Mariner

[eclipse]

How I yearned for a house when 

I was a mariner with a ship in a

bottle above the fireplace, the wind

outside would be my friend as I 

floated on the tides of memory.

I became sick of the futility of prayer

and the indifference of the sea God

as I asked him to repair our sails.

 

As I sleep the wind crashes against windows, 

is the sea God summoning me, I have become

a ship in a bottle. Ghost sits in a rock chair 

whispering story's to the fire-we aspired to be

kings of the sea as the ship was pulled to and fro,

I watched a mermaid intercept a harpoon, perhaps

the sea became sick of killing. I long to be back

on a ship, death wouldn't concern me. I hear the

whales singing to me in my sleep of how they want

a home which is a place of peace.

 

[Tinker]

Barry,   Wow!   The words just flow into one another and this poem comes full circle.  One of your best in my opinion.

~~Tink

[tonyv]

Barry, I picture a cottage, and I am there in that cottage. There's a fireplace with a fire, and there's a ship in a bottle on its mantle. There's a table with two chairs and a bottle of wine, upon the table, almost gone. I'm stressed, because the wine is almost gone. I only have one bottle left, but I don't want to open it; I'm saving it for the return of a beloved. 

On 3/6/2019 at 4:41 AM, eclipse said:

… perhaps

the sea became sick of killing ...

I hope so ...

Thank you,

Tony

[David W. Parsley]

Barry,

Ohhhh, yeah.  This one touches mythic waters lapping at the roots of my subconsciousness, a part that is contained to a tamed miniature that still remembers the epic potentialities still out there, not yet exhausted.  Nice imagery and symbol.  I agree with tink and tony: one of your best!

Thanks,

 - David