by Elaine Newington Ward
The picture was created to illustrate a book of poems about a fisherman. The poet decided not to publish and does not wish to be acknowledged.
Waiting in the dock the boat seems tranquil but the twisted and gnarled reflections of the superstructure hint at the fearful crushing or life which the boat experiences. At sea.
Suspended over ocean depths,
On nothing more than wood and paint,
With shearwaters, skuas, gulls,
All circling, waiting for their time.
Below the waters, thick and cold,
Will take the bait and take the bones,
And souls of those who treat it light,
Or those too slow with fight or flight.
And rolling with the nascent waves
Are floating remnants of the storms,
Of years and depths immeasurable,
Which point their shards up to the birds.
The circling waiting ocean birds,
Above this boat which smells of blood.