a Man rescued

Lifeboat in the white of sea
under the bell of rescue,
winder of water oars
who in this labyrinth of tides
cast from the sun shell shore
over stretches of
salted wave
and who through the veiled cloud
to a snail of a man
rescues. …
from the canvas path of a ship
that capsized in
the blunt scythe of a storm-
now the damp and
dry sailor from a dramatic sea
in the treading shade of the shore.

Copyright © 05/24/2016 lance sheridan


In the water that sinks of the sea

i sit in the palm of the sea
by tidal pools shallow and lonely,
my hands dark tan and somber
my model sailboat with whitened sail—
our youth idol,
as idol as the dune enclosures so high
i cannot see rustling tree tops
where i climbed,
nor swings old and rusted. …
thoughts all silenced by the roar of the sea;
i the lad with the sailor’s dreams
long time wish the melancholy wash
of waves and brine. …
alas i wait, for the air is motionless
and the land is dry
in the water that sinks of the sea.

Copyright © 04/20/2016 lance sheridan®


To sleep

In the red, dark dusk, one bare mast, no longer the canvas flap; the crow does not fly, the tide is cold. …the last breath of the boat curls into the wind like cloudlets faint.

Copyright © 04/17/2016 lance sheridan®


Yet the fog shall rise, and many blackened wings shall wane

To light upon branch and twig yet not to rest,
but into silence-
feathers unfed from wind,
wings hemmed in the stillness of mist and water;
soft, rippling waves search
for the shore where languid pleasure fades.

In the midday, perhaps, one lust, one dream-
to fly,
for small voices to be heard stringing through
the fog,
bend ye wings on these, on hopes. …
or shall we sate obedient.

Yet (surely) the fog shall rise, and many blackened
wings shall wane. …
soon, crowned with grey feathers,
and cold wind with icy fingers-
thrusting a hand before the lifted flight
(if thus it be, in a drop of time).

Copyright © 04/08/2016 lance sheridan®