The Harbor
This is the last of the poems written in France from early March to early June. About 45 poems total, 20 of which were ok to share. The other were nonsense or pointless, vague or just dumb.
The buildings of Honfleur harbor are quite something. They seem all too human. I can feel the hundreds of years of age in them. I think of what they have seen, what tragedies they have witnessed and the relief of sailors and fishermen coming home from a bad storm at sea.
The Harbor These rooflines crowd the sky jostling for position, elbowing one another for a better view of the harbor. The ships are coming in! The boats return with fish nudging up to the squat quay. The bigger ships tie hawsers to the great bollards of the wharf, disgorging the imported goods; so many kegs of nails, sacks of grain, bright bolts of silk- lightweight, delicate, expensive. Is it any wonder then that eyebrow windows are raised when the ships come in? Skirt boards and hip roofs gazing down upon the thrilling folly of man. When the flirting was paid and done and all the sailors back but one, they stared stone faced upon the scene with few words, curbed and mean. Where now are the banners so bright? Only the mariner’s bitter lot, nought but sorrow had he got. But when they look up, when they see lined up expectantly, their beautiful ones, their kith and kin, their hearth and home, they recall then the lines pulled taught, the tides they battled, the wind they fought. Maybe it wasn’t all for nought. Honfleur-5/31
Beautiful, Weston. This port, and these buildings, they really are inspiring. Loved your poem. Captures the thrill of the harbour hustle and bustle that must have gone on here long ago.
The photo is beautiful, too. Lovely colours.
Writing is as much for the writer as the reader, maybe even more so! Write on!!