Wednesday, October 03, 2007

Today, I am Bick Pentameter. (a little more "poetry" inspired by this)

Lines written on the Feast of Guardian Angels

It seems so long ago that cannon blast,
did win the waterline of th’Eve Marie;
She's scuttl’d now in icy depth of past,
seen but by Wisdom's eye if wisdom be.
But soon, in minutes, hours perhaps, or years,
when, bubbling to the face, her gift, her son,
the solitary splinter’d plank careers,
one half unconscious ragged soul hangs on.
Its tar will fill his throat and eyes, its nails
five times will pierce his passive flesh, its mass
will break his back; his strength his weakness hails
till salty wounds flow freely to this pass:

His low'ring head into the gulf to see
the mermaids rolling, arching, joyful, free.

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I'd be a blackguard and a cad, if I weren't so ineffectual. The less said "About Me", the better.