The Year of the Nottingham

The lights confuse us in the night

Tracking right to left and left to right

Steady beacon constant on the bow

Torch flashing sail; waves on metal plough

 

All eyes front, gazing at the steady stream

Of fishermen, leisure yachts passing near abeam

Pitch black warrior of steel, cruising twenty knots

Through a minefield of coral reef and sandy spots

 

In the dead of night watch, that steady light ahead

Lost our nerve, our confidence, woke captain from his bed

Stop all engines, reassess, ignore the fuming Nav

No saving face, or gold of rank, sleeping sailors we have

 

Keep them safe, secure in racks dreaming of their home

On the bridge the young watchkeeper has eyes like radar dome

It was the year I did execute the perfect come ’round

Aft of the Nottingham, the day before it ran aground

Illuminate

It is not a situation where

what you emanate

reaches me unchanged,

to reflect what you radiate.

It is the essence of my being

to take in and absorb

the streams of mercy

that flow out from your source;

feed me and make me whole,

make me grow beyond my limits –

strong, broad, I tower over all.

You give your all to me,

I soak up your energy

preoccupied with you

Until the fall..

Hidden deep

While brothers and sisters were engaged

in a turf war on a global scale

A cold front, hardened, caught adrift

Floats away without mainsail

 

The emptiness perturbed them

As far as the eye could see

But watchful for horizon

Warmer shores come expectantly

 

But, little do they know how

a hot sea current can act

Upon their frozen precipice

They have escaped the simple fact

 

For underneath the narrow tip

the sea sick clambering, cling

A hull full of dangerous cargo

in the underbelly bring

 

All baggage, loot and baffles-full

of stowaways, bilge and gas

No room for living passengers

Just a burly lump of mass

 

The lot on top think handsomely

of their talent at nautical stuff

But from Captain down to Seamen

They’re playing blind man’s bluff

 

While many heard their tale

of floating like sea birds

Many passing ships do fear

The invisible iceberg.

Iceberg

 

Ego

thistle balls

‘Tis a weed in the garden

Do nothing to make it grow

Some think it’s just a flower

Daring where it shouldn’t go

Through many will multiply

And choke the others dry

Some, worse are hurtful

Prick your fingers till you cry

Just to show how incessant

cursed ground, set apart, they are

I plucked out a whole garden full

here, you see my scars.