A mackerel sky fillets a fish scaled village,
an ear clapping, full sailed, fog
moors itself to the rooftops,
then hides all in a breezeless blear.
Rheumy eyes peep out from nets,
damp noses sniff abaft trawling drapes.
Cloth in hand, potbellied proprietors
battle the splatter and spray,
dabbing at mildewed shelves,
warding away slopping waders
and salty puddles.
On the sightless sea
far beyond the shore and shingle,
fog horns are lowing like lost cattle.
Later, misty reeks will be scoured
from groggy docks,
hauling hands will rope together
the tide-tossed salvage
by and by, squeaky boots
may trudge to taprooms
where codgers and callow alike
can be well oiled
and duly quenched.
Bottoms up
in the brook a-babbling
topside down
ducks a-dabbling
wings in webbed feet
a-scrabbling
omnivorously grazing
on the dunk
beneath the water
for insects sunk
yet in the U.S.A.
above below but not abaft
they rank 7th most-hazardous bird
to commercial and military aircraft
and as a high-flyer at least one duck
was struck and it's hard to beat
at a cruising altitude
of 21,000 feet
clouds as fluffy as the whistling bliss
encircling in the sky, eyes fonder and kiss
abaft the hidden pillows of lace
brightness over hays above Thy grace
Trailing naked toes, hat low peaked
fingers laced abaft head and sun,
white-water gently threading through
the webbed keel of one foot.
The sky is blasting blue,
splotching louder blobs of cobalt
around a midday solar blaze.
Even the river billows,
heaps uplifted ripples into crests.
An old man rests
his skiff rolling rhythmically
to a tune
the wind whispers
through reed quilled banks.
He smiles beneath a broad brim,
wonders how long further this journey
can flow onward
without a braced rudder,
nor clinched knuckles
upon an implacable steerage.
He wallows in his ease,
allows the world to float on,
to find its own effortless,
unhindered way.
Down the dreamed aisle
comes the bliss of your sight
Cord of your life
sinew of your might.
Abaft the unending trek
comes the longed outset
A more colorful kismet
under the glorified sunset.
Wishful thinking
ceases the awakening
With thine caring
adoration is everlasting.
We fly forever up high
In our own blue sky
Thru clouds, past rain, moon abaft
Behind those hidden marked wrists
Are lies, skepticism and fears
Behind those calloused, clenched fists
Is a cauldron of uncontrollable tears.
Behind those evident scars
Is a constant cycle of sorrows
An imaginary fiend that mars
A twinge that only herself knows.
Behind those unappealing blotches
Are griefs, worries and insecurities
Inflictive pain worth a million degrees
Coupled with regrets and negativities.
Behind those ugly knife marks
Is an unfathomable, aesthetic heart
Who got fed up with judgment and remarks
But was actually dauntless from the start.
Behind the so-called 'stupid cuts'
Is depression that she tried to overcome
Abaft her courage and remarkable guts
Is a doltish move for some.
Behind those wrists is the sickening dogma
On people's choices regarding suicide
Cowardice- that is society's stigma
But the truth is, they're already dead inside.
The wind beneath my wings was a fart
And excuse me is all I could say;
Flying here where worlds apart
As the good folk looked on in dismay.
For they had expected much more,
Loftier goals had been set for me;
But in the end where meant to soar,
I'm about as high as I can be.
And for those who looked at the updraft,
Thinking more height I could attain;
You know I look abeam and abaft
And am content in these clouds to remain.
For here with the wind beneath my wings,
In amongst these clouds to dart;
I know there are much higher things
But still amused I am by a fart.
One day our ship will port in a place of peace and wonder.
Abaft facing the wind and sails at rest.
Limp from its journey, tired and sunder. The bolt rope holding it together.
pushing stead course toward its mark breaking every crest.
awaiting to reach its voyage end, brails to pull along the way.
The shore that limits the journey stay.
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