The harbour’s dead
Tide long fled
Boats leaning
This way that
Stranded
High and dry
Upon thick mud
And sand
The quiet stillness
Broken only by
The plaintive cries
Of lonely gulls
And rigging
Tip-tapping
On the masts.
The fishermen
Tucked up
With wives
Now safe abed
(Though to the sea
In truth are wed)
Asleep until
Before dawns light
When tide returns
And they set sail
From
Port

(Photo by the author)
© opusangelicus 2013

The fishing baskets
Stink and reek
Of all the things
They once did keep
Caught by the
Tangled webs of rope
The fisherman did weave
Lobster
Crab
Langoustine
And things that I
Have never seen
The bounty of
The ocean deep
A story told
In the
Stink and reek
Of
Fishing
Baskets

(Photo by the author)
© opusangelicus 2013

The wronged
Who sit
In dark corners
Insecure
Resentful
Unable to see the
Good in others
They lash out
Attacking
Aggressively
Hurting where it’s
Not necessary
Their un-kindness
A mask
To hide
Their pain
At being
The wronged
Who sit
In dark corners….

© opusangelicus 2013