06 September 2012

Pome En Route Ome

The sea has many moods and wears as many skins
When tempestuous you see furrows upon her brow
But brave little boats endure the tossing and the pitching
With coloured peasant-cloths billowing upon their bows

I am not her tenant for I am merely passing through
As I soar over her steamy breath in the light of early morn
But though I am a sailor of the firmament of white and blue
I plead she does not consume me for I shall soon be gone
There are islands on her body that men have built from steel
With pipes that plunge to draw her black gold sap which feeds
All that moves upon this smoky world in vessel or wing or wheel
The myriad rigs, the deep fathomed digs, the portrait of our greed
But the men who work are as you and I pursuing a daily wage
I ferry these miners in sectors through clear and through cloud
I carry men, I carry women, the menial, the learned of every age
All temperaments and creeds, the burdened, the humbled and the proud
I am an offshore pilot and I am a prisoner upon the waves
Thus the salt and the rain are my daily fare as I take to the sky
A human trafficker if ye must, mothers and fathers my freight
Yet no affinity to water in my veins, a predicament I cannot deny
The ships and barges are my laden companions, I watch them from above
They say that akin to them when rotors stop my own toils will be done
And thus I bid farewell to the fishing boats trawling their treasure trove
May their helmsmen also see their bonny wives when the sun is finally gone
The shoreline sentinels, timeless islands, my beacons, my milestones home
The long finals to runway OneSix, or through Labohan's scenic Lane Four
They unfurl the asphalt carpet where this Cougar will be finally towed
Till another sunrise finds fishermen, captains and cargo parlaying offshore


  1. Ohh, but what glorious sights!! You've captured it so well that I felt I was flying too haha..

  2. New cellphone camera Angie. Did you notice the crane at the rig that looked like some dragon head??

  3. Too long, have she wait for the buzzing sound, her admirer, to pass through, the human trafficker he might call himself but he described her well in his story so laden with awe at her beauty be it her skin that gently moves as the wind blows on her or her fury when tempest stirs her serenity. She awaits her friend as she lazily watched the sun sets and she knows that he miss her breathe to refresh his mind.

  4. You're a poet yourself, Anon. You should write!!!!