thin strip of land
thickens the horizon,
tears to sailors’ eyes.
Land Ho! [Haiku]
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Tag Archives: Nautical
Racing Darkness [Haiku]
longtail boat
putters home at day's end,
racing darkness.
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“The World Below the Brine” by Walt Whitman [w/ Audio]
The world below the brine,
Forests at the bottom of the sea,
the branches and leaves,
Sea-lettuce, vast lichens, strange flowers
and seeds, the thick tangle, openings,
and pink turf,
Different colors, pale gray and green,
purple, white, and gold, the play of light
through the water,
Dumb swimmers there among the rocks,
coral, gluten, grass, rushes, and the
aliment of the swimmers,
Sluggish existences grazing there suspended,
or slowly crawling close to the bottom,
The sperm-whale at the surface blowing air
and spray, or disporting with his flukes,
The leaden-eyed shark, the walrus, the
turtle, the hairy sea-leopard, and the
sting-ray,
Passions there, wars, pursuits, tribes,
sight in those ocean-depths, breathing
that thick-breathing air, as many do,
The change thence to the sight here,
and to the subtle air breathed by beings
like us who walk this sphere,
The change onward from ours to that of
beings who walk other spheres.
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Horse Latitudes [Sonnet]
I scoured vast seas in search of wisdom lost. It happened when they made me walk the plank, like scuttled wreckage, sunk sans thought of cost, as I began to rise, my treasure sank. I bobbed in seas that each way looked the same. How could I find my way back to that spot carried by currents dastardly untamed, and found days later by a ragged yacht. And so I drift upon the choppy seas, and hope for winds to steer me on my course, but mostly there's not even a slight breeze, and I'm stuck in ghost screams of a dumped horse. I hope one day to regain my attitude, but not stuck down in these damned horse latitudes.
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Seven Seaside Poems
I.
Wind kicks at her hem.
The skirt flaps and snaps.
White cotton surrendering
to stiff seaside gusts.
A palm shoots to thigh
to bar the immodest scene
of goose-bumped flesh.
II.
A fishing boat chugs through the sound.
Puttering on sputtering engines
–then silence and drift.
A surefooted seamen stands and slings
a net that splays open like pizza dough.
It lands gently on shimmering seas,
and sinks into green-blue waters in slow motion.
Trying to snare an unsuspecting catch.
III.
Snorkelers ride the swells
like drifting corpses.
Legs unkicking
Arms unstroking
Mesmerized by a new world below
Awe expires from tubes,
rising and evaporating in sun-warmed air
IV.
Sailboats rock like metronomes–
masts counting out a rhythm,
a planetary pulse
V.
Trudging ashore,
retreating seas pull sand underfoot
He leans into the trudge,
his body-weight barely defeating the sea’s suction.
VI.
Red and white lanterns drift aloft.
Slanting up into night skies over the bay.
Light flickers and dances
before flashing into cinder
that will fall silently into churning waves.
VII.
Water gurgles in rocky sumps at the sea’s edge.
The tiny caverns floods like a heart chamber,
scurrying metallic green crabs flee out onto the rocks.
No two tides are identical–nature surprises even veterans.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 