Note this poem was written some time ago but I was sick and deleted my site. I have been patiently reposting my poems since 9 October 2000.
On November 13, 2002. The Prestige, one of twelve tanks burst during a storm off Galicia, in northwestern Spain. No help was forthcoming and by November 19, the ship split in half. 20 million gallons were spilled into the sea.
Beneath the heavy dark clouds,
the storm broke.
An oil-filled tanker sank
spewing black lakes of murderous slime.
What a giant "Prestige"!
Despite the roar of untamed waves
there was a deadly hush over the ocean.
A low death knell sang a purgatory of pain,
as contaminated birds of gulls, orioles, kestrels
squawked their last dirge:
What a giant "Prestige"!
Too late men stretched their ingenuity,
a desire to save and spare
the livelihood of so many families
that sailed the oil-spilled seas,
where baby dead fish dotted the surface,
sands and rocks tainted with death.
Elsewhere engineers burned their chemical gases
and smoke escaped from the earth's fragile shell.
We all have our "Prestige"!
Written 2016
Across the hills in the morning mist,
Are the soft echoes of the bagpipes, as gentle as a mother’s kiss.
In the dark of night as the moon shines bright,
The wee folk come and dance until the morning’s light.
A land filled with river and streams,
Sprawling valley’s lush and green.
Among the pine trees where the Druids once roamed,
There is the paradise called Galicia, where my father was born.
Standing on the mountain where a tower now stands,
The Celtics could see across the water to a land they would claim and call it Ireland.
Though many would say there is no truth and it’s just a story,
Yet in the early morning across the land one can hear the sounds of bagpipes Playing a soft melody.
The American Scholar,
professor of English at Dartmouth College.
Books for children
were your domain.
From “The Trumpeter of Krakow”
I learnt the second part of the legend.
“The Golden Star of Halicz”,
has ancient story of Galicia.
In Mexico you helped the refugees,
while working for the U. S. State department.
They were descendants of victorious people,
later abandoned by their allies.
You traveled through the foreign countries,
observing people’s fates and faiths.
Learning their history,
you produced the literary gems.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.