Winslow Homer: The Gulf Stream
Fear not for me, for battered bones
encased in splinters sodden, old;
skin baked to shell, eyes salted shut—
my sinew has not dried to dust.
Though sea beasts test the toothsome hull,
though whitecaps’ clamor mocks my thirst,
radiance floods this shielded soul;
our Father hears what none have heard.
My rescue sails before my eyes,
divided though it be in two:
Man will haul me to the shore,
or God will lift me to the skies.
I’ll bless the wind, the fervid sun,
the glitter of the ocean’s jewels,
creatures true to all they own,
when at last I reach my home.
Oh nice! I miss those challenges. They took so much time but some great stuff came of them
ReplyDeleteThis is great. You won't believe this, but yesterday I was editing an article in which this painting played a part.
ReplyDeleteI believe it. Our poetry cycles are all syncing up.
DeleteI believe it too!
DeleteWow. I am ashamed of my little ditties when I read yours. You're quite highbrow, you know.
ReplyDeleteYes, this is probably my most highbrow poem. :-)
DeleteI bow to your genius. Seriously.
ReplyDeleteWow. It reminded me a little of Burns, but understandable.
ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteWhat Mali said about highbrow! Very!
ReplyDeleteSo here's a question for everyone: Should I get rid of the last stanza?
ReplyDelete