Sails whip, howling as the ship
slices the night in two.
Like fishing line
you cut me -
unfolding.
Sun beats down,
a single cloud frowns
on tepid blue,
petulant, like you
closing me down.
Wrapped up in
self-enforced autonomy.
Spray-spat, salt-kissed, dismissed.
As speckled gulls wheel
in the mist.
The bow creaks,
bottles sink bereft
of message, while aft
of stern, journeying
Tern screech.
Whales breach
the roiling surface.
Emptying out to swallow
whole patterning seas.
Waves freeze solid,
making molehills of salt,
stuttering, time revolts,
silence spreads
like rust climbing
the anchor chain.
We remain chilled,
swallowed by currents
we can’t contain.
This poem is an extended metaphor for a relationship imploding like the centre of an anti-cyclone. I think it is like a kind of emotional exorcism writing these types of poem.
Harnessing the power of the elemental to reflect raw internal emotions has always resonated with me. Apart from it being an age old dramatic device, on a personal level, it forces the writer to confront the power of those emotions, removing the sting in the tail of past regrets.
I don't want to comment much further on the subject of this poem as it is pretty clear in its imagery.
Without the storm, there can be no clearing sky and that soaring feeling that better weather is on the horizon...
Pretty much sums it up 🌤
Thanks for reading/listening.
The various media used in the poetry reading are all from CC licence sources, links to credit:
Music: The Nymphaeum Part V by Angelwing
Title picture: by Johannes Plenio from Pexels
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