Lunar light glints through crashing waves,
glimpsed as ghosts that ride descending troughs.
Ships tower as castles, turrets edged in fire,
they rise through smoke like cities caught
between barbarian floods.
Scraped wood shards, frayed ropes hold a reckoning,
shrivelled under Barbary coasts low fever.
A captain dreams of re-fits through each lonely night,
and how in midst of tropic storm he’d never leave her.
Anchored at Sao Tome near the Bight of Biafra,
water cold and pinching as the Brittany Strait.
Giant cranes and pelicans stalk the faded rigging,
Feathers stained from the mud flats of Niagara.
Sails rent, cargo pulled to pieces,
Spice powder stains the stiffened canvas creases.
Seams fissured, planks caked thick with oakum,
while at Berwick Bay a merchant softly spoken,
implores the wind from the office that he leases.
6 Aug 09
Rated 3.7 (7) by 3 users.
Inactive (3): 1, 1, 8, 9, 10, 10
(define the words in this poem)
(791 more poems by this author)
(1 user considers this poem a favorite)
Add A Comment:
works for me
awn what level?
awn what level should he? be specific.
shut the fuck
I think trashpoodle is either at sea level or all at sea, probably the latter. Chuck a bit of trash onto the ocean and there he goes bobbing up and down like a discarded cork from a very ordinary bottle of Algerian whine, getting himself all flotsomed and jettsomed. He is after all The Widow Twanky of the waves ....oh but look ....the waves have parted and there he is rolling around on the sea bed desperately trying to avoid the threshing tales of mud wrestling mermaids, or should that be mer men?
Larry mere man Lerk
Show me the fucker who gave this 6 and he's walking the plank in Piranha Ocean
Larry takes the ratings so seriously that he cries himself to sleep if he only get a 9 and conteplates the whole of a gin bottle (any excuse) at 8 or less Lark
Trouble with Trashpoodle apart from his name, and we could go on for hours about the psychological implications of that one, is that he's got too many barnacles stuck to his ass.
Just leave Trash poodle alone. Old timers like him have enough trouble wading through the bath salts without having to cope with shark infested waters as well.
I think TP is Larry's mother in law who floats by every once in a while to ram a sea shell in his deaf ear
Colonel "Zincbath" Rowharder, OAP and ex commander of her majesty's poop
That fella dreaming of refits should get out more. I tells ya Cap'n larry this was hard to read as tarring the foc'sle or the folks - whichever. Stick to landlubbery, your seafaring days were a mistake.
Admiral sentiments cap'n.
nice. i like how reckoning reads like beckoning.
another good poem. must favorite this.
here's a ten for your precious, larry, so's it can feel good about itself.
Thanks TP, I really am all at sea and a flutter on the breeze whenever you honour me
Larry outright brazen lying bastard Lark