All at Sea: a Travel Log (Past)

With me as cargo, Jason's Argo
sails for Angkor Wat.
"Away to sea," to Ma says me.
Says Ma to me: "You'll not."
 
The Black Pearl’s nigh. "Head north!" say I.
At journey’s end…? Big Ben.
What’s not a lock's not if I'll dock:
the question is but when.
 
I'll hit the main aboard the Caine.
My goal…? Rome’s Colosseum.
(A spirit rare, each martyr'd there.
My prayer...? I ne'er shall be ‘em.)
 
Ahoy, HMS Dreadnought!
Wish permission to embark.
Your target’s Templum Domini…?
That move should prove a lark.
 
A voy'ge aboard Endeavour'll
see me join Lieutenant Cook.
For a high-rise call’d the Empire State

we -- he and me -- shall look.
 

I've heard the Flying Dutchman
plans to visit Fallingwater.
I’d risk a trip aboard that ship,
were I commission'd spotter. 

China's Great Wall's engineering
long I've long’d to see.
Wolf Larson’s Ghost, moor’d up the coast,
will take me there -- for free.

Say "Hi, Hagia Sophia!" 

There shall Henrietta steer..?

For sure she shall. Her rationale...?

The Horse Guards lacks a pier.

Ipatievsky Monastery...? 

Who'd not love to visit!

The Fighting "I" aboard I'll hie...?

Aye-aye! (Intrepid, is it...?)

My next stop...? Jin Mao Tower.

(Forrest's been there; I have not.)
I'll get there 'board Gump's Jenny,
still a most seaworthy yacht.

The Karaboudjan's manifest lists 
aubergine puree.
I'll trade for torte once I make port
at Krak de Chevaliers.

From there I'll hop the Lollipop;
there floats no better ship.
My mark this hour...? The Leaning Tow'r 

of Pisa's dry-dock slip.

Few match or beat you, Machu Pichu,

destination-wise.

(Nor'll May Day's crew "Nay!" or eschew 

the Mart of Merchandise.)

Twixt sub-sea bus, be Nautilus, 
and nuclear Polaris.
But, dare I swear, she'll bear me there...?
(To Notre Dame in Paris.)

I'll leave New York aboard the Orca.

Goal...? The Old Post Office.

Its room rates...? Dear. It lacks a pier.

Still, Orca here will doff us."

Though mates aboard the Pequod,

we shall have no truck with whales

as, departing for the Parthenon,

we plot its jumble sales.

'Tis no Queen Mary, my Queen Berry:

swab I do...and bouse.

But when I'm through, I'll then pursue

the Quaker Meeting House.

I'll board the Red October, head
below blue ocean's swell 
and silent run. Then, when I'm done...
Ha-har-r-r-r! The Ritz Hotel.

"Me hearties: dive!" (On Seaview, I've

her ballast tanks let fill. 

We'll surface when we reach again

St. Paul's. You know the drill.)

Nor can I panic 'board Titanic
if my sojourn stalls

before a Taj Mahal mirage:

white-ivory marbl'd walls. 

 
The HMS Ulysses 
ain't no gondola for sissies.
I'll brave woes -- Lord knows: a passel --
in my search for Urquhart Castle.

Each indenture 'board the Venture
feels compell'd to sigh, 'Aye-aye!'
I'll, however, tumble never.
I'll endeavor toward Versailles.

As I'm piped aboard We're Here,
I ask myself, 'Be this the year
that I the White House fin'lly reach...?' --
this just before I hit the beach.

If, like Kanes before us, we'd
reach land at Xanadu, we'll need
some ship-shape vessel like the Xanthus --
lest some villain coelacanth* us.

     * To attempt to drive to extinction.

 

Within their Yellow Submarine
(a Beatles' meetup...? Unforeseen),
I'll sail with Paul and Ringo...and
clock in at York House in the Strand.

 

In Zodiacs, with Jacques Cousteau,
I'll heed no wave, nor need to row
as, happily, I wrap my tour 
beneath the Ziggurat of Ur.