Of Boats and Seas

Vrsar marina


If I were a boat, and you the seas,

I’d hoist my sail and let the breeze

Bear me ever homeward bound,

Within your harbour, safe and sound;

And if a storm should cause dismay

With roaring gale and stinging spray,

You’d take the wheel, your waves escort

My shaking hull to safer port.

Midst unknown anchorage, should I

Dismiss my destiny, my why,

You’d paint my name upon my deck

In sea-foam green, lest I forget

That I am one with deeper swells,

With azure waves, and sea-carved shells,

With pirate kings, and mermaid songs;

For in your arms, my sail belongs.



pot of gold


Pots of goldĀ mark the places

where trees, undaunted

by their world’s enmity,

choose to bury the hatchet.

Stripped of their wares,

pirated and split into

planks which dead men walk,

they lay their treasures

at our feet, bowing

to our superiority.


If It’s Treasure You’re After


If it’s treasure you’re after,

‘X’ always marks the spot;

the places where push shoves

and rubber smears the road

and frost-feathers freeze

are inexorably painting a bull’s-eye

on your soul.

Twenty paces shy of normal,

30 leagues under tumultuous seas,

the secrets of Life’s Map

are only drawn out under duress.

So cheer, Mate!

When troubles broil

and problems are plenty,

your treasure is multiplying –

with interest.

On the Plank


On the plank, with courage failing,

feeble steps toward the light;

last year’s lessons, pirates wailing,

next year’s mystery, a fright.

Going back , out of the question,

going forth, a terror grave;

gentle Hope, lead this procession,

guide my steps, and paint me brave.