The Sea-Faring (Midnight Moon on Inky Waters)

Here is the poem I made mention of in the prior post. Typing it onto the computer is the first time I actually read it through – I know that sounds strange since I wrote it, but it was one of those times when the words just poured onto the page and I really had no time to comprehend them. I must say, I’m actually quite proud of myself on this one. This is likely a direct reflection of my sailing experience. And, without further ado… have a poem. I don’t write them often.

NOTE: I know this skips back and forth between first and third person, but I tried writing it both ways and it just didn’t sound right completely one way or the other, so I left it mixed.

(The picture is just something random I did in Photoshop some time ago. Just felt like it fit the mood of the poem)




The sea bucking beneath him, he stares out into the void                 

the star-speckled canopy of dusk covering the sky.


The mists gather on the smooth waters below,

concealing the dark abyss from sight

as the bow cleaves through the fog.

Not a sound stirs the air

as he drifts.


Drift as those do who find themselves

lost in the silence.

The silence of the endless sea.

But even in her reprieve, the sea speaks to the soul

Questing us to search our deepest places,

find our darkest secrets.


We drift.

We are taken.


A hand on the salt crusted wheel

 we only believe that we are the issuers of our own fate.

Like a shell in the hands of a child, we are held to the ear

And the universe waits

Waits for us to declare our path.


We give our answer

Shout to shatter the calm

And then she laughs…

The sea.


One cannot be certain.


Lightning splits the sky in the distance

A rumble tears down the peace.


Waves begin to slap at the hull,

And the fog breaks,


Afraid of the sound.


The sheen of ocean glass begins to ripple

Each ring growing larger.

The bow rises to the sky

Then crashes down

Reacquainting herself with the familiar waters

The sails fill with the sweet sea breeze

The ship lilts and he holds the helm with a steady hand.


Sea legs remain sturdy as he steers into the storm

A smile on his face.


Rise into the air

point to the dark clouds above.

Dive into the white-capped waves.


Water dances onto the deck

in clouds of mist

that crust the wooden floorboards

and gather at his feet.


He only smiles and looks ahead

lured into the heart of the storm

like a magnetic pulse

Calling his name.


The winds drive him onwards

An arrow piercing the night


Rain falls

Cold and brutal

Hard and unrelenting

Beading against tanned skin


Blinding flashes split the night

And then all is calm

As if nothing more than a dream


The only thing that declares otherwise

Are the pools on the deck that reflect the darkness.


Above, the clouds disperse

Leaving him alone with the stars.


High in the sky

The moon smiles down

Her pale light

Showing him the way


Then, there it is

In the distance

The black, gap-toothed vision of port

On the horizon


Swift and soundless

The ship slides through the water

Brought in on the winds

The water like glass below

A pool of black ink

Reflecting silver streams of moonlight.


That silver disk

Her pale face shimmering on the tide

Leading us home

Casting us astray

Teaching us to listen to our wayward souls.


And on the water

We will find it.

Caught in the throes of the soundless abyss

With nothing save ourselves for company.


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