Captain Cur (England)
Mediterranean's exotic dance,
waves court tall white faced Italian shores,
then sit upon the footstools that are France
and wait within her ocean's cloistered doors.
Once claimed by kingdoms that arose before
their strength dispersed by majesty of arms,
coliseums decayed, rust retrieves the sword,
Phoenician horns no longer sound alarms
drowned in the depths which internalize her charms.
I walk upon the shadows of her wake;
my footfalls silenced, stolen by the blue,
and glance upon the islands of her lake,
Corsica and Sardinia come to view.
I taste the wine her ancient vineyards grew,
rich olives purple nuggets of her soil
pressing the golden liquid flowing through
my veins bared by the years of human toil
anoints my spirit with their aromatic oil.
The gods of plenty irrigate her grounds,
cornucopias poured by outstretched hands
freed by praise from their planetary bounds
frolicking in mirth on her fertile lands;
Europe, Anatolia and Levant,
North Africa, Macedonia and Greece
bathed in the breadth of her untiring bands,
island civilizations, Cypress, Crete,
their banners dressed Alexander's conquering seat.
Augustus named her 'Mare Nostrum, Our Sea, '
until Rome's ultimate fall and decline
concepts of man, empire and dynasty
temporal precepts waste away in time.
The flavor of aged Neapolitan wine's
hearty grapes sweetly settles on my lips,
beautiful Campania seeks out my mind
as I hoist the sails of my fading ship
I give Mediterraneus a farewell kiss.
Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (Mediterraneus by Captain Cur )
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