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




17 comments:

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

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

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  3. Oh, the fourth stanza ~ be still my heart!

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

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

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

    Good take.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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  14. 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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  15. 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)