JOHN R PARSONS

My ship’s
wake flows back to that moment
when anchor, first pulled with so little effort
lay there on the deck waiting until some
mooring was acknowledged as safe and
the relative skill had been acquired by that
writhing naked manikin to launch it
through gently heaving waves lapping
shallow shores snaking across dunes
of marram, yet am I those white
horses signifying the approach of flood tides,
the monsoons and tsunamis, all that froth
and spout, am I the reef and lagoon, the
fiord and inlet, the archipelago and
whirlpool, all jarring and flowing back
behind, the wake focussed on this point
of release, heading for that disembodied
line of sky and water, am I export, freight
or ferry, firmly moored against some final
jetty waiting that instant only launch will tell.


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HIPArtsLiteraturePoetryjohn r parsons,poem,Poet,Poetry,Poetry cornerJOHN R PARSONS My ship’swake flows back to that momentwhen anchor, first pulled with so little effort lay there on the deck waiting until some mooring was acknowledged as safe andthe relative skill had been acquired by that writhing naked manikin to launch it through gently heaving waves lapping shallow...The Hastings & St Leonards non-profit community newspaper