Tuesday, September 08, 2009



Firm hold from anchored past
an iron ring in grip of stone
belies its redundancy.
Sea’s salty ministrations
mere painters upon this metal canvas
in red-brown shades of tide and time
the comings and goings
of their wash and wane.
In their redundancy these interlocking rings
are art beyond their functionality:
to everything there is a season.
Now, in age, they teach of foundation
where once their intermedial stance
between land and sea riding craft
was the promise of safety
they speak still.
Life moves on, truth remains
and able yet to save.


Anonymous said...

Ah, yes. Perfect!

JayBee said...

i love your poetry Keith