Nassau Harbor at Paradise Bridge

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Nassau Harbor Near Paradise Bridge

 

 

 

Late afternoon blooms down

Through pink and green clouds.

Downtowners in bright office clothes

Stop by the old fishing boats.

To slurp down a raw conch before heading home.

 

A chalky white island

Evolves behind the fishing boats,

Emptied conch shells gleam underwater

Like so many skulls.

 

Old William Farrington and his last child, Cynthia,

Stop at the fishing boats for take-home:

Dried fly-specked strips of conch flesh.

They row out to their tiny houseboat, the pink one

With windows sawn crookedly,

Twin Evinrudes on the back.

 

A foreign sailboat has its own conch farm.

Americans string a dozen conchs together

By a hole in each pearlescent lip

And attach the line upward to their yacht.

The herd grazes peacefully in a meadow of sea grass,

Fattening up to be conch fritters.

 

Author's Note

from No Name Harbor, Poetry of Barbary Chaapel

Reviews

[julian3]

You never fail to evoke every maritime memory, salt sea scent, stirring of breeze, squeal of gulls, ripple of wave... this marine world must inhabit a large part of your heart and soul, since it rolls and flows so effortlessly from you!!

Two of my favorite lines : ( just like Ms. L Raven below)
Emptied conch shells gleam underwater
Like so many skulls.

Well done - as always!

[[untitled]]

"Emptied conch shells gleam underwater

Like so many skulls."

I love the seeing of these lines.

You have a peaceful sea, almost pastoral except that it is water.