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
Copyright © Victoria Anderson-Throop | Year Posted 2012