The Harbor Master’s Wife
The harbor master's wife knows water.
She is a creature of an over-world, not
God-created but born of myth.
Hers is not the call of sirens, beware
sailors of this port--this mournful wretch
is a lonely lady, and she may run you aground.
She speaks the language of the ages, that's her
lure--for those who come to work and play
in her harbor.
She enjoys a good time, and is a lovely host,
but there are times when she'll unfurl her
grievances at the feet of men, will they ignore
her at their peril?
She lends her voice to the seabirds--
(these her children, nature-gifted)
it flows through their veins, a fluid
sound inherited--such a rich lineage
kept alive by meals fed from captured
souls--those sailors who have succumbed
to her charms gladly, they will not find a
more faithful lover.
She wears loose garments of fog, and the
intimacy of night--it is then that her harsh
lines soften; she becomes more treacherous
when familiar surfaces begin to appear most
menacing, sinister--as some men suffer from
nocturnal amaurosis, she reaches out to those
with open arms to enfold them into an eternal
She feels her loneliness more keenly--
(with the setting of the garrish sun
when this welcoming harbor of the
the daytime shifts; moves toward
its night-time endeavors) now,
twice abandoned as less enchanted
sailors head ashore to rest their weary
bodies, minds and souls at another's
hearth--this wounded madame feels
herself depreciated as time goes by.
So heed the sound of the foghorn; and
keep to the charted course, light the fires
that will keep her rage at bay (or at the very
least from spilling over) into the morning--
as the sometimes-moon and always-stars
guide the night towards the dawning of a
They'll sing their sea-word chanties these
men, serenade--the harbor master's wife,
so that she'll be comforted and begins to
fall into a quiet-calm somnolent state,
brought on by the songs carried on
soothing cool winds stirred; the gentle
lapping waves against the perimeter of
this port cradled will lull her into a
And once again those who understand this
willful, childish, at times angry waif--and seek
to temper her tantrums by staying their hearts
true-north will master the language (although
not all will succeed--some will yield to her and
be transformed into this aqueous landscape)
and hand down this legacy to future progeny.
The Harbor Master's Wife (Poem #80 for manuscript: The Undiscovered Country)
by Stiletto. on September 30, 2014. © MAVCD, All rights reserved