The wind faces us down, a bitter housemaster
seeing our tricks, he raises his willowy cane,
jealous of our freedom and wings
Then pitiless comes the mighty blow,rips the
boys hand from the sea/a thousand lines
I must drive my cutter to the wind
I must drive my cutter to the wind
And planets hidden by the clouds, jostle
for place so that a man might see, and
take to their contrary taste, while
The briny rope on brass lugs and
staysail winch and flapping watery
forehatch, scream for solace in the
Brassy ferment; and in the heavens, a
widow’s veil contains the sludge-black
clouds above, where seagulls and pitiless
puffins, with filled-bills, carry their fishy
death to nest.
And on the shore perfidious, dread-filled
processions of daughters and wiry sons,
keep the vigil by the hearth; where wild
wive's wombs, upset by thunder’s booms,
wade their watery tombs.
Looking aloft
Envisioned dream
Dawn at Sea
Tides crash abeam
Seas mystery
Attempts to bend
Ready bow
Sails to mend
Backstay about
Apparent wind
A close reach
Clew torn within
Navigated course
Needed cleat
No buoy insight
Captain feeling beat
One sits astern
Another alee
Corrupted chain plate
Desires to flee
Thoughts come about
Center of effort tried
Eye of the wind
Heel another tide
Weather the storm
Splice, I say
Tell-tales in line
Not falling off today
A painter, grommet
Ship shape, spreaders sway
Searching, missing hanks
Love of the seas headway
Staysail
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