~

his ropes are worn but hold the strain;
they’ve seen far worse in wind, in rain.
his deck is bare, his winch is full,
his back and arms ache. yet again;
though soon his catch the hold will fill,
with hissing jaws and snapping claws;
reward of toil with traps of steel.
’neath cloud and sun, to dusk from dawn,
with weathered hand he works and sweats;
to bring to port ’fore sun has set,
there’s hungry mouths to feed at home;
a wife whose face his hands to hold.
in years still young, but days too old,
these seas have aged his weathered soul;
and eyes that peer neath bill-ed hat,
have wept as waves stole all he has;
not once, but twice they claimed his lot,
sunk to its bed like fallen stone;
but skill and luck his love has bought,
her prayers from home have brought him back.
of fable and of myth he’s made,
cup of saltiness with pinch of sin;
with baited traps he lays in wait,
yet knows he is the baited one;
for he’ll ne’er throw in these lines,
or trade his trusted trawler in.
a farmer’s life may suit his love,
but this she sees would be his end;
and so she lives each day in wait,
for his trawler's horn to sound.
this too she knows far too well,
one day his horn will sound no more.
no coffin nor a stone he’ll need;
the sea will bear him to that shore,
his lasting gift to her is them,
each child's face, his own imprint.
the sea his final resting place.
his voice to hear amidst the wind;

~

*post script.

an imagined crabber and lobsterman; with mouths to feed and a love he needs back home, owing much to prayer and good fortune, though even this has it limits as the sea's rigors daily tempt fate.  these lines mused from my own castings of traps and nets... of harvesting the sea’s bounty for a mere weekend, with my lover near at hand.  

https://www.nytimes.com/2014/01/05/magazine/a-speck-in-the-sea.html

pss.  i am many months away and life has changed; these changes are still a work in progress.  my goals too have been rearranged... death and hardship have that effect on us, though sometimes change that feels alarming actually takes us to a place of salvation; this being my constant hope!  i make no promises that i am back, only that for now i am here, and have missed you and the sacredness of these walls.

If we stopped painting hate with such broad strokes
Perhaps one day we could erase
The darkened color of the heart with loves cure
Then the color of hate would lose its place
In the colors that man has learned to make

Mother Nature ran a want ad
In this year's Farmers Almanac

Seems these days she's wearing thin
With the progress made by modern man

She needs a little extra help
With the here and there and there about

The whole earth needs a good sweeping
From the ocean floors to the river streams

From high above to down below
All of the trash that has been thrown

With all the extra dust around
She can't keep up with the dusting down

That is why she placed the ad
In hopes of getting help with that

Resumes started pouring fast
From North to South, East to West

So many from around the globe
Who would have guessed, who could have known

There were so many that were keen
In wanting to keep the Planet clean

Right then and there on the spot
She hired them all, the entire lot

She gave them brooms, their own dust pans
Sent them all throughout the land

To every crevice, to every crook
To give the world a spit shine look

So many helpers worked that day
Into the yawning wee hours late

Until the earth was **** and span
Every water splash, every grain of sand

From underneath to over top
Everyone had cleaned it up

Bi-weekly now she runs the ad
Inside the Farmers Almanac

I figure you and nature
Must have something going on
Otherwise why would I hear your voice
Each time that the wind blows

Or see your lovely face
In puddles the rain makes
With your form in every shadow
As the day grows late

And those midnight rendezvous
Where I spend time with the moon
Knowing that as I do
He's keeping an eye on you

That's why I figure you and nature
Must have something going on the side
Because no matter where I eat, sleep, and breath
You are always on my mind

Trappist monks singing                                          s
            ­                                                                 ­   t
                                                          ­                 h
Hymns and incense ascending                g
                                    ­                              i
                               ­                              e
to their very                            *h