paw play

sometimes staring at a wordless emptiness of white
hesitant fingers hover over keys like a fox ears over snow
It's there reflecting in time's vibration smelling of salt and tar
Lines twisted taut by steady wind firmly anchored at full sail
Lights flash erratically through shouldering smoldering clouds
Then thrusting forward on the turn of running tide
Anchor lines severed as one by two well swung axes
Left to float loose like yacht club moorings
As the ship heels and dances over slower whitecaps
Free as a hunting hawk and just as deadly
Sometimes the rawness of aggressive creativity has fingers tip on wrong keys
twisting wording and thought lines in frantic search for continuity.
Sometimes she wallows on following seas bilges sloshing in frustration
as the helm sluggishly stubbornly refuses to obey
Other times the winds die and fog consumes all thoughts in clammy clutch of cold deadness
Where in hell is that damned coffee?

Reviews

[J]

Ach ...... if only ~ if ONLY i could write like this when the fog ate my focus and white caps smeared my ink. Baby, we're way beyond coffee ...... bring on those schilaleighs please. [one of these days yer gonna have to correct my spelling, but you know what i mean]. You pour.

Dang this is beyond. You and the sea ..........

[All faded blue]

Oh, so often I have felt this searching for the words, almost as if my fingers were typing out a foreign language, trying to make sense of the turmoil within. You captured this so well.

all faded blue

[Gandré]

Even in vacuum there is information, so your looking into the void has meaning. You "touch clumsily" what your poem is about... the turbulent water of life (man+the sea) with swells of considerable size when someone is in fall of his life; so wonderfully you share this with me. Thanks for reading my long piece. But there is no death, there is just the failure of functioning relationships between molecules and atoms, that's my definition and so, we need no fear for we never were born and never will die, soul is immortal.