© G.V. 10-20-2011, G. V., All Rights ReservedIambic tetrameterHohner = harmonica
An eerie spell recites with Auster,
but none should listen to the gust
above the cargo stars foster
the ship sheers off, in night's dark cast.
We hark the words - a haunted song,
the wind recites through our whisper,
upon Atlantic's route lifelong
an enigmatic big dipper.
Atop the bridge acoustics sharpen,
eerie's the steersman whistling song,
- juke box and liquor in Antwerpen
where he was not much right or wrong.
Astounding flash - the blade was drawn,
for cause nigh naught, wrong talk offends
on brines his ghost shall trip foregone
in southern winds, his Hohner blends.
We pass alargo from Cape Coast,
that blade's fast draw forwards the past,
an end aghast, a moonshine ghost
will haunt my sleep, invite me last.
Our cargo cuts through bluish drape,
our diesels hum - besetting rhythm;
in mists envisioned smiling gate,
slowly engulfs our floating brim.