He bought two pictures of ships,
old prints
of clippers cutting proudly
through the waves.
He loved their spirit of adventure,
the sense they gave
of proudly setting out.
The jaunty brine
chopped briskly round their prows.
And see, the breeze,
it fluttered their brave pennants.
The sails stuck out their chests,
foraging forward
to seek what the world had to offer.
The first
he hung above his bed
so that vessels and voyages
might fill his dreams,
sailing him nightly
away from his mundane world.
The second
he hung by his desk
to prompt his mind
to make journeys
his body no longer would,
to stir himself
to spin stories and songs
that went out all across
the varied world.
There must have been a third,
though gone astray.
Yet he was sure
that somewhere in a shop
or dusty attic
or maybe on a drab and sombre wall
in some neglected room
it hung unnoticed.
Its ship lay moored,
he guessed.
It swung at anchor
in a tropic bay
with sails furled
while all the crew were resting.
Some had gone ashore
where islanders brought fruit
with friendly greetings.
It could be paradise,
this verdant isle.
The very bay itself
described a smile.
And Nature offered pleasures
to the senses.
The foliage was lush,
so rich, profuse,
spilling abundant fruits.
Exotic birds
trilled brightly coloured music.
And rising from the forest,
was a hill,
where, if you’d climb,
you’d see to the horizon,
and feel a breeze to cool
your weathered face,
erasing cares and sorrows,
soothing troubles
and easing you to peace and calm
at last.
Note 'He' is me. I bought these two pictures of ships in a charity shop. I also did as the poem says. So it's a true story. Yes, and I fantasised the third ship. If you know where it is leave me a message in the Guestbook.