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So this is the watermark
The stranding after the deluge
Tidal storms recede
And I am wreckage on your shore
Gulls hover
Strident cries they scrabble
For cast off sparkling trinkets
Dead flesh
Winging requiem for a life unlived
Slip the yellow tape boundary
Drape daisy chains and platitudes
Across my fractured hull

Would you find wild beauty
In weathered wood
Barnacle scars
And the echo of measured surf
Set this longship by the sunstone
Radiant light when skies are heavy
Sullen with winter chill
Would you cleave to the beat
Aegir’s heavy hand on your prow
The moon pull of open water
The tease of salt spray
On full lips whisper my name
One more time
Voice across the deep
And I will breathe

Will you simply wreath
My memory
“ see the line of my people back to the beginning
Lo, They do call to me”
Cast the fire and plot the stone ship
Pebbles skipped cross brackish water
My legacy sinks
Little rippled terminus
Wont shred butterfly wings
Or froth the wild tides
To the maelstrom
So this is the watermark
Strand my heart
With one spilled tear
TL Boehm
Aegir is a norse sea god
the sun stone was a viking navigational tool - a stone that reflected light even in cloudy weather
The quote is from a Viking Burial Prayer. Contrary to myth - vikings were often buried in the earth with the grave outlined in stones in the shape of a ship.
I don't write pretty poetry - and this is a lamentation of sorts for my lack of ability to write something beautiful.
If you want to sacrifice the admiration of many men for the criticism of one, go ahead, get married.  Katherine Hepburn

Imbedded in my memory
Scratchy soundtrack moments at 33rpms
The wicked life I led
Wine soaked nights
Days steeped in bourbon blur
Pagan cadence to the sacred space
Thrumming drums of pen to paper
Cryptic rhythm of words slurred
In sweat and desperation
My imagination
I reveled in potential pleasure
So many suitors spellbound and broken
In my wake I take nothing
The carnal flesh set for sacrifice
On the altar of forbidden dreams
My mind sullied, body clean

And you came with sober notes
The subtle structure of a tempered life
Traded my tambourine
For shackles
Mother, wife….
Dry eyed I cleave to you
Under quiet skies
My mind recants
The rigid friction of your words
My body yours when this mind’s empty
Adequate sacrifice for the sanctuary
Of dreamless creeping sleep.

TL Boehm 070408
a bit on marriage I supposed. And past lives half lived.
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