Monday, 18 September 2017


A silver gull soared,
and I, unmoored,
saw no way clear
no leading light
to starboard;
to port, no welcome
shelter from
the nearing storm,
or writhing worm

A silver gull soared,
and I hoisted salted
veiling canvas, sails
much torn, frail-patched,
I waited for the shiver
but death becalmed
the world's wind and
left me marooned there.

A silver gull soared,
but no line beckoned
from the strange horizon,
no dividing sign between
the blurring sea and sky
seized my burning eye
"It was a gull," I cried
"Silver, no raven dark
croaking "Nevermore""

A silver gull soared,
forsworn from any
Stricken colors, and
widow's weeds
float and tangle
sinuous limbs
on my broken rudder

A silver gull soared,
and a disdainful
mermaid flipped a
diamond-scaled tail,
dolphined away from
my stricken deck -
no treachery this,
for all know the guilt
is all of the listing wreck.

A silver gull soared,
and I am unmoored:
So drift then, box that
dizzy compass
let in those salted
waves of tears but
remember the rich
and jeweled treasures
stored beneath

A silver gull soared,
but left a trove:
strings of gilded hours
a book of mysteries
no God answers and
no prayer asks; and
gallons of dark rum
in memory-jointed
sugar-scented casks

A silver gull soared,
My dirty canvas wings
may scuttle-limp
through thicker air,
but I learned that skill
from still-winged
silver-winged glory.
It is true I'll never soar,
but look! I float.


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