May 5, 2016

truffle hunter snout nose oinking for May's flowers

photo by Edward Rinaldi 

there was no mystery to the island just a cause 
for why stories often arise from tales of woe 
on this island a vessel ran aground many years ago 
it carried cargo twenty men some crop seeds and pigs 
they floated boxes ashore swam with the pork 
they kept the seeds dry in wax sealed clay
break in case of emergency poets 
who wrote and wrote poems 
in the sand during low tide at night 
for the ocean who was 
such a voracious reader 
he tells his story 
of how he turned 
to the animals for help
when faced with death 
the poet asked 
of his own will 
for a few more 
moonlit evenings 
to wake up from 
and the ocean, 
who always 
whispered back ...

"...yes poet..." 

after the poet died 
slow ash and ember 
taken to sea 
tongue and phrase 
Moon pulling 
full in phase 
a place in the waves 
began wearing his words 
whisper rain 
to land ...

the pigs lest we forget 
were very adaptable 
and they proliferated 
without too much predatory controls 
they were smart too 
they wrote stories
about what happens after which 
men would crash about their island 
these tales began being told 
among men, fowl and fish
each a wish in cautionary ruse 
how to slow your breath 
to catch sight of death
ocean however, kept telling my story 
like she was Circe turning 
the shipwrecked into pigs 

EJR © 

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