(This is one of the first poems I wrote, over 20 years ago. I probably wouldn’t go with the same rhyme or rhythm now but there haven’t been many revisions over that time, other than an oscillation between ‘when storms rip up and’ and ‘when rip tides occlude or’).
In Christchurch, under old management,
A Ship in Distress was Grandpa’s favourite restaurant
(though the pleasure was transient).
Ships in distress are hostage to
unseen forces manifest
beneath the settled blue.
A ship in distress withholds cargoes
of human immaterial,
emotions and suggestions
unheeded, individual.
Ships in distress are obviously so
when storms rip up and defeat them,
but many a vessel is quietly low
as warning sounds die on emission.
Wilderspool Causeway 