New poem . . . new book

This poem and the others . . . New book coming in November 2025: more info

From my vantage

in the Old Signal House,

I am a storm watcher.

 

There is a woman at sea, with a named hulk

reinforced by wales on either side,

three stately masts towering above

with castles,

a carrack

of caustic woad, dyeing alum, and ivory,

called The Camellia:

the cries of lesser black-backed gulls rise

on the coast,

and herring gulls scream,

but she is beaten with salty fury—

thrown in the downpour,

her tea-stained cargo tied down with rope,

lashed with ocean’s spray

at the sodden gale,

her dwarf storm sails like

butterflies’ wings . . .

 

No tempest shall shake her calm,

deployed sea anchor,

a barnacled medallion

sunk from the saline bow,

protects her from capsizing,

the distant eyes that conceived her

from the horizon, like Noah,

also watch as a ship’s captain

under cragging boughs

of sea trees:

the woman buoyed up

against turning leatherback turtle,

to her majestic wing span

in rock waters.

 

She talks of rights. She sings.

She rights herself. She sails on.