Transitional Poetry

What gets possibly gained from poetic encounters? A friendship sets sail though mast’s shadows can’t merge more than sheets in the wind that two sailors might set in defiance of oceans, whose trembling waves surf on their opposite shores? Is it likely ship’s rhythm survives breeze filled waters, a leaning, you recognize, says what to purge? You still trust in a star group long past, hope to save an alliance, you first learned to steer by at night (who trusts sea semaphores)? Does a ship dare (becalmed) think a storm’s not in offing or trust if one comes she might make up lost ground? Winds that rhyme (fill day’s mainsail) may find night time’s whale songs good omen while night skies can frustrate all reason when stars don’t appear. A day’s poem’s safe harbor does not lead to scoffing, in each one’s fond glance, a glad memory found. A fair hint you admire how it says what it says makes you yeoman, at least, free or slave, kith or kin. My strong arm holds you dear! Brian Johnston 28th of December in 2020