With Columbus As My Guide Poem by Thomas Buckley

bows diving deep breaking the current
a trio- each in the direction
of the new setting sun which hung
low in the sky over the mountains west
and the crest of each wave
forming the foam of our once-thought
mythical land

land ho! upon the shore, sandy beaches
as the three wooden ships arrive
and the civilians take foot at home-
(who are these men and these women,
darker in complexion, wild markings
all upon their bare
bodies? are we safe intruding
on their home?)

and they speak, not in our native language
but in a tongue not once heard
by man’s ear before- though it was told
of by explorers past, now long gone
to the other mysterious
unmapped lands of our rounded earth

with time differences were settled, landings were made
on every coast
of this new country, this new land
home, sweet home, santa
maria, pinta, nina; welcome home