Maritime

Access to the sea makes a harbor town.

The rising sun marks the workday begun.

Aged ships bob, entangled by aged ropes,

while deckhands march to skipper’s orders.

He carries a leather folder, bound by a brass latch.

 

Gulls call overhead to no audience,

their dark silhouettes on the horizon.

Variable waves crash against cement bulkheads.

Ship horns buzz at a low frequency,

like the deep hum of neon tubing.

 

In a shadow between two buildings,

a catholic woman strangles her rosary beads.

For whom does she cast a prayer?

The hem of her dress lay in a murky puddle,

and her wiry grey hair is windswept.

 

An old fisherman sets up his stall along the wharf.

His clouded eyes hang low with doubt.

Every angle that might once had framed the senior’s face,

is now faded to a softer exterior.

He trips over the corner of his stall, and knocks three mackerel on to the stone pavement.

Author's Note

My professor required these words to be used in an environment poem:
Access
Folder
Latch
Horizon
Cement
Neon
Prayer
Puddle
Doubt
Angle

Reviews

[emmajoy]

Beautifully visual and a more than fine use of the given words. You've actually produced a series of miniature paintings,. each a show of place and time.

Brava!!

[Chase Dylan]

You slammed this 10 word challenge, utterly conquered it, in fact... Like being strangled by rosary beads in a murky shadow... This left me bruised and forlorn, but having faith in the serene ocean air.... Smartly penned...