A tattooed man, burly and grey,
twists his hemp-fiber rope.
He thinks only of this cable’s lay,
not of wistfulness or unfulfilled hope.

His skin is bronzed and deeply creased
echoing the waves of the sea.
The grey wisps of his forearms’ thin fleece
recall thousands of mornings misty.

His thick fingers grasp like old iron anchors
as his mind glides through his tasks.
He pays no heed to the long-faded cankers
on his worn body from times long past.

Silently he furls the white canvas sails
and stows the great ropes below.
He calmly swabs with a mop and a pail
all the sea salt on the deck white as snow.

The now naked oak masts still rise to blue skies
as seagulls circle and sing their own lay.
But the sailor man hears not their cries —
He turns the capstan: Anchor aweigh.

The oaken ship now glides at slow pace,
adrift on the wide open waters.
A smile takes shape under grey beard’s lace:
He seeks the hand of Poseidon’s daughter.

He’s the last of the crew on this ship of the line.
He sails to be one with the sea.
He waits in calm as the smell of the brine
signals his new bride has welcomed his plea.

Ages hence a wreck will be found
with just one skeleton aboard.
But upon one bony finger, a round
gold band shines out like a vast hoard.

The sentinel stood
on the stone parapet
under heavy storm clouds
that stained the stone wet
and as the sleet fell
he turned his collar high
and, stoic, did his rounds
with the faintest little sigh —
His simple task was this:
keep watch over the town
no matter wind or weather —
the corporal earned quiet renown

Ego was stripped from skin
in layers until the trail of tears
was no longer visible to the blind
eye

Monks chant in the distance
as souls dance to the melancholy;
strength of the limb is tested
...wearing Sunday's best

Frayed rope is placed on ivory
rough against the delicate truth
only to be choked before it could be heard

Lover be ******; pained eyes meet
the noose being tightened by hands
that once cupped the breast of the Mother
...betrayal found in man's milk

Foundation is kicked away in one swift
motion; crushing the pathway of life
swaying with eyes wide open

Ego killed the delicate that day
a day of broken promises; dreams
forever became a lie, the lie truth

Delicate is still here in the shadows
swaying between trees in an eternal
dance in Sunday's dress
...waiting for the neck to fully break

Haunting Ego's chance~

I was seventeen,

with all my being I longed --


to offer myself.

No sound, at a corner of a giant sea rock
With a fisherman’s eyes search, he sits alone,
searches above, around, and down
mindful of predators

Sea winds pass dangers lurking everywhere,
though it can’t see the hawk a half mile away 
that is watching its every move
towards fallen acorn seeds, where

A hawk flying down and confused for his life.
A sea wonder sits alone and refused to look into sky,
death by hawks within due to strife,
She, departing the nest from the past.

Of swans, of salmon leaping where
the silver water plummets,
and even when caution
is in the wind, dangers remain

Of glaciers swelling broad and bare
A toast to a fallen hawk, the Lord
pours out his largess there
as long as planets continues.