Ship in a winter’s ice…

In this ice wharf there are no chocks bits or bollards,
Only the hemp holes dull in a gray circle;
Frozen barges list and blister oaken timber,
Shackled to the cold.
The arctic sea moves in a rink of whitefishes.

We can taste the winter sky, like metal stiffening,
Drinking from the flask of uncertainty,
Our nerves collapse into a rickety edifice of hope.
A day, a morn, a moon ferrying in shadows of despair,
Ten months a beggar, bearded with frost.

Our ship, now mouthing cakes of ice,
Its decks, hungering for a warmth;
With every breath of wind, wrought on a frozen anvil
Hammered into a sea crevice; pilings of wood to a collapse.
Harsh, harsh the bleak crag, salvaged to a bottom.

Prospect of survival encased in an icy membrane,
Each patched their soul to a meager meal and shelter.
In a row, ten fingers frostbitten,
Ragged to a hardship. Each stroke in a sea cut into a whitecap;
Landfall mollified a gravestone. Stiffened a rescue into place.

Copyright © 03/13/18 lance sheridan®

Touched Up no sharpening

12 comments on “Ship in a winter’s ice…

  1. Barbara says:

    Lance this is amazing for the simple reason, a writer who shows the reader the images, a voice loaded with sincerity and truths of a dying vessel that once was a splendor; this reader felt the vessel deteriorating through the writers voice – I’d say, “This is a masterpiece!”

  2. Safe Haven says:

    This is amazing ⭐

  3. You’ve recreated the world of sailing ships when the word “marooned” — whether in ice or on a tropic sandbar — held terrors we no longer experience.

  4. You’re sincerely welcome!

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