A Nose For It Poem by Marck Riggins

And aye, it were of these waves rolling under the broad bow of the Spinakker
That one could see his long lost gaze to sail, would be drawn to another vessel,
Such a shining mariner's vision: if only she could be his delivery of passage...
But, alas his great main sheet of a nose, would permit no dream alive,
And hence, turned down his sight, to the water's white-frothed offerings.
Once, and again as in times past, lent it to guide his ignoble ship



Recount time upon time, the ringing pain in sore ears wincing
From the sound played on soft lips, terse scripts unflinching
In silent hot tears, a name known intimately as his own
The mirror shows the point of no contention, as plain as that face gives aspect to ruin

The woes are upon him as swells crush battered coast
Will mortal sighs abandon at the sight in morbid reflection
Hope's acquaintance, fleeting to behold what plagued him most
The lottery of form, no consolation, gives no heed to boast

And aye, it were through these waves undulating beneath sunken pride
His brokenness, by a dreams' great distance, fades to white
Resignation to bank on the fog and unknown sorrow
Unwelcome friend and foe, sail on the seas' morrow

If there were a parchment, blue, it is said
His great horned bill, filters the salt in the wind
Discerning sweet fragrance that ever has been
That for his love who abides the ocean bed

Her smile's light, a potion in heart
Reminds again, oceans apart
Blank, the stare: spy the sea green
And always this lass
Be the course of lost dream