Member Poem

Life is long or short, it depends on context.
Harbors hold my memories, gently rocking
hulls of boats as lullabies soothe an infant
after a tantrum.

Out at sea Hermione’s sails are open,
working lungs displacing the weights of water,
decks bestirred with history’s mingled rigging,
nautical chorus.

I have learnt that yesterday’s lays were shanties
sung by sailors drunk on the rum of absence,
sleeping off their stupor in clumsy hammocks,
dead in the morning.

Once a man confided a recollection –
said he could remember his birth as clearly
as the ship that balanced on our horizon,
rhyme over reason.

Four and twenty birds in a pie for baking.
Four and twenty hours in a day for living.
Ocean’s roll, the journey is slow, but takes me
back to my homeland.