Sunday, August 31, 2014

60 Degrees North



Oarsmen heave
nets of mackerel
from cast-iron waves;

half-booted and silent,
they have no need to tell stories,
ask dus du mind?

how after creation God gathered
leftover shards, pressed them together
to make the hilt of a sword.

Women rule the shore,
croon grounded wool and songs
scented with the whisky of a peat fire,

watch the sliver of land
between water and cloud,
lightning rod of the far edge; 

where men pull and point like compasses,
breathe in the charge of sea,  
think nothing of rocks.



tk/August 2014 



Delicious atmospheric read by R.A.D. Stainforth...



*Dark Harbor, 1943 by N. C. Wyeth




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17 comments:

  1. ekta khetanSun Aug 31, 01:31:00 PM

    Interesting!

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  2. Kathe W.Sun Aug 31, 01:52:00 PM

    fabulous Tess- love the powerful push and pull of your words!

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  3. philSun Aug 31, 05:16:00 PM

    excellent!

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  4. MichaelSun Aug 31, 06:52:00 PM

    Some very powerful and vivid images Tess, very well done. Excellent image this week for the prompt.

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  5. HelenSun Aug 31, 09:34:00 PM

    Oh, the fourth stanza ~ be still my heart!

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  6. GailSun Aug 31, 10:18:00 PM

    I could feel the pull of the waves and the wonder of creation.

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  7. Silent Otto Mon Sep 01, 06:52:00 AM

    These compass like sword handle Thanes should know they are inside her....

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  8. JBinford-BellMon Sep 01, 10:16:00 AM

    Cast iron waves sets the tone of this poem about the hard life of the northern fishermen.

    Good take.

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  9. BerowneMon Sep 01, 11:00:00 AM

    The leftover shards of creation. Yes, that's what we've had to deal with ever since. Beautifully written poem.

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  10. 21 WitsMon Sep 01, 11:36:00 AM

    Ah yes, pulling and pointing you have sailed us upon the sea of your words.

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  11. humbirdMon Sep 01, 06:50:00 PM

    I can feel these 'cast-iron waves' in your poem! Strong one! xx

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  12. Stafford RayMon Sep 01, 08:33:00 PM

    It's those damned shards! But I liked the picture of the women ashore-warmth, welcomes and whisky?

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  13. Jenne' R. Andrews Tue Sep 02, 05:02:00 AM

    Yet another beautifully delineated poem, Tess. You float in a rarified ether, the whole world at your disposal to pull into your poem. That means you're the real deal; don't stop. xxxxj

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  14. AnonymousTue Sep 02, 01:13:00 PM

    Love this, Tess. One if my favorite images is, "scented with the whiskey of a peat fire."

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  15. Ginny BrannanWed Sep 03, 07:57:00 AM

    I loved this. Your imagery reminded me of the fishing stories heard while we were in Galway, Ireland. Just lovely!

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  16. AnonymousWed Sep 03, 01:52:00 PM

    I love the mood and picture you painted with these words - I feel like I've been deposited into a Dutch master painting now!

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  17. Eddie BluelightsSat Sep 06, 07:08:00 AM

    Nice, Tess
    Hope the seagulls leave some for us . . . :)

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Inject a few raisins of conversation into the tasteless dough of existence.
― O. Henry (and me)

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