The Harvester, grimed in dust,
Silhouetted by setting sun
On weary homeward road,
With early frost in valley below

Morrow's work already set
Like clay beneath the soil
Sorting Wheat from Chaff
Doing the God's work?
With another day of toil...

Martin Addison – 27/04/2022

Jack Dore's in the Crow’s Nest
Spyglass ready at his side
Weather eye on the horizon
He scans the Caribbean Main

The Sun burns – waking past pain 
Wheals scorched by Cat ‘o’ Nine
Across his back – a Reminder
To be careful - To be watchful 

He looks for sails –Spanish sails
For Galleons hold treasure
Gold to be had - Glory for all
If the prey can be found 

And found it must be
For Drake commands – Expects!
Woe betide the sailor who’s not
Fleet afoot in the quest 

There is honour to be earned
Profit for Elizabeth, our Queen
A Share for Captain Drake
Even for those who serve beneath

So Jack watches – his pain makes for honest
The Doubloons in his minds-eye
He needs to make his mark
To find the foe

For the crew are ready - eager
Eager to fight - To plunder
Plunder Spanish holds
To pirate their gold

It's a medium
A written window
To the soul?

Or a jumble of words
A fantasy of authorship
A cry for fame
For the delusional
The failed writer

Poetry - it's like sarcasm...
An escape for those of feeble mind
Perhaps 'the lowest form of wit'

Or just maybe it's words from beyond
A spiritual tour of the subconscious
An open doorway to what lies beneath
A chance to overtly express
An opportunity to speak outside of the norm

Poetry demands patience
From the writer
From the reader...

A poem isn't the product of a day
There is a lifetime
Written in a few sentences
The poem asks us to answer a question
Of ourselves...

Who can fathom that lifetime
Within those few short words
And even fewer minutes..?

Read and try to follow
That which is unfathomable...

Martin Addison – 28/04/2021