Papa

A boat crafted of rickety wood dragging a clumsy bottom A briny sea inhales the morning sun Hemingway is in my boat Rubbing my weary eyes, Is that you, I query Call me Papa, he proffers With my papers clinched in leathery hands Did you read my book; I ask? Not bad, he replies, too many words Too many, I ponder Icebergs, pointing crooked fingers to the empty north Good books are like icebergs Cold, I expect No, you foolish fool, Papa spits Dried and cracked lips sneering My hope sinks Shifting like the wind, he smiles There are no wars in your book Wars? My story is about a blind fisherman You didn’t read it, Papa Too many useless words, and no wars A good story is of war And women, whores with ruby lips that pucker like a fish And thighs stronger than Hercules’ conquest And rum, lots of rum And fewer words Wars, whores, and rum Can you write that, foolish fool? With fewer words? And no goddamned fisherman I was in a rickety boat made of wood tossed by briny seas Hemingway is drinking rum and singing about wars And whores with ruby lips A big fish comes The big fish swallows Papa Fewer words

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Joseph Spence Sr

Date: 7/16/2021 10:29:00 PM

Congratulations, and excellent poem, Jim. I love the flow of the words and the impact of the message. I am very proud of you and your poetic proliferation. The descriptive excellence is lovely and sends terrific images. The theme of "Papa" stands out, and the tone moves the piece down the page with much grace. Great job! Have a fantastic day, and God's richest grace and blessings to you always. –Professor, Ambassador, Dr. Joseph S. Spence Sr. (Epulaeryu Master)!