Good Morning,
This poem is for David, Sean and Darren. Dedicated to them as the men I have grown to know and admire. The few last fishing men in Staithes.
From The Shore
The piecing cry of scattered gull
As the engine turns pulsating hull
Salty sand, peppers weathered skin
As they head from the shore ignoring the din
Masters of the sea, they slice through the surf
As one with her they know her worth
How bountiful a treasure they might find
Then unforgiving in her cold unkind
Testing their skills on Lady Sea
Breaking her waters wild and free
These fishing men from Northern Shore
Who dance with death they know the score
August 27, 2014
No comments:
Post a Comment