Tom Beak Seeks a Boon
He finds her walking westwards, as lost
as the thrusts and gusts of the threatening storm.
He pulls on her coat to catch her attention.
"I cannot deny it; you'll not disagree:
you look as confused as a wherry at sea,
no trust for your compass, its nonsense a moil
of spins and seductions enough to embroil
a heart in a tavern of doxies and pox."
She can feel the crusts of his calloused fingers
as she clasps it between her cold-blanched palms
and steers him through a surf of shoppers.
"Now please understand me; I don't mean to mock:
this morning you gave me the greatest of gifts –
a sunrise so golden it cast me adrift!
I walked with a shadow across these old lands
and stood on that high wall to marvel at sands
recast by each tide into berms and lagoons:
I ran and I danced like a crippled buffoon
and mewled as a kitten when tasting the grits
of salt in the breeze – you've unstoppered my wits …"
The High Street tacks like the twisted hawse
of anchor cables caught in the ebb.
A slant of sunlight stipples the road
as they arc across the icy cobbles.
"… and still I am lost. Each new step that I take,
each wonder my eyes fall upon makes me quake –
it breaks me, it smacks on my bones like a boar
at rut, for the world that I loved is no more."
They stop at the foot of a staircase alley
that offers escape from the scope of traders;
a murder of tinsels mirrors from his eyes
as their gazes lock through the gauze of centuries.
"I beg you to listen, my Lady. My feats
are ending; the log of my life is replete
with parables fit for a king's history …
and now I must tackle one last mystery.
I ache for the comfort of coffins, I crave
the bliss of unbreachable sleep in my grave
and you are the one who can help me achieve
my final desire to complete this shore leave."
He finds her walking westwards, as lost
as the thrusts and gusts of the threatening storm.
He pulls on her coat to catch her attention.
"I cannot deny it; you'll not disagree:
you look as confused as a wherry at sea,
no trust for your compass, its nonsense a moil
of spins and seductions enough to embroil
a heart in a tavern of doxies and pox."
She can feel the crusts of his calloused fingers
as she clasps it between her cold-blanched palms
and steers him through a surf of shoppers.
"Now please understand me; I don't mean to mock:
this morning you gave me the greatest of gifts –
a sunrise so golden it cast me adrift!
I walked with a shadow across these old lands
and stood on that high wall to marvel at sands
recast by each tide into berms and lagoons:
I ran and I danced like a crippled buffoon
and mewled as a kitten when tasting the grits
of salt in the breeze – you've unstoppered my wits …"
The High Street tacks like the twisted hawse
of anchor cables caught in the ebb.
A slant of sunlight stipples the road
as they arc across the icy cobbles.
"… and still I am lost. Each new step that I take,
each wonder my eyes fall upon makes me quake –
it breaks me, it smacks on my bones like a boar
at rut, for the world that I loved is no more."
They stop at the foot of a staircase alley
that offers escape from the scope of traders;
a murder of tinsels mirrors from his eyes
as their gazes lock through the gauze of centuries.
"I beg you to listen, my Lady. My feats
are ending; the log of my life is replete
with parables fit for a king's history …
and now I must tackle one last mystery.
I ache for the comfort of coffins, I crave
the bliss of unbreachable sleep in my grave
and you are the one who can help me achieve
my final desire to complete this shore leave."
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