Man On the Docks

May 31, 2016


The fog chilled my fingers
and a bell clanged all’s well
far, far out a horn moaned to tell
the old crew had set sail

The old crew and the old wood
that creaked in the lapping tide
left him there, lines untied
and his pipe trickled smoke

Red-nosed and bundled
he hauled the old marlin round
his meaty hands with a rasping sound
coiled each bight and muttered

Of the sea and the yard
and the rime
that seemed to layer him
as much as the timber
on which we stood

I watched him lay
the line perfectly
then we trudged
up the wharf
through the mist

He told me of a book
he’d written many of these
of the far western seas
and his adventures there

I’d read it before, here in my chair
I only knew this salt of a man
because of the books from his hand
they painted him so well


Scent of a Book

May 30, 2016


That took me into the wind
riding and reeling
through many ways in
to the valleys
of lives lived then

It smelt of sun and the dust
creaking and crackling
spoke of old rust
and long travels
through words in trust

Like a photograph of time
lost unforgotten
by a sober mind
that remembered
retraced the sign

Left by long travelers tracks
their course over years
lives on their backs
and memories
in leather packs

I found an old book and then
I found a sacred
old monument
to trails and treks
where others went.

Come Home To Me

May 7, 2016


Will you
Tell me
I want
To hear

Will you
Come home

Will you
Stand here
With me
On the edge
Of this canyon
That never ends

Will you
Come home

Will you
Help me
Build fires
By rivers
Of wasted dreams
That never dry

Will you ever come home to me.