Skiff Poem by Stephen S. Yeandle

‘The Voice of Reason’
for many years adrift.

Her varnished gunwales and tiller board
long ago bleached out.

Across the transom plank,
artfully scripted
her name.

Now a
fading reminder
before the eclipse.

Her sail starched
and burnished red,
where a white dove
once embossed,
had spread
its wings in flight.

Now torn and frayed
draping down the masthead
like a funeral shroud.

Life supporting
flotation vests
hopelessly
disemboweled.

Empty oarlocks
fused in place.

Her carefully knotted
rigging rope
and
lanyard cords,
attenuated by the drought.

Once lustrous polished brass
her fittings
weary
from electrolysis.

Her glimmering white
shiplap hull,
so craft-fully
seamed
and caulked,
now chalky gray
and separating.

Voice of Reason
do you remember when
exacting such attention,
you sailed across
our
harbors and bays,
propelled by
whisper breezes
in the morning light
of our daily faith
in you.

Congruent pride
and possibility.

Why, was it that
we 'then' would listen
to the wisdom of the ages,
that your presence
always brought?

Was there only so much reason
to be spread about?

Did we use it up,
allowing hubristic avarice
dominion over us?

Have you been
to long adrift,
soon to
go awash?

Fathom
by
fathom
banished,
beneath
a saddened
sea...