Tags
colony, ocean poetry, poem, Poetry, sacred voyage, sea fever, sonnet, tramp steamer, wayfaring
Your path is in the sea, your path is in the great waters and your footsteps are not known. — from, Psalm 77
Rusty iron ore tramp steamer painted pink
with a great garden of vegetables up
on deck. A tribe of wayfarers, with ink
and love, to sail the steamer, to worship
the waves and all of us in it. Gorgeous
sea-rose, wide mid-ocean. A colony
of cats, of cast-off children, of purpose
other than all this land-locked misery.
Fresh food, fresh water, fresh love; the rhythm
of the voyage slumbers in us. Sea trance
and dream. I want part of this tribal blood
of friends and lovers — in a rust-bottom
pink ship. I want a myth and a romance.
I want a voyage both wild and sacred.
