Plunder
The last pirate pressed
close upon these shores,
drawing all that lived within
to a universal thrill.
Anticipating plunder,
they waited soft within,
willing to be drawn
to his overwhelming will.
The last pirate passed
these shores with sword un-drawn.
They waited trembling soft.
And wait there still.
In their world without wonder,
they never will sleep soft,
with dreams of hoards and whores
and a pirate’s last kill.
Sunday, December 17, 2006
Creative Writing: Plunder
I wrote this poem 2 years ago. It started out being about an idea, but the first version, while sticking pretty faithfully to that idea, was terrible in its construction. (This happens to me a lot.) So then I played around with the form, and made it more about the words and sounds. The core idea is still there, but it's at least one layer down now; and while I wouldn't enter this poem in any contests, I'm satisfied with it.
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2 comments:
Wow, I really like that, Nancy!
I liked it a lot too Nancy! I'll have to get your permission to use it in my Babble profile on "Pirate Day."
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