Sailor in distress

Sailor in distress

We were cutting lines for Saint John’s pier, When the air went thick with a jagged fear. I saw the crew, their faces gray— "Speak up," I said, "what’s come our way?"

The wire hummed a ghost’s report: A hurricane had found its sport. Dead ahead, on a collision track— God, not again. The sky went black.

Mountain peaks of brine and bile, Hammered the hull, mile after mile. The rudder snapped like a splintered bone, The engine died with a hollow groan.

I must have traded a prayer for breath, Some bargain struck in the face of death. For by some mercy, or some cruel joke, The sun came up before I broke, And left me there, a ghost who spoke.

* Extract from "Tales of a Greek Sailor", an experiertial
poetic work // No 82  // e-mail: pmataragas@yahoo.com //
Texts and Narration: Panayotis V. Mataragas - ROTTERDAM //
Language adjustments and text adaptation: Kellene G Safis - CHICAGO//
Digital adaptation and text editing: Cathy Rapakoulia Mataraga - PIRAEUS

The Tales of a Greek Sailor