Hard Pressed

 

Through sting spinning slit mist sharpened water,

I spied the rage ragged cliff of Lazo.

Spitting thunder cloaks her dazzled temper,

Thrusts her foaming breast hard; into thick eyes

Looming out of and into that grey world.

Donning her crusty coat I hear her voice

Unfurl singing some sweet old tongue chanty,

For I have lost my way! She creeps to me!

Spindrift spits and pastes the scurried surface

Of my brain, and a wet face fog sets down.

Bravely, she plunders over green-jaded

Quiet death, deep, dark, brooding hour strikes

        A crack 8-tonner splys her asunder,

        Tears roll down my face, I sail her under.

Published by the Poetry Institute of Canada in the anthology: Island Shores, and the International Library of Poetry, Library of Congress: ISBN-0-7951-5160-8

Frank Mottl