me and oceans

I’ve made another one, another poem. Tell me what you think.

T-shirts with No Logos

(with a nod to Stevie Smith)

Will you ever marry?

Why no children?

Have you heard this song?

 

The man I loved has died.

I live in decades past.

 

At 37, I am an old, wooden ship.

 

I am a creaking carrack.

I carry no cargo, never will, just

delicious words and puffed clouds

of ideas

that roll lazily about

my hold.

 

I am no clipper,

I roam open oceans,

my curves comical and oversized,

my sails blousy,

my lines askew.

 

I look to horizons

without anticipation,

expectation.

The horizon simply IS

and whether it holds that line

of sea and air

or a distant shore

is not up to me.

It just will BE.

 

I am an old, wooden ship

in crests and valleys of now;

not drowning, but waving.