View Of Stale Harbour.
A place becoming,
Under grey sky,
Wide and empty.
Closed.
Broken - decked boats
Hide
Behind massive branches
Of nearby trees
In twigged moonlight
A dog barks
At the gate
Chained in
Hungry for trespassers
Aquatic Hell
Wounded hull
Lapping slightly on the tide
Leaking driftwood.
Generator of lost journeys
And found homes
Now a burden of scenery.
Rachel Bond
Sun 7th Mar 2010 01:38
i agree with Tommy you have a sense of the past in all of your writing and your style fits the recognition of all those old books(the reason i like it so much)...but seeing as you would literally have to write the words 'this poem is about the sea' and id like it...i wouldnt let it go to your head ;)