Evening Barents Sea
The trawl of unquiet mind drops
Great lucid streamers bar the sky ahead(bifurcated banners at a tourney)light alchemizes the brass on the bridgeinto sallow gold now the short northernautumn day closes quickly the thin coast(of grey Norway is it, or of Russia?)distinguished only as a formal changein the pattern of clouds on our port sideon the deck the strung lights illuminate nomovement but the sullen swill of waterin the washer, but the unnatural waydead starfish and disregarded dabs swimin the strict seas surging through the bilgesand out.
A fishgut hangs like a hank ofhair from the iron grill in a pound boardbrighter now that the sun, the fishfinder'sgreen bleep catches the skipper's intentnessand the trawl is down, is out, is catching!
Ben Jonson
Other author posts
Epitaph on Elizabeth LH
Wouldst thou hear what man can In a little Reader, stay Underneath this stone doth
V Song To Celia
Come my Celia, let us prove, While wee may, the sports of love; Time will not be ours, for'ever: He, at length, our good will fever
On Giles and Joan
Who says that Giles and Joan at discord be Th' observing neighbors no such mood can see Indeed, poor Giles repents he married ever, But that his Joan doth too And Giles would
In the ember days of my last free summer
In the ember days of my last free summer,here I lie, outside myself, watchingthe gross body eating a poor curry:satisfied at what I have done, scared of whatI have to do in my last free winter
