Wave

imageedit_4_4541661376 (1)

Blue-grey expanse tipped with white

Risings and fallings

Patterned in unpatterned array

Is that not the wave before me

That I set my gaze upon yesterday?

Not so unique as one might suppose

A companion lingering –

Unwilling to allow me to move too far away?

To think so of a wave

Is that a sign of madness coming on?

Or is it just that I’ve been too long at sea

As the voyage drags on and on?

 

Padre

 

dVerse – Come sail

 

Still Waters

File:Arleigh Burke DDG-51.jpg - Wikimedia Commons

Public domain

“Still waters run deep.”  What an amazing metaphor.  But out on the big pond, still waters are a godsend.  “The Deep,” has her moments of calm, but Magellan got it wrong when he named the Pacific.  This expanse of deep shows her temper far too often.

Well, that is what the still waters of Petty Officer Mike Sanchez’s mind were pondering as he checked the lifeline on his harness, and made his way from the gun deck of his destroyer.  As he did, the vessel pitched headlong into a trough, and the bow disappeared into a next rising peak.

 

Padre

 

June 11: Flash Fiction Challenge – Deep Waters

 

 

All Part of the Game

Lake, Boat, Water, Sailing Boat, Sailing Vessel

Pixabay

Will Harvey was set on winning the competition.  There was a huge £100000 prize for whoever could break the record for circumnavigating the globe withershins, against all prevailing currents and without the aid of an engine. 

All had started well.  In fact, yesterday he was a full two days ahead of schedule when things seemed to turn to grief.  His vessel gave a sudden jolt, and then shimmied before listing heavily to port.  He noticed that his unwanted companions, the bilge rats, began to scurry upwards, and then to abandon ship.  Then, the craft jolted again, capsizing and throwing Will against the ceiling.

Well what would you do in his shoes?  He did the only thing he could do in the circumstances.  He held his breath and swam to position himself on the upturned keel.  He then retrieved a broken plank and began to feather and square the board in order to propel himself forward.

As he arrived in the harbour, there was quite the commotion.  The initial cheers at his arrival became muted, the screams could be heard as people looked aghast at his vessel.  Personally, Will couldn’t see what all the brouhaha was about.  He waved to the crowd, and headed of for a much needed cup of tea, unaware of the three metre long tentacle still attached to his boat.

Padre

Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie

Withershins
Brouhaha
Competition
Yesterday
Ceiling
Shoes
Feather
Scurry
Tentacle
Grief
Tea
Engine

Adrift

Rigging, Tall Ship, Sails, Ship, Boat

Pixabay

Fourteen days.  It was fourteen days since the winds had dried up.  The sails hung limply from the yardarms.  They were adrift with no means of self propulsion.  But if the stars were telling the truth Raven was caught in a current that was carrying her slowly to the southwest.  The operative word here was slowly.  There were enough provisions for months, as their cargo was of salt fish.  The problem was water, without it even the abundant cargo was nearly useless.  The men were on half water rations already.  What Raven needed was wind, and barring that, enough of a nudge by the current to move them closer a landfall which surely must be somewhere over the southwest horizon.

Padre

Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge:  “over the horizon”

Harbour Giants

Harbour towers – where sky meets sea

Modern markers of maritime industry

Along with container jetties and working cranes

Our ports of old will not be the same

In days of yore, when it was the spires of the masts

The marked the docklands of our nautical past

But low those days seem gone for good

Our diesel ships – steel, rather than wind-driven and wood

 

Padre

Crimson’s Creative Challenge #74

 

J. A. Grimshaw – Public Domain

File:John Atkinson Grimshaw - Canny Glasgow.jpg

J. A. Grimshaw – Public Domain

 

 

New Life Ashore: A Tanka

Broken hopes and dreams
Upon the beach shattered lie
By nature’s storm breath
Lucrative catches ended
Bringing a new life ashore

Padre

Inspiration Call: Week 11 March 2020 Writing Prompts: Tanka

“A Tanka is a Japanese poem and similar to a Haiku, however it has seven lines. Tankas are nature, seasons, love, and other emotions.  Line one has a five syllable count, line two is seven syllables, line three is five syllables, line four is seven syllables, and line five seven syllables. In total it has thirty one syllables.  It uses simile, metaphor, and personification.”

 

The Mermaid’s Return

The banshee howl of the wind in the rigging was now beginning to be rhythmically punctuated by the drumming of the storm-swell surf upon the rocky shore.  Oh, if only our good ship, Mermaid could live up to her name, and carry us safely seaward.  But such was a forlorn hope as there was a sudden explosive crack as the foretop snapped, showering the deck with splinters.

Captain Higgins called the order to abandon ship, and before the words had fully left him, a titanic wave swept him from the deck and from our view.

“You heard the cap’in,” Rogers, the first mate bellowed.

The two remaining boats were lowered, and every soul remaining on the ‘maid scrambled to save themselves.

I was tossed from the gig into the icy waves, to be almost immediately dashed upon an up-crop of jagged rock.  Though winded, I managed to scramble upwards above the hissing spray.  I was battered but alive, but not so my lovely ‘maid.  With saddened heart, I watched her prow pitch heaven-ward as if to offer her spirit.  Then slowly at first, and then more rapidly, she slid backwards under the waves to rejoin her fellow mer-folk.

 

Padre

 

Daily Writing Prompt