My Poetry


Jmblanco74, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons

The bay before me, silken spreading black –
within the weft, like bits of silver thread,
the gleaming city lights reflected back
outshine the stars which hang over my head.
Across the water ships float past like dreams;
between them echo long and somber notes.
Alone and weary, to my ears they seem
like spoken words from monstrous iron throats!

I think upon the words that I have said –
exposing inner worlds to light of day –
and words I’ve left unspoken in my head,
the ones I keep and those which fade away
between the city, stirring in its sleep,
and waters of the bay, silent and deep.

© 2014
Miguel Palhinha, CC BY-NC-ND 2.0, via Flickr

The hook is twisted wire and the line
is braided fiber from the coconut
shell, spun by fisherwoman hands to twine,
inside the woven palmfrond walléd hut.
Between the hovel and the sandy shore,
and winding twixt the palms and seaside brush,
did cut a trail that many times before
her husband traveled through the evening dust.

The fisherwomen all were fain to say,
to the sea their husbands first were wed;
her salt caress, the kiss of brine and spray,
they tasted on their lovers' skin in bed.

Her husband's line now knotted in her hand,
a tear falls from her cheek onto the sand.

The Hook (II)
© 2014