Patra, Marina
This poem is from a book I'm working on of poems based on great poems I love. I have taken their format and the basic style and tried to craft my own poem like it. Just for fun. Not to compete. This poem is based on T.S. Eliot's Marina.
Patra
( “Marina”)
Where ships where shells where swords where bursts
upon the brain
and the flames climbing the masthead
the shadows growing long
and sharp in the evening
the gulls crying through the mists
and the steel falling like knives
what memories stain
O my little one
Those who lie and cheat and steal, meaning
war
those who devour the lost and unclaimed pieces, meaning
war
those who take and never give back, meaning
war
those who live in dark places with rot clotting their tongues, meaning
war
are judged without quarter
will shrink before the masters
while the holy wind tears through
and sweeps the hate and rape away
where the streets strip away the clinging sand
where strangers watch those coming back
from the battles with eyes of bitterness
where the women cringe in the corners
and weep
it’s a world gone astray
a world without guidance
a world without rules or anything
worth grasping
how fight how live how save how give
how hold with the wind shaking your legs
and the waves on your face
as you lie in the surf
face down with nothing
left to give
and the sparrows staring through the mists
empty and weary
what memories remain
my little one
Copyright © Mark Littleton | Year Posted 2013
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