Ghost ship in a storm

This is for Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday prompt. A string of Essences.

Ghost ship in a storm

How deep the ocean night,
when sleep takes wing in flight,

cloud clashes, ships of grey,
light flashes bright as day?

Storm blasts its shipwreck tales,
lost masts and tattered sails,

by lightning, deathly white,
a frightening, eerie sight.

Listen, old timbers creak,
and cold dead voices shriek;

we hear their wretched plight,
but fear keeps shutters tight.



Colleen reminded me of the Essence poetry form.


There were deer on the hill,
fled in fear, never still,

on the hill, till they heard,
not the rill, not a bird,

but the crack of a gun.
Looking back, through the sun,

saw a man, metal bright,
and they ran, feather-light,

in the green, left a glow
where they’d been, so I’d know.