A-WHEELING-TIDAL-WAVE-TURNED-ON-
THE-VERY-CUT-THROAT-CREW
From starboard the sailors look
to the shore, wave hand or hook.
A small boy gazes from the shore
at the pirates who are no more.
Ghosts are they in the rigging
who'd set sail for gold-digging
on an island in the hot sun,
fat with greed, drunk on rum,
met with savagery, came undone.
A fate imposed on many other crews
by they who dared to cut loose.
Wave upon the waves they do.
Not greetings, just farewell to.
MY-FINE-TOUCHES-
SHE-WAS-TO-FIND?
Her body was a work-of-art.
Find she let me enter the frame.
Picture a painter with his brush,
then a poet with pen-stroke the very-same !
BITTEN-BY-THE-CRUEL-COLD-
A-PAIR-NOW
Torville and Dean they were unalike
though the pair skated on very-thin-ice.
When they first met they were alike,
but later came the freezing-cold bite.
No comments:
Post a Comment