation, but just who
Will do that I’m not at liberty to say,
But they laboured long through storm-tossed night and day
And fought the winds and waves and fish and squid
(And coprophages, who fed well and did
Good service to our heroes’ cleanliness.
For fear and roiling stomachs made a mess
That nothing else could clean for nought approaches
The sanitation habits of cockroaches.
The cleanest insect spawned in all the world
And as from mouth and anus there was hurled
Such foul detritus that (these lines shall tell)
The deck resembled something out of Hell
A punishment for sins, like Bolge Two,
Where damnéd souls immersed in human poo
Talk crap. (You might think this is what we’re doing
But if you’d been there and had seen this pooing
You’d know what fear and storms and such can do
Even Greeley somehow generated poo.)
All good things, though, and all bad things it seems
Must end at last. Through parting clouds there streams
The warming rays of Helios (or of Sol)
That calmed the waves and left our heroes whole
Though not quite hearty for their limbs were weary
Their muscles ached, their eyes were kind of bleary,
Their hair was mussed, their clothing torn and battered
But after that storm these things hardly mattered.
So they rested and restored their vim and vigour
While the smudge on the horizon did get bigger.
And no-one saw the calm sea turn to surf
Or felt their raft heave up or smelt the turf
As foam-topped waves washed them across a reef
And on a beach deposited them. Relief
Washed over Bjorn’s prone body as he knew
Subconsciously that they’d come sailing through
A storm that would’ve wrecked a lesser vessel
Or lesser crew or lesser trestle wrestle.
(Wrestling trestles is a Viking sport
In his delirium this random thought
Wasn’t unexpected in our Norseman.)
Then there came the sound of armoured horsemen.
If our crew had had a conscious eye
They’d’ve noticed that they stood six inches high.