4 to 6 second pull on the ship’s whistle
Announces to others in the harbor
The romance of sea:
“Underway! Shift colors”
The Ensign now flaps from the mast.
Jack folded into a tight triangle
Stowed away until:
“Moored! shift colors.”
Poems, poets, poetry, writing, poetry challenges
The biggest truth was
The first one we lost;
Oh so casually –
The first of many that,
Even now, are
Slipdripping through our
Ignorant, care-nothing fingers.
We mend the irrelevant barricades
(Too foolish late),
The nets, bait the
Big, hopeful hooks with
Embroidered versions of our histories.