Poetry by Jeff Green


By The Storm Divided.

by cricketjeff on January 11, 2008.  © Jeff Green, All rights reserved

Crashing close to madness are the waves inside her head.
To the harbour wall she’s struggled where the call of night has led.
The gale that rages seaward, and the gale inside her mind,
Are the warnings from the spirits of the fate that she will find.
She’s been waiting for her sailor, as he’s toiled the months away;
Now she hopes the winter weather simply means a short delay.
The babe she’s left behind her, cradled to its Granny’s chest
Needs a Father and provider, and she knows her man is best.

Crashing close to madness is the storm inside his dreams.
As he fights upon the yard-arm and the rain beats down in streams.
He has worked to earn his wedding, now his bride is days away
But the evil gods of fortune think a sailor’s life’s for play.
As he left she’d told his fortune, that a father he would be
And his child would be awaiting when he came back from the sea.
Now the sailors are all striving and they fight against the fear
That the gales will never let them feel the arms they hold most dear.

Standing on the edges of the cliff of dark despair.
She can only stare defiance at the sea spume in the air.
She knows her man is braver than a lioness at bay
But the might of Neptune’s armies seem to rule the field today.
As she’s standing gazing seaward, other sea-wives join her side
Can the rage of wives and daughters see dark natures rage defied.
The night grows ever darker, and the storm grows blacker still
And the only way to fight it, is through force of women’s will.

Standing in the rigging, each man in proper place.
The crew show bold defiance to the enemy they face.
The sails are furled in closely, next they lash the hatches tight.
Then every man aboard ship, can start watching for the light.
The dawn arrives so sharply, that it cuts the waves in two
And the captain calls the helmsman and the ship can just slip through.
On the harbour wall the sea-wives, start to melt away in calm
Now the gale they see is beaten, and their men won’t come to harm.

We see the babe by the firelight, and he’s on his father’s knee
Where the family are gathered, for a quiet Sunday tea..