Ode to the Mariner's Skye

Oh permit me to speak of this siren, the sky!
Her expansive and eloquent face
Looking down on the ocean she deigns to be known.
Her lavish gold tresses and blue-hued recesses,
By no lyric could ever be shown.


From aloft o'er the aft, at evening, the craft,
Stands exalted in rapturous red.
She dons in the twilight a sun-burnished cloak,
As the sky at her bound'ries, like fiery foundries
Sends out tendrils of vapor and smoke.


The sky's a lush mistress, a sensual seer
Fitted out to slake every thirst.
She is buxom in beauty, a sumptuous feast.
From the moon to the sun, a new day is begun
When she'll leaven your bread with her yeast.


The ship's galley crew's got no time for a roux
When surrounded by famished messmates.
Beef for the main course, a plum duff for a sweet.
The meat's served in slices, grease dripping suffices
To make sauce for both swabs and elite.


The sky is a sculptor, the sky is a maestro
And a muse to inspire your verse.
But her carvings with clouds and concertos of beams
Become slashes and dirges while seawater surges
And bilge floods your cabin in streams.


The first mate takes a spot by a seasoned plank's knot,
And assaulted by salt from the gale.
Taking care when it's said that the morning sky's red.
She will splinter his spar, keep his balls in a jar,
'Til the sea giveth up all her dead.


A furious foul-weather sky looms nigh
To my fleet frigate's top gallant sail.
A warning ye mortals, beware of the aire
She'll sing to your doom, drive you fast to your tomb.
She craves souls to provision her lair.


There's not much to be said for the quick and the dead
Simply sailors who no longer breathe.
Though the sky's expertise makes you weak in the knees,
Be ye slow and survive, persevere, stay alive.
Ride her out!  She'll soon leave you at peace.


Concluding, ye lubbers, so many fine phrases
Have not made it into this poem.
And so, gentle sailor sail out toward the blue.
While the stars in their courses and tiny seahorses
Testify what I've penned here is true.

Revery

Were I to go, my angel, who would care for you as I do?
Who would love you?
Who would lift you up?
Who would surround and protect you?
Who would build a bulwark before your tender, trusting soul 
And contend with those who wish you ill?

Thus, in my revery, I rise up at dusk.
I wander out amongst the brooding vapors 
Into the farthest reaches of the willows,
Partaking contentedly of the honeyed air,
Surveying all nature as my own,
I gaze blithely skyward through the verdant lattice,
And there an indignant moon, higher yet than I,
Glaring down upon me and no one else, my accuser.
In my vanity I fancied myself your guardian, your savior, your better.
But now search and find no lesser man than I,
No enemy save myself.

Abased, I return again to your side
To bask in your sweet love,
To receive your forgiveness
And resolve to be your adversary no longer.