stout flute
carved by salt,
stops dug and squatted
by living pearls,
birthed as bough,
brined in waves-
some gust cast you
from nurturant ledge,
christened you flotsam,
adventured you,
a galleon bolder
than Magellan,
wrestling greater seas,
until you learned
to ride water's
frothy manes.
you rode liquid chariots,
wizened and raw,
to murmurous landscape,
felt beneath you once more
the patient world.
Chris Crittenden, Maine, USA
2 comments:
Chris Crittenden lives near a lighthouse in a remote coastal area. There are no traffic or street lights nearby. He believes poetry is explifies the depth and honesty to which humans can attain. Some recent acceptances are from Poems Niederngasse, Poetic Diversity, DMQ Review and Thick With Conviction. He thanks you for reading his poems!
Driftwood is very lovely in itself. A noble tale.
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