There was a ship lost at sea
Its destination not meant to be.
So it sailed as waters grew dark
The wind began to howl, and so swam the sharks.
When the storm passed, the horizon was left blue
Lost in the Ocean, there was nothing left that it knew.
He flipped a coin, wondering where it’d land.
Heads or tails he pondered, mulling the coin in his hand.
Would he flip again should the coin land wrong?
He had done this dance before, he had sung this song.
The coin glinted in the fading sun.
One last flip, before the day was done…
You were the tide as the waves came to shore
And as the waves lapse, it makes me sad that I can’t see you anymore.
Your ship is now far out at sea
No lighthouse to guide you, no place to be.
Perhaps there is land beyond my horizon,
But for now, I must wait, on this sandy shore.
To end the month of April, a poem about my father. Here, I conjure up images of a life that was never meant to be, of a past best left forgotten. My father was a sailor for most of his life, taking to the sea to escape the realities of everyday life. I never was one much for sailing but can understand why my father loved it so much. There is something freeing about being on the open water, an experience I yearn for as I try not to be trapped by the mundane. My father passed away in 2019 so this is my ode to him. It is a poem about longing for what cannot be, as I stand on sandy shores looking out to sea. It speaks to my admiration of my father as a child, what now seems so distant a memory. Lighthouses guide lost ships that cannot find harbor, and the tragedy lies in that my father drifted too far out to sea.
He took a sip and it tasted sweet,
She took a breath and felt the heat.
Like lovers they danced and steam began to form.
Miles apart, a desire was born.
A dream, a sigh, a chance to deny.
And yet neither did, the trance had its hold.
It’s been interesting to write love poetry to say the least. I’ve played with Dark themes and more excitable themes. This poem is a personal favorite as I’ve leaned into the more figurative and image driven. I’m a fan of imperfect rhymes and free verse. Coupling lines together is enjoyable, but there is just something about the mismatch at the end that really speaks volumes. It creates an emphasis on the last line, adding a sense of finality to what is a fast moving poem.