Whe’ th’ clouds in thyne eyes
an’ th’ scales oan thy lense
fall tae th’ deck lik’ tears,
further be th’ horizon
in th’ sinking o th’ hert.
Na congers tae net,
only hawp ‘n’ despair tae fill yer plate.
Nae sweet water tae fill thy vessel,
naht even th’ Living Waters
kin slake thy thirst.
Hours, days an weeks
Riding th’ westward win’s.
Nae floatsan
Nae jetsam
Nae fowl in th’ air
Nae scent o’ solid land
Tae far fur th’ Great One
To even hear the beating of mah heart
or th’ sound within mah thoughts.
Like this:
Like Loading...
Related
About jedwardnajera
I am an artist and a Poet. I live the life of a poet. I published several novels. Nena the Fairy and the Iron Rose, Dust of the Moon are among them, available through Amazon Books. I have spent over thirty five years in a classroom. I am now retired from that profession.
My father kept a living record of his lifetime as he lived through the Twentieth Century. He was born in 1908 and almost lived long enough to see us enter the new millennium.
He entrusted to me nearly 400 pages that he wrote through the years.
Now I am continuing the tradition by posting my own stories and misadventures.
I am trying to post a new entry or chapter each Friday. Check in on us at least once a week for the latest post.
Jedwardnajera's Blog 