A sonic boom from eavesdrop waves,
to catch the converse back of school,
both mother cow and baby wails,
a nursery, ancestors missed.
A sage guide, convert from the coil
of rope that linked the rocket shot
and hauled the beasts blown from the deep,
their bloody carcase, blubber foam.
Now as the pods play, bubble crests,
a village on the water, fȇte,
no longer fated, floating cuts,
this surely the whale hunter’s dream.
The knife I carry cuts the nets
entangled round caught turtle necks,
the litter waste from trawlers, yachts,
that turn our seas to rubbish dumps.
Stephen Kingsnorth (Cambridge M.A., English & Religious Studies), retired to Wales from ministry in the Methodist Church with Parkinson’s Disease, has had some 300 pieces published by on-line poetry sites, printed journals and anthologies, most recently Academy of the Heart and Mind, The Parliament Literary Magazine, Runcible Spoon, Poetry Potion, Ariel Chart Literary Journal. https://poetrykingsnorth.wordpress.com/