The Way To Davy Jones Locker (Even On Dry Land)
Scull it all–
row row your boat,
never trusting
fate-willed float.
Bind your spine.
Cast off bend.
Steer your steeled keel
here to when.
Thresh the currents–
chop chop chop;
bail seeped null
without stop.
Flesh may melt;
bone holds on,
knotted digits
gripping yon.
Though waves are big
and we are small,
though even stars
hear orbits’ call,
locked in salt,
these oars we pull–
scuttled, scuttling,
sculling all.
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Here’s a rather weird take on Margaret Bednar’s prompt on With Real Toads to write a skeletal poem or a poem inspired by skeletons/fossils. Margaret has some great pictures on With Real Toads but the above is my own drawing. All rights reserved.
PS I have changed the title since first posting.
ManicDDaily 
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