… sea chantey.

By J. K. McDowell.

December 2015.

 

Seeing things in black and white, you can rarely tell

That the blood spiraling down the drain is really

Just chocolate syrup – unless your own is spilled.

 

What is the safe distance from your darkest secrets?

Delight and sorrow – the fragrant rose and piercing thorns.

What are we to each other? Five paces, turn and fire.

 

The nib of the pen carves through the emotion,

Setting in place the envisionment. Cold water

Screams rarely provide any satisfying terror.

 

I reflected on the failed harvest and wonder

Over the defeat and the blame of liberty.

We do not see the blood seeping from the asphalt.

 

The dervish orbits the column and poetry flows.

This is an inertia that spins me through the

Fatigue that challenges the creative spirit.

 

There is a storming chorus that reminds you of your

Insignificance. James, I am so pleased to

Finally hear your own voice in this sea chantey.

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