Poetry

Small Waves

You used to look

out over the harbour and tell me

about the boats waiting there.

You used to say

that they weren’t just vessels

for ferrying a person back and forth,

but vessels for transporting the lives of all the sailors

ever to have sailed,

worn into the salty residue on their hulls.

A lullaby to the ocean and its cast

of characters waiting forever for the last show

of the tour.

Poetry

The Pirate King

Riding along

the rushing seas,

sword in hand,

the Pirate King steals

everything he sees.

 

He doesn’t care

whose jewels he takes,

he bundles them up

and locks them away,

careful that none are fake.

 

He takes the gold

from foreign ships

along with bottled spices,

piles of dyed silks

and fruit from exotic pips.

 

He dances ahead of those

who would capture him,

they can’t keep up,

even with full sail

their chances are slim.

 

Forever and always

he’ll sail the ocean,

fighting off enemies

and plundering islands

for wonderous tokens.

Poetry

Dead Words

A tower of words merged into brick

waiting to crumble

like the decayed mast of a wrecked ship.

 

The alligators below all circle around

speaking of disaster and sacrifice

while they’re safe on the ground.

 

An annual mania that ignores the dying,

green apologies are spoken;

they don’t realise they’re lying.

 

And then the opening buds of a rose

speak up with new voices

querying the world with new prose.