ships at horizon
look tiny between vast sea
& endless sky.
Horizon [Haiku]
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Tag Archives: Ship
DAILY PHOTO: Ship on the Mississippi with New Orleans Skyline
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“On this wondrous sea” (4) by Emily Dickinson [w/ Audio]
On this wondrous sea
Sailing silently,
Ho! Pilot, ho!
Knowest thou the shore
Where no breakers roar --
Where the storm is o'er?
In the peaceful west
Many the sails at rest --
The anchors fast --
Thither I pilot thee --
Land Ho! Eternity!
Ashore at last!
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High Seas [Free Verse]
Rolling boat
on roiling seas:
heaving and creaking
&
pitching and listing --
Decks shifting between
untenable states,
Crew tying in,
tethering to what might
become the anchor around
their collective necks,
pulling them all to the depths -
'til the last bubble spills
upward from a nostril.
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DAILY PHOTO: Flor de La Mar
The Flor de La Mar was a Portuguese ship laden with loot stolen from Malacca when it sunk. This scale replica is a museum (Muzium Sumadera) in Malacca.
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“A Burnt Ship” by John Donne [w/ Audio]
Out of a fired ship, which by no way
But drowning could be rescued from the flame,
Some men leap'd forth, and ever as they came
Near the foes' ships, did by their shot decay;
So all were lost, which in the ship were found,
They in the sea being burnt,
They in the burnt ship drown'd.
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Sundown Ship [Haiku]
as the sun sets, a ship moves out to sea what's ocean dark?
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The Doldrums [Ruba’i]
Back in the days of wooden sailing ships some unsaid words could never grace the lips: the "calms," or "doldrums," signed apocalypse. Better storm than lull end one's life of trips.
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The Crossing [Free Verse]
A ship crosses the ocean, in the darkness: darkness, black & endless no moon, no stars, just clouds -- thick & low clouds that can't be seen The ship has lights, but those lights know an event horizon Lights sometime glint against the waves, those roiling & undulating waves, and the lights bounce off the ship's hull But no one can see them, because if anyone could see them, the seers would be seen-- unless theirs is a ghost ship, piloted by literal ghosts, or some other agent of observation Maybe there is fog -- not enveloping the ship, (such mist would be felt on the skin of those on deck) but, rather, a fog between where the ship is, and where is should be For it is surely off course, listlessly drifting, all hope arrayed against edges: edges of ice & edges of the world Not that the world is flat, but, perhaps, it's not fully sculpted: maybe nothing lies outside the range of the seen: outside the bounds of experience It sounds crazy, but all kinds of crazy form in a mind submerged in darkness
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