Battle at Sea, 150 B.C.

Battle at Sea, 150 B.C. Stroke, the oars cut deep. Stroke, they twist and turn in the water. Stroke, they come up high, dripping like tongues hungry for more. Stroke, and so it goes, rowing the bireme in the doldrummed sea. Shoulders flexing in unison to the quartermaster's drumbeat, a well-tuned machine of flesh and blood. Human pistons, ankle-chained against escape, drive the empire's warships. Enslaved conscripts to the cause - the first to drown should the ship sink- toil harder to the lash of the whip. Boys with buckets of seawater scurry among the oarsmen delivering a cooling douse - ready to wet down arrows' flames should the need arise. A ballista bolt strikes amidships killing four of the slaves. Their bodies are quickly cut from their seats and thrown overboard. The rowing continues, Stroke, stroke, stroke. The prow ram encounters the enemy ship, timbers creak and strain, the entire vessel shudders and the oarsmen reverse their rowing to free the ram and set for another blow. On the decks swordsmen have alit and a fierce battle rages. Bodies and weapons rain down onto the captive rowers. Another ramming run - and the enemy vessel breaks in two. Kindred oarsmen meet their watery doom, still chained to their benches. The emperor's warriors shout in glee, victorious once more against their foe. Seven enslaved oarsmen have earned the only freedom they shall ever know - death. The remaining continue as before, Stroke, stroke, stroke.Actually I wrote the poem before looking for an appropriate picture. This is a model of a Greek bireme. Written April 1st, 2002 © on Apr 01 2002 02:20 PM PST, Heinz Scheuenstuhl    0 • 10