Treasure Island

Diane Hine

(25 July 1956)

Cape Horn

In Drake Passage, the gleeful sea saith…
‘Yo sailors! You’ll not pass me by stealth.
Vessels cut my muscle but not my strength.
Your sailing ship’s too fat with plundered wealth.
I want a tithe of weathered skin; a tenth.
Bony arms aloft, furl sail the yard’s length.
I smell greased plaits, cold sweat and warm breath.
Free pass to tars who jig my shibboleth.
Reel on slick, pitched decks across my breadth,
or sink inside my ever-tightening depth.
Come in! The brine’s fine. I’ll drink your health,
bone, muscle, fat, skin, hair, sweat and breath.’

Submitted: Sunday, June 09, 2013
Edited: Wednesday, July 31, 2013

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  • Thomas A Robinson (6/18/2013 10:51:00 AM)

    One of the few places in the world where mamoth waves crash into each other like clapping hands.
    Vicious in nature, devine in beautiy, resting place for many. (Report) Reply

  • Valsa George (6/14/2013 6:07:00 AM)

    A horrifying challenge.... blood curdling and intimidating! Who can meet head on the fury of the briny depths? A great write! ! (Report) Reply

  • Danny Draper (6/11/2013 5:26:00 PM)

    There be a challenge, a gauntlet, a threat, a dare, a Shakespearian taunt of menaces here with language measured with ill intent, malevolent fibres from pure darkness rent, that only John Sparrow would disrespect. (Report) Reply

  • Unwritten Soul (6/9/2013 12:04:00 PM)

    Fresh smell from the sea, Fresh heart what i see..Here at Cape Horn, you make us free...truly lovely write Diane..loved it! _Soul (Report) Reply

  • Valerie Dohren (6/9/2013 11:19:00 AM)

    Excellent Diane - a great sea poem. Being a landlubber, this definitely shivers me timbers! (Report) Reply

  • Captain Cur (6/9/2013 10:54:00 AM)

    Free pass to tars who jig my shibboleth,
    that thar line is a gem,
    I absolutely adore this poem. (Report) Reply

  • Bobby Wynn (6/9/2013 10:18:00 AM)

    From what I remember about the sea is as much, she can be brutally sound in strength. Awesome write. (Report) Reply

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