Ferries in the Fog

A local weather event

Deep bellows roll ashore,

Climb the hill and spill from

The Bowl that is our little town.

Their charts crossed

In deep of night,

Still lost to fog 

In morning light,

China clippers headed south,

Commerce stacked from deck to skies,

East/West ferries packed with souls,

All ships boom out warning cries,

For maritime fools are sure to be

Lost to port, who cannot see,

Without radar wandering,

Sailing on our Salish Sea.

No little cat feet here,

This  invasion from the sea

A thousand ninjas, maybe more,

A racing horde of cloud,

Blimey the milkman swore

The only warning heard aloud

As these chilling shrouds of fog

Climb the hill and spill from

The Bowl that is our little town.

Reviews

[Jansy]

Your poem drifts like the fog itself...soft, enveloping, yet full of motion. The Salish Sea comes alive with ferries, commerce, and those “thousand ninjas” of cloud. The repeated line “climb the hill and spill from, The Bowl” gives it a rhythm that mirrors the mist. Cinematic, alive, and playful..the milkman’s warning echoes perfectly.

-James☆

[Michael Sun Bear]

James, thanks for dipping back a bit and finding this. I wrote it many months ago, didn’t feel it was finished, developed writer’s block. I stuck it away for quite awhile, pulled it out again, and with fresh eyes decided it was finished as is.

[DIVYA]

"This invasion from the sea" - There's a lot that can invade from the sea. Waves, winds, creatures, and also humans. I loved the visuals you create of the small town, the bustling activity in the sea and yet also of the extreme weather that the sea can bring. A very imaginative poem, an interesting read.

[Michael Sun Bear]

Thank you. I had this stuck in a drawer so to speak, half finished I thought, finally realized it was finished so what you see is what you get.

[DIVYA]

I think its a complete work. It has both the joyful and dark aspects of the sea and humanity's connection to the sea.