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categories	ratings	date	type	tags	title
Poem	G	2017-02-20	post	Poetry	Heligoland

Too many wine-dark seas need daily traversal, And here the shipping forecast calls for rain.

The shipping forecast! What a load of bollocks. You can listen from start to finish And not hear a single word about how a day will feel.

Or maybe it's a pale, tired, steganography: Moderate, becoming poor, violent storm 11.

Burning up, drowning, torn by wind, and all I can manage is to tell you southwest gale 8 to storm 10.

I can point at the moon, exhausted, bored, decaying, And hope you don't stare blankly at my finger.

Thanks to P.R.