Sea Fret

 

Spinnaker set to west

my paper galleon of a life

lurches towards the storm clouds

that must surely carry rain

 

Grumbling and groaning

the once carefully folded timbers

tossed over six decades and six

begin to let water.

 

I lie to myself for reassurance

but secretly wonder if the sheets

would make a serviceable lifeboat

or merely a half-decent shroud.

 

Time’s impatient waves slather at my keel

baying dogs licking and clawing

determined to drag down their prey

as ink bleeds freely off the figurehead.

 

In this tormented reverie

reminiscences of shipmates

safely coloured in the past

whistle through the rigging ropes.

 

Those proud shanty cameos

of yesteryear’s daring adventures

crystalize the salinity of the main

and wet my eyes.

 

I bid departing ships

fair weather.

 

 

© Graham Sherwood  08/2018