The fist that clutches at my throat
drags me gasping from the deep
twisted waters of sleep
leaves me beached in tangles
of linen, panting in these
scattering shadows.

No rescue this:
a provocation, a brutality.

I am not ready for this island
nor it for me;
I wade out to the tangled flotsam
that is my raft
my vessel,
and argue the waters
against the uncertain winds and tides
until, at the edge of famine
I roll into their clammy embrace
yet hear the lurching tread
of that cruel colossus
calling me.

The voice of the poet

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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