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Blood, Sea

—after Italo Calvino

Beyond the blight of urban sprawl,
About six hundred yards from shore,
A pod of fishing vessels trawl
The coastal waters. Sea gulls soar
And dip above the crack and spall
Of massive piers in search of gore
And kitchen scraps. Crustaceans crawl
Along the harbor’s littered floor.

This briny cauldron whence we came
Two hundred million years ago,
And since have done our best to tame,
Holds much we haven’t come to know:
The sound of every holy name
That echoes through the undertow,
And drowning sailors soon to claim
A plot awaiting down below.

For dark abysses unexplored
And teeming schools that rise to bait,
We bow our heads and thank the Lord.
The scaly creatures fill our plate,
And depth is to our thoughts restored.
Placental mammals share a fate:
The cutting of the natal cord
And knowledge that may come too late.

The rising waters all around
When Noah drifted on the Flood,
Before the Ark had run aground,
Still ebb and flow within our blood.

.

.
The Ever Present Underlayment

__When muscles start to soften,
__Which happens fairly often
In men who reach the age of sixty-five,
__The sedentary grouch
__Who’s sitting on his couch
Might start to wonder why he’s still alive.

__They say that peace and quiet,
__A salutary diet
And frequent exercise will keep you sound.
__I know of some who’ve tried it
__And others who’ve defied it,
So guess which kind of man is still around.

__And when it comes to females
__Obsessing over emails,
The least that I can say is: Get a life!
__The one I’m married to
__Assaults me with her shoe,
Regretting that she hadn’t thrown a knife.
__And she whose home I share
__Gives me an acid glare,
But what would marriage be without some strife?
__This woman whom I wedded
__Declared that I’m pigheaded
And lucky that I even have a wife.

.

.

C.B. Anderson was the longtime gardener for the PBS television series, The Victory Garden.  Hundreds of his poems have appeared in scores of print and electronic journals out of North America, Great Britain, Ireland, Austria, Australia and India.  His collection, Mortal Soup and the Blue Yonder was published in 2013 by White Violet Press.


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3 Responses

  1. Roy Eugene Peterson

    The phrase “knowledge that may come too late” caught my attention and endorsement. Your poem was rhymed beautifully in each verse with the extended abababab scheme of the first three verses (and half of that in the last verse) that also impressed me. The word “spall” was an inspired addition to the rhymes.

    Reply
  2. Margaret Brinton

    Many of us do feel “as one” with the sea.
    I love the meter of this poem, “Blood, Sea”.

    Reply
  3. Joseph S. Salemi

    “Blood, Sea” is a great take on Calvino’s strange poem. I think I’ll borrow some words from Macbeth, and call this piece “A tale told by a blood cell, full of fishy sea water, signifying everything.”

    The speaker’s voice in that second poem is that of a cranky geezer, but a geezer with a wonderful command of rhyme and meter.

    (Small note: should there be a line space in the last section, to make the poem have four sections of sestets?)

    Reply

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