Indiana Shaw Poet Pantoum

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The Perfect Storm

He rode her with a passion his tiller held high
He commanded her, but; never once did own
Calms her ardent waters; passions as subside
Giving respect, allows her to share his throne

He commanded her, but; never once did own
Forced within her; his very own perfect storm
Giving respect, allows her to share his throne
By willingness, then acceptance did transform

Forced within her; his very own perfect storm
Waves ridden, until nothing but; waning ebbs
By willingness, then acceptance did transform
As into calmer waters, her riled passion heads

Waves ridden, until nothing but; waning ebbs
Steered by the tiller-man in his direction lead
As into calmer waters her riled passion heads
He has all but now; put this wild storm to bed

Steered by the tiller-man in his direction lead
He was never, going to be browbeaten by she
He has all but now; put this wild storm to bed
Never fearing his mission, in claiming this sea

He was never going to be browbeaten by she
Calms her ardent waters, passions as subside
Never fearing his mission, in claiming this sea
He rode her with a passion, his tiller held high

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Sekitto Herbert Grace March 4, 2020 at 5:05 AM Good write and flow Indiana Shaw August 11, 2021 at 9:01 PM Cheers, Sekitto . . . : )

Tom Cunningham January 13, 2020 at 12:09 PM Perfect pantoum, have only written one, computer nearly went out the window lol. Tom Indiana Shaw January 14, 2020 at 9:21 PM Cheers Tom, I seem to be getting a yen for them now . . . : )

Ann Foster January 13, 2020 at 8:05 AM Wow... lots of imagery, and power... lovely write. Ann Indiana Shaw January 14, 2020 at 9:18 PM In all, a perfect storm . . . ; )