Here’s a poem that began in my head one day while we were walking a beach on the Oregon coast. The second and third pictures are provided by my son Jeff Harrison.
A vast, barnacle-coated vessel
stonily at anchor,
recognizable only to me,
the master of decoding disguises.
Where Jolly Roger might once have grinned,
I heard wind sighing across the sea,
or ghosts singing salty chanteys,
“Join the brotherhood.
We’re away on the darkling tide.”
Shanghaied by desire,
I scaled the sloop’s rocky hull
and took my seat in the captain’s chair.
“I’m ready,” I whispered
to the ghosts in the wind,
and then I yelled again,