Lou Marin was born and raised in the western hills of Maine, then spent 20 plus years wandering the country and world in the United States Air Force. He is a published poet and short story writer who now also writes faith based devotionals. He lives in Rumford, Maine. His five poetry anthologies, published by Publish America are Awash With Words, Old Waves, New Beaches, Whisper of Waves, and Sea To Shining Sea, Version 1 and 2, are available in print and online.
Jean Lafitte
Don’t call me “pirate.” I sail with 1000 men.
Your movie actors in Hollywood; megawatt smiles, betray their countrymen, move to France, because they don’t agree with war. I sail with 1000 men.
How can you be a pirate and not warrior. According to my code, “Coward” means death. I sail with 1000 men.
They call me Jean Lafitte. I am the best man on the Gulf Coast. I am The Buccaneer, The Hero of New Orleans. I sail with 1000 men.
While you read a script, pretend to sail, and steal, I am condemned and exonerated by your president. I sail with 1000 men.
I am loved by all, hated by those who fear me.
I sailed the Gulf of Mexico, in a leaking ship, and defeated the British in The Battle of New Orleans. I sail with 1000 men.
Don’t call me “pirate.” I am a privateer. I sail with 1000 men.
I invented economy in a new America that had naught. For thanks, I was branded “traitor” and reviled, though I saved you from your hated Motherland. I sail with 1000 men.
Now I am driven from your corrupted American shores, betrayed by a country that doesn’t know the difference between savior and satan. I spit on you. I sail with 1000 men.
It’s Only A River
The Tchefuncte River Cruised slowly past Headed for Lake Pontchartrain. Eastern sunrise broke Far away in another dream land.
Uncle Varney and I poled a pirogue, Nets and Zebco reels ready, Catfish and Gar fishing. The shore birds called to us lazily, Eerily a floating gator followed in our wake.
Red and orange turned to streaming sun. I laid my hickory pirogue pole down, Viewing the paradise around me. East bound traffic picked up on the interstate. River’s magic spell broken we docked at Madisonville.
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