Orienteer

The sea, always changing, yet ever the same,

The tides may differ, the change is the name.

Here I float,

And here I note,

That my hull be too narrow,

My sails too small;

Far from anything called shallow,

I’m tossed in the squall.

 

The others in boats have already gone,

Bearings set, bows challenging the waves,

While I reach out for a glimpse of orange dawn,

And foretold strength fails that which it saves.

 

Tall masts moan and hammered planks creak,

Assured craftsmanship begins to seem bleak,

Through the collapse and lurch and leak,

I hold steadfast to the debut I seek.

Reviews

[R J Askew]

I like the notion of setting out on the journey, with the sea and life being the squall. The last verse is definitely my fave here. There is a frantic feel about it, and yet through it all the voice of the poem is unbowed holding steadfast. Great stuff, because the debut was achieved.