by Richard L. Provencher
6/07/2011 / Poetry
The dockside is a smell
of herring-bait as lobster boats
disgorge slatted traps,
wrestling for a little space
shoreline harbour a bedlam
of commercial activity.
Against a sheer rock wall
the frisky wind tattoos
with evening might, a cabin
shivering on ocean's lip.
Inside, one tired fisherman
captures dreams, of
nets to repair, buoys to paint
backyard a disarray of lobster
pots desperate for tarring.
Richard L. Provencher
First published April 2011
Dear Readers: Richard and Esther co-authored many Kindle e-Books, available on Amazon.com. This busy activity has been very good therapy for Richard who has recovered about 90% from his 1999 brain-aneurysm stroke, Our New Web Site is: www.amazon.com/Esther-and-Richard-Provencher/e/B00O8K9UKE. PTL.
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