Maritime Metaphors 2018
Drawing from an ancient well,
barely wetting the poor old bucket.
Seas of plenty and yet evaporated,
the hand with sand is taking its toll.
The day alike, what is a week,
spinning world, it's all the same.
It was a weekend, or so it seemed,
another day, what's in a name.
Take it, leave it, do as pleased,
honestly, it will not change.
Singular in a world of plural,
ask when, not if, I will derange.
Outward bound, red to right,
lightships bell in dusty drizzle.
Port to port, exchanging honours,
leads the way away of grizzle.
Sails to dragons at the canvas,
stops at Isles for short embracing.
Connecting dots just tell a tale,
a vain small effort of merely tracing.
Whatever lies within these faded thoughts,
candle lit in a hidden room.
Does not embody perspective action,
is not the solving spicy fume.
To end this internal foggy journey,
from shoaling waters, I should refrain.
Dodging breakers, keeping leeway,
slapping second in the main.
Slowly regaining secret forces,
charging battery cells at pace.
Putting memories to rest,
with the headsail backed, I now heave to.
I’m just filling up the blog archive now, because the first Rhyming note on philosophy was aching for company. In 2017, I spend a few months riding in Texas. During a long ride, I did discover a new feeling: an empty head. For the first time ever, all strings of thought had been thought and nothingness was there.
In my “Hemphill Thoughts” I collected all the thoughts that passed through during those long rides. Now, a few may rest here on this website.