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Leviathan
Ahoy! On bowride below titans peep
ghost ships of the Pacific hunt and chase -
giant barnacled sea lords of the deep
do baleen whales its clear blue waters grace.
Beneath the waves in ocean migration
fluking bulls and cows breach the feeding pod,
and return to dive echolocation
depths of Ahab and wreck of the Pequod.
Yet still ghost ships the old hunting grounds scout
its mystic echo whalesong far reaching,
and still cavernous mouths unmade to shout
trap by moon and tide on remote beaching.
May no harpoon or flense sound its death throes
and may long live the shout of “thar she blows!”.
Written: July 1992
Copyright ©
Keith D Trestrail
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