a note*

Everything I post here I have previously published on the many other blogs I have had. This is a place for my favourites to rest. These are the wings that taught me i could fly and that there is life waiting, far beyond the ridge.

If you care to comment, just drop me an email at grayhawk77@yahoo.com


Wednesday, October 17, 2012

The Storm

shoulda bought the beacon
and left two weeks earlier
funny how in all this chaos
the moon still dances in and out of the fury

now that keel,
I never did like the way it shook
not that it matters now

God, what a blow
shadows of death in every trough that plows my grave
while my rudder hangs
like a tail without a cat

my survival suit swings drunken in the closet
as useless as a candle in a blizzard
and I think of those I spoke to last
and the things I might have said

Men paint of such scenes
but this isn't a banker's wall
or a side-winding tale
in a sawdust saloon

this is real
life, death, alone
the final act where indifference
yawns the balcony
and the depths feather my bed

I could think of angler fish ripping my flesh for supper
or the pump that sleeps a drowning sorrow
but strangely I don't

I think of kisses as I drink the last coffee
these lips shall enjoy
and I laugh maniacally
as I slide down one hill
and toss to the other
wondering which wave took my panic

when all hope is reefed
the grand mast of fear falls broken
and the heavy anchor of regret snaps its chain
while my soul sails an uncharted departing
under bare poles and a curious moon

tomorrow the seas shall smooth
and roll like a wheat field in Nebraska

a ship may pass unknowing
a whale might nurse
and a long liner may notice clutter
on his sonar

but that is a tomorrow my coin cannot purchase
a calm a tempest too late
and a sun I shall never see

so farewell! all ye lovely ladies
so long, my brothers in arms
drink to me when the gales come calling
drink to the fool who sailed alone
and made peace with the night that took him