Ahoy! Oh, Land Ahoy! The lookout cries,
And sighs released bog down the winds of East;
As children wave a furrow of fingers high,
The Black Cat rolls and roars in minstrelsy;
And mothers curl up salt in weary eyes;
And crease their cheekbones at the lookout's cries.
~•■•~
The Sun that prowls above the western sea,
Begrudges draperies of nightly mist,
As promises of friendship flit aglee
Atop the deck, 'tween arms cut at the wrist,
As freedom from decades of slavery
Flushes their scars like water from the sea.
~•■•~
It is indeed a moment to rejoice,
For who had hoped for veins that breathed in air?
Ebbing in spurts like seaweed-filtered lice,
Their eyes had sought a drug for their despair,
And picking up a knife at drunk sundown,
They'd carved up stairs for hell to ride adown.
~•■•~
Their masters, drunk and dead, now lie in holds,
Soulmates with twisted necks and gaping folds,
Oh, what a twisted pantheon to behold!
A germ of sin filling, as common cold,
The cracks in dazzling deck and hideous hold.
~•■•~
The mothers' cheeks are fading baby pink,
On spying a dearth in white and wealthy skin,
Pulling their silken robes are wee triplets,
That pine for fathers lying in piteous deaths,
The Black Cat docks with cheers and moans alike;
As Sun and Moon embrace before the night.
~•■•~
A/N- A lot of people found this vague, so here goes.
This poem narrates the journey of a ship back to shore- a ship that used slaves to carry out all the menial work. Frustrated and riled, the slaves revolted mid-sea and captured the masters, locking them up for good. The 'mothers' standing on the shore are the wives of these masters, expressing their short-lived joy at spying the vessel that's supposed to bring their husbands home. The last stanza describes their growing suspicion of the ship's plight, for none of the mothers can spot any of their kin aboard. Finally, the last two lines try to portray how the most mundane of activities, like the docking of a ship, can become as ironic as the Sun and the Moon together in the sky- the jubiliance of the slaves and the despondency of the mothers cradled in a single, poetic embrace.
Hope that clears things up. Iambic pentameter rocks. Cheers :)
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Poetry[On hold] Key: |Straight Brackets| - Poetry. \Tilted Brackets/ - Passionate, Vaguely Poetic Prose or Free Verse. ~Wave Brackets~ - Poetry specifically between 1 and 3 sentences in length. ☆☆ For everyone, Who finds, Not in a graveyard or cretamorium...
