By Fern Overvold
Atlanta Branch
Sailing out of Frenchman’s Bay,
wind from the North snatches the sails,
whipping out the wrinkles,
starching the canvas in tight curves
that point the bow to open water.
We have come to spy on birds,
the ones nesting on the highest points
of piney pyramids,
those islands with rocky feet in the water
and steep sides of green arms, uplifted,
crowned with an eagle’s nest.
Then, from the top-most tree,
from his open house of sticks and grass,
we sight the heavy lift-off
as he hoists his great black sails,
straining to catch the current
that sends him stroking skyward,
riding a blue rail in wide arcs
following no chart.
Strong sparse language that puts me on that ocean watching the majestic independent lift off of our national mascot.
Ah, to share the marvelous sensation of sailing with the soaring great eagle!
This poem is as majestic as its subject. Thank you, Fern!
LOVELY PEACE AND POWERFUL TOO. THANKS FOR SHARING.
Magnificent topic and poem worthy of it. Each word is perfect, and the link between the people sailing and the eagle soaring in the first and third stanzas brings full circle the freedom and movement, while the middle stanza temporary anchors it. Very well done, Fern. You took us there.
Captivating
I can see it!!! Well done!!
Great imagery, movement, and message!
I could picture this bird taking off. Nicely written
Perfection.