The Collector
I once saw a lighthouse that pulled poems to the shore:
sleek fishy poems that cut through the water like shooting stars,
bulbous rocky poems that trudged through the deep like meandering giants,
dipping diving poems that bobbed on the water like fishing buoys—
poems arriving from every which way,
polite enough to knock on the lighthouse door.
The lighthouse keeper gathered these far-flung children,
bound them in his memory,
and traded them for earthly poems:
crisp biting poems that made you shiver like the north wind,
green spiky poems, as tall as a pine forest,
juicy savory poems that warmed the belly like a mulled wine.
The lighthouse keeper never spoke, or so I’m told,
but he loved his collection of words.
Below the Waves
Below the waves the galleon rests
her prow turned towards the sun,
the creaking planks and scattered crates
by sea-life overcome.
No sailor, mate, nor cabin boy
survived the grisly night,
when storm and water swift and cold
the crew and ship did smite.
Above the reef, still in the ship
its cursed cargo waits:
the stone tablets, statues, and bones
that caused this wretched fate.
From sands to sea they made their way
the heedless crew so bold,
the ship was blown far from its course
to the end the curse foretold.
So when new ships sail there again
in three or four months’ time,
the only things there left to see
will be the cargo ‘neath the brine.
Mina Moore is a California poet who loves DnD and learning about history. She graduated from Western Washington University during the pandemic with a minor in Creative Writing. When Mina isn’t using stories to stay sane, she can be found taking long walks outside with her cat, drawing, or learning new crafts.
Komentarze