Tagged in , , and posted in Australia, English, Poetry

The wind had a memory,
It told me of things that had never been said,
Storms of history, ancient runes, broken, dismembered,
Then thrown into my face in spume.   ‘Saat.’
The sickle edged moon etched,
Acid formed in the backdrop of my world.

The Atlantic sea,
Stripped my flesh to the bone.
No caul to protect my boat.
‘Saat’ is my flavour.
Sharp wind drowns the shore
I cannot stand anymore
Boat stalks broken,
Cold bed of fishes.
‘Midden nakit’ – stark naked
I endure the darts of death throes.

‘Dead tra.’

Ave Maria.
The bird,

My eye that could see followed the trajectory
Of feathers torn.
Is this the story of my demise?
Holy Spirit.
Grand Fly Away.

Outer and inner weather changed.
The vortex led my craft to shelter.
Down on my knees
Singing my song
Ave Maria.

Michael Morgan

2 Comments so far:

  1. iakovos says:

    So nice to see your creative spirit still with us Michael.
    This is a beautiful poem…

    • michael morgan says:

      Thank you. . I am reworking words and images,that have inspired me. My kindest regards to all. . Some fascinating contributions on site. M..

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