Storm Season

A night of rising tides
Tides will not let me sleep
the sailors are afraid

Deep quiet before storm
long ago winds of winter drove
snow against the back door
paths dug deep between the heavy banks, a maize, a farmyard labarinth  of trenches leading to the barn, the chicken house
the old house, the warehouse, buried half way up the windows

A dark and silent cavern where a child
lay dreaming,  as children do
Here sailors know they cannot sleep


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I have wandered the Soul Food places for a long long time, been the donkey's secretary, posted many a rhyme. My earthplace too has been too long and the road up the mountain is sometimes steep but I still live, and love and write or draw for my dear people.

6 thoughts on “Storm Season”

  1. SEED: “Here sailors know they cannot sleep”


    wisdom comes from having braved the storm,
    and manning oars against doldrummed dispair,
    and finding the hidden seal skin,
    and diving for pearls on moonless nights –

    children shall dream because life still aludes them —
    sand shifting from their toes,
    and they must sleep
    for fear of being so alive
    as the sailor
    or the tides.

  2. This makes my heart ache in just the right way… reminds me of a poem I memorized in Jr. high…

    I must go down to the seas again to the lonely sea and the sky,
    And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
    And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sails shaking,
    And a grey mist on the sea’s face and a grey dawn breaking.

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