Pitchers of dark ale
It was evident our coordinates entered
in parallax with old dimensions affected;
hence the captain's voice unexpected,
started to sing Verdi, bass and stentor.
The destination was a port of allegiance
so, we responded to the notion veering;
Saint Nicolas was on the rudder steering,
with the ship cunning to void attendance.
Quoiled up round was our blurred scope,
in open seas we egressed, ropes to hale,
drunk by overflown pitchers of dark ale,
communicating in a woozy speech trope.
With minds numb we composed lyrics,
our hoarse voices singing to ocean naiads;
where else, sea nymphs, heard bards,
on bass gargle nonsense of sot freaks?
The ship was going happy like a cradle,
seesawing on waves with deleted worry;
how else could we address to a blurry,
a dull horizon above tricky depths hadal?
We sang and sang in blear mist forever,
ten eons passed since we began drinking,
dark ale was thirstily in mouths sinking,
Sirens were laughing with time to sever.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
Added by Poetry Lover
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