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Stephen Barry Poem
Beggars of California
With their tattoos and their piercings, I don’t give money to beggars in California. Up on the Haight with his honey, not really in need, this beggar of California.
At least in New York you get some song and dance, perhaps the tickle of a tenor sax ?and they’re out in the rain, not just when it’s sunny, like those beggars in California.
Near my apartment in Pacific Heights, know them by name. It’s funny; frown when they see me: two brothers, one on either side of the street, these yuppie beggars of California.
I offered to pay the pawn on Runny Nose’s instruments out of hock, but his sign was a true ploy. Another’s sign: “Sailor needs a ship”; it’s war time!? Beggar of California!
I offered one a berth and a meal of tunny. I still see him, but he begs no more.
I think he’s on the dole with a cot. His words were foggy, this beggar of California.
I begged Jackie Paper, since the eighth grade: run for California, head west young man.Education was free. Was I cunning or just another beggar in California?
Copyright © Stephen Barry | Year Posted 2015
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Stephen Barry Poem
“He fought often and once bled in the cause of freedom, but his habits of War did not lessen in him the peaceful virtues which adorn his private life.” Doctor Benjamin Rush, signer of the Declaration
“In placing Barry at the head of the Navy I have special trust and confidence in [Commodore Barry’s] patriotism, valor, fidelity and abilities” President George Washington
Reflections by Commodore John Barry (1745-1803)
It’s been a long voyage, this life. Me, son of a poor tenement farmer, now Father of the American Navy. I feel as though I have not unpacked my trunk since I first walked aboard Uncle Nickolas’ fishing skiff back at Ballysampson, County Wexford in ‘55. Searching like a young lad does for adventure, understanding, and lust. Wanting to escape oppression and to feel worthy and alive, I left my mossy island it disappeared with the tide.
It has been a little over a year straight now back here at Strawberry Hill. I believe it’s the first time I’ve seen all the seasons change consecutively since my youth. Father, he loved the earth but for me it would be the sea. The British kicked him off his land; they planted a seed in me. Cromwell watered that seed when, “by Hook or by Crook”, he massacred me countrymen, thousands: three. My enmity towards the British and oppression took root, grew wings.
‘Boutez En Avant’ our family motto ‘strike forward’ seemed not to be ignored. So off to sea I went under my father’s brother’s oar. Cabin boy, Able Seaman then Mate, what better place to feed my soul, then blanketed in mother oceans’ wave. I made my way to the new land, up the Delaware to Phil-idel-ph-ia. Easy to be a Catholic there and many ships come in and out every day. It’s there I realized that females would carry me through day to day; ships and wives and love letters to keep me on my way.
My first Merchantman Command the schooner Barbados, for a time, the West Indies my second home, nine runs on her, she ran steady, steady as a stone. “Big John” Barry they started calling me. I stood a full foot over most. The Patty and Polly a grand one tripper, the Industry, she a good sloop. The Page was quite a plumb for a Captain as young as I. Better still the Black Prince, I set speed records on her: 237 miles dead reckoning in 24 hours, if not in the blink of an eye.
Alas, the Black Prince was an omen as well, for soon the fight would come. I’d been waiting for the time to seize freedom and avenge my people from back home. The woman that drove my heart, my dear Mary Cleary breathed no more; in ’67 I was at sea when she arrived on heaven’s shore. When brother Patrick was lost at sea on a French frigate the limey’s sunk, my rage only grew. Feeding the old roots buried but now in death this marrow renewed.
Saved from despair [by wife number two], Sarah Keen Austin, as Sally she was known. I had a home again and a dandy, steardy women to guide me, letters to see me through. Things happened quickly after the Prince it was war, and we needed a Continental Navy. “Get Big John Barry here, get him here immediately.” I oversaw the rigging and reinforced the bulwarks. I secured the powder and the canvas, the hard tack and the jerky.
They gave me the first Captain’s Commission, a fantastic brig. I took this cruiser Lexington, so strong was she, in one hour I captured the Edward, loyal to the Queen. Then the command of the Effington sprung new up from the keel. While I watched her grow, they tried to bribe me but I spurned the eye-dee of being a traitor. Instead, I did some soldiering to pass the time while she was being built. I was handpicked to work for General George Washington what a privilege and honor I had felt.
As the British descended on Phil-idel-ph-ia I would have to scuttle the Effington to save her from red hands, leaving nothing for the picking, only splinters in the sand. I fought many a valiant battle with skiff and small boats, too. Ah, the Raleigh, she was a 32-gun frigate what a beauty; I had to scuttle her too, put fire to her on the rocks but I saved two-thirds of my crew.
It was the 36 gun Alliance in ‘82 that was my favorite lass. I took metal in my body in one grand battle but persisted as my blood ran, and the colors flew through the smoke and the crunching, through the fog and the mist. After I sunk the Atlanta and the Tresspassy I gave the captain back his sword, because he was and honorable man and my lessons from the Lord. By ’83 we had beat the red coats pretty darn well but I sheared off the Sybil for good measure and had the cook ring the ships bell.
Back to a Merchantman for a while and the Asia took me to Oriental lands but my country came a calling and me, always willing to lend a hand. From President Washington in ’97 I received Commission Number One and the 42 gun Frigate the [USS United States]. Keen, thought I-this is the one. We did many a mission in her; changed many a man’s fate.
Father of the America Navy, my contemporaries call me. Now I sit on Strawberry Hill, looking down on the port. I rake leaves for my daughter, my grandson, he’s a sport. I have more time now for my association, “Charitable Captains of Ships Club”. So many sailors lost in the war, their widows and orphans need the clothes, need the grub. I get called to teach the young cadets. I guess I’m father to them all. Boutez En Avant; persist, strike up an onward, good motto for one and all.
Copyright © Stephen Barry | Year Posted 2015
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Stephen Barry Poem
MOMBASA
Full moon uneasiness
Veranda dining, seven course style,
One day after my thirty sixth birthday,
I dine alone, in a poem.
Waiting for the Moon to pass to wane
and contemplate for Zanzibar, in vain. . .
MARATHON
Leawa Downs Marathon
Elevation 6000ft.
Elephants graze in the foreground
Campers camp, Samburu chant
Hyena’s WHoop Whoop whoop
5 A.M. Army alarm wake-up
The brown dust rises
and runners move in
Fluid motion
In the African Day
Building a Country Together
Blowing in the wind . . .
MASI MARA
Descending into the Rift Valley
Baby nephew Dylan sings along
to the Beatles. Masi heard their cattle in
Red blankets and colored beads.
Sitting under the tree of knowledge,
Different universes under one sky.
MASI RAIN
The pounding rain of the Mara
Post safari, I sit in my tented camp
Five Star style and naked.
Rain Dancing on canvas:
Rain Song of Hyena Laughing,
Hippo bellowing,
The baritone of the Wildebeest,
The tree Frogs low hiccup.
I will shower in the hot rainwater
for eternity
Sit on the Queen bed of honeymooners
And wish you were here.
Whoever you are. . .
Copyright © Stephen Barry | Year Posted 2015
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