Peter Rees Poet Rhyme

Sailing Home

Three in the morning, and again I dream
Of waves and windblown sails, driving us on.
A petulant ocean, its mood would seem 
Somehow to echo mine, awaiting dawn.
Tossing and turning, creaking and groaning,
It's an old man's bones I hear, bemoaning.

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Ken Rone April 26, 2021 at 8:11 AM Do well constructed. Wonderful imagery. But remember "Off the wind on this heading lie the Marquesas" - Stills, Curtis, Curtis

Ann Foster October 11, 2019 at 6:13 PM Wonderful use of rhythm and words. You are a musician and a poet, surely... Ann

Patricia Cresswell August 24, 2017 at 12:16 PM Oh my goodness old bones never give us a moments peace. They are always there grinding and groaning even when at rest. They keep us honest when we try to pretend our youth is still with us. They get us in the end. I really flow with this poem creaking like an old wooden ship. Peter Rees November 20, 2019 at 6:08 AM Thank you Patricia. This one was from the heart !!

Darlene De Beaulieu August 5, 2017 at 8:42 PM I like the way the words flow in this poem. Peter Rees August 18, 2017 at 8:45 AM Thanks Darlene.