Of all novelists now living or dead,
My friends, I owe this poem to Clive Cussler’
A writer that’s come to live in my head.
Only for him, I would not write proper
On such way-back subject as Titanic
He took me down the depth of Atlantic
And lectured me on the ill-fated ship
‘Raising the titanic’ through readership
Now that I have displayed my courtesy
Let us now see how good a poem could be…
Belfast, the city where they assembled
An enormous massive structures of steel.
So gorgeous and spacious like a palace
Yet it was meant to float upon the sea.
On the great slipways of Harland and Wolff
Was built a massive ship named Titanic.
The most luxurious of passenger ships
E’er made by man to sail the Atlantic.
It happened way back at the early dawn
Of the adventurous twentieth century
When the men were frantically doing things
With slight deviations from the ordinary.
They came up with this indescribable
Ocean liner, manned by the White Star Line.
It really baffled every living soul
That happened to be alive at that time.
Once after completion, it stood boldly
On the overcrowded shores of the sea.
Every soul who was fit to move went there
To the shores of the sea a least to see
The largest moving object ever made
By man. Such marvelous sight to behold
Standing on the shores with her name written
In three-foot letters on her hull in gold.
She was waiting for all who were able
To foot the bill of being her passengers.
She waited till the high class, the wealthy,
And fortunate mid-class could all enter.
It was a festival… no carnival.
Graham Farley was there entertaining
There was business; like a trade fair; many
Went through a lot of buying and selling.
So the nine hundred-member crew headed
By Captain Edward J. Smith was at work
To sail the ship nicknamed ‘Unsinkable’
To her presumed destination, New York.
Once they were in, all who were capable
Of paying or playing their way inside,
They waved, they smiled, they cried at those off board
Who stood solemn waving, wailing goodbye.
The floating palace began floating off
The shores of Southampton, floating away.
All living souls watch in rapt wonderment.
She was to sail for a number of days.
The hundreds of passengers who crowded
Her magnificent staterooms and saloons;
The smoking gentlemen who occupied
Her excellently designed smoking rooms.
As her band played, people began to eat
Excellent meals smoked and drank classy drinks
They were joyous. They knew one certainty –
‘The ‘Titanic was never meant to sink’.
Among the nine hundred member-crew were
Cooks, engine room men, stewards and liftmen.
So many of them serving the wealthy,
Famous, gorgeously dressed men and women.
What class of soul was not in that vessel?
As it sailed unsinkably on the sea
The merchants, magnate, clergymen, students,
Teachers, waiters, farmers and their families.
The Astors, Guggenheins, Strauses, Russians,
Swedes, Greeks, many of whom were immigrants
There were people from all parts of the world.
I wonder if there were no Africans.
Men and women walked and talked: stood and looked
Children played as they headed for New York
Till the night of April 14, 1912.
Far in the ocean, she hit an iceberg.
It hurt her hull so bad it affected
Her delicate parts, her heart and bowel,
She gave out a cry like many thundering
Locomotives going through a tunnel.
The ship went limp. Captain Edward J. Smith
And his officers all struggled in vain
To revive her. But she was dead and naught
They never could resurrect the ship again.
Gradually, she began burying herself
Into the depth of the icy sea.
Everyone noticed her submerging but
They refused to believe in what they saw.
Soon erupted cries. Fright. Horror. Terror;
Everyone running, struggling for his life.
The crew members sacrificed their own souls
Like martyrs to rescue as many lives.
They rescued as many men, women and
Children as they could ignoring themselves
Till the bulk of steel was swallowed in the
Wee hours of April 15, 1912.
Her sister ship Carpethia sailed down to
Take the few deadened survivors back home.
They returned with nothing, only bad news,
To bury relatives in empty tombs.
And so the unsinkable sank down, down
The blackness of the icy ocean floor
And the reality of that night till not
Quite a long time ago remained unsure.