Shipwreck of the Fishing Fleet

SHIPWRECK OF THE FISHING FLEET 11/24/2012 He was lost in white surprise Of drugs and doctors quips His mind was filled with flapping sails Of white that guide the ships To dance among the white capped rocks In North white nights of June Bring in the catch to catch the maid Who’d be his wife so soon. Wild hair so white it shamed the sheet That soft caressed the grass The grass-plagued daisies held her there As clouds triumphant passed In columns white the bossy clouds Marched brisk across the sky But none of them could match the spark Of whiteness in her eye. Fishing was the fruit of life their land bore little green the joy and danger that it brought left little in between and men who braved those waters better be prepared to die for reaping nets and filling holds bows to a fickle sky And then his shocked brain shifted Jigged timed across his life How many white nights had escaped? The maid now was his wife! Saw breasts so white that milk they gave Seemed paltry in contrast-- To feed the babe that snuggled there-- The fruit of love surpassed. Then shipwreck banged into his head The white-flashed lightning zing-- He tested feet and moved his legs Seemed he’d survived this fling Of nature’s whims again he’d live To tell the lusty tale of how north winds had jumped from waves to grab their ship's main sail. Before the White-Christ Had emerged from his Semitic genes The sailors would have cried for Thor To ease his hammerings. Sailors lost were prices paid To live in Arctic shores. And, lost at sea was ever feared By them, and wives adored. He’d play a trick, they’d think him dead-- Would make a crafty tale! By his hearth and in his bed would sound a mourning wail. His house would be a feast of black Mad weeping would impress-- Then his imagination called her tears He vowed each tear to bless He smirked to think of their surprise When he stalked through the door-- An unsuccessful leap from bed— He’d rest a little more. And being man-- he pondered sex And pleasures it would bring There was no sizzling passion like His lover’s offering. a putrid glass forced through his teeth- Morphia drew him in To dream the dreams of healing arms prickles kissed his skin He found her face beyond his pain, smile that could disarm-- In dreams , with wife, in languid bliss he caught a fish of charm