A Dead Bod

Picture by: Premkumar Masilamani- unsplash.com

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.