I reach for her
Tho well I know
‘Tis but a shadow
I shall find,
I call her name
And hear awash
Its echoed sound
Implying limbo’s tide
Has carried it beyond…
In shades abutting dark
I barely see her face,
As I endure await
An end to limbo’s fate,
Thus beg that morrow
Finds an escape,
Where she may reach
The end of sorrow,
Beyond the dark of limbo!
Now you’re here,
Tho far too soon
You’re gone,
Leaving no reason
To the surrounds,
Save suggest year
Had but one season
Rather unclear,
Seen fulltime grey
With baleful demons,
No longer able
Kept at bay,
And so fate chose
You disappear,
To not extend
You suffer appear,
Another morrow’s day!
The day of the hunt
Be the squeal of a seal,
Who’ll reach for a hand
Of a starved dying man,
With no choice to save
Or let live with a wave,
That another day gives
Either creature to live,
With no time for sorrow
Nor sealer to borrow,
Holds he must stride
To hunt many hides
Or shan’t morrow survive,
Nor halt downward slide
Of living the narrows,
For yesterday’s bread
And a roof overhead,
Man has no guarantee
From fated seal barrow,
Nor survival ahead
Tho finds his way back,
Before all freezes over
And frost has him dead!
ode to perished sealers,
of Newfoundland’s 1914
Would that I’d find
Days once too long
In my young mind,
In endless ways
Chose to entreat,
Eager for morrows
Time be held brief,
The while brood then,
For long day’s end…
Save now I’ve grief
For time I left behind!
I have a life
I wish to keep,
Tho may not live
Past my next sleep…
That I do try
To will its keep,
There be no bye
Or assured pass,
Nor of a morrow
Though I may ask,
Exceeds its stay
To so divine a way,
Beyond its fated day!
Poetry on a Canapé 