Fog Horn and Bow Bell
January of thirty first in sea it was,
when we routed to new parallel lines,
your hoarse voice told me from brines,
to be careful of the Southern stars.
Three demons danced on dead wood,
and we joined them drinking the grog,
I heard your voice warning me in fog,
a Northern wind was beating the hood.
We danced with death's hove in sight,
his ghostly vessel sailed in distance,
we laughed with our apt contrivance,
-and kept illuminated our dead lights.
Dunnages creaked, and then I heard
your eerie voice to express a verdict,
our vessel's crew may leave derelict,
and embark in boats to be deferred.
I heard the reef rock tearing the bilge,
she heeled to starboard, cut across,
destined to lie on sand and sea moss.
with our souls around her to effulge.
We flied that night like on roadsted,
dancing and drinking our way to hell,
you heard our fog horn and bow bell,
signal from mists that we were dead?
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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