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.

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PUBLICATION DETAILS
From the book "Tales of a Greek Sailor"
An experiential journey across the deep blue — Piece No. 3
Original Text & Narration: Panayotis V. Mataragas (Rotterdam)
English Adaptation & Linguistic Editing: Kellene G. Safis (Chicago)
Digital Publication & Creative Direction: Cathy Rapakoulia Mataraga (Piraeus)
Contact: pmataragas@yahoo.com

  tales of a greek sailor