Wednesday, 4 March 2015

A Dead Bod

Looking back on Dead Bod
The last time that I passed
Reflecting on what might have been
One's bread upon the waters cast

Watercourses mighty forces
Channelled energy titanic
To effect one’s flight position
Causing consequential panic

A misplaced dip of airborne grip
Provoked a spiralled twisting dive
Squealing reeling headlong down
Every sense in turbo drive

Stunningly the shifting gale
Bequeathed a lift beneath the wing
With veering grace at lightning pace
Bestowed a tightly tuned upswing

Majestically at breakneck speed
Aeronautics unsurpassed
As though an arrow from Achilles bow
The Bod dead centre hit my mast

Amazingly I caught the Bod
With care laid down upon the deck
Stiff and cold it slowly rolled
My broken heart Bod’s broken neck

No more to soar the oceans roar
Engrained in soulful cloud embrace
Fleetwood calls in ghostly squalls
Where Angel wingsails interlace

Dare we deface Bod’s resting place
Deep in our roots this pictogram
Emblazoned beacon messages
Each journey sign our diagram

What of now from down below
Dead Bod hails the newly found
Towering turbines reborn docks
This cultured haven new unbound

Defiantly the Dead Bod Calls
A guiding laid back gullible shape
Phoenix bright new morning light
This Hull and proudest cityscape

Steve Clarkson a local man of many knots  but never against the grain asked me to have a go at the above.

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