New poem. First draft. Practically a sea shanty; also brings to mind the Nick Cave song Thirsty Dog.
![](<img src = "http://funnypicturesimages.com/images/image/storm-at-sea-02.jpg" border="0" alt="Storm at Sea" title="Storm at Sea" /><br /><a href="http://funnypicturesimages.com/storm-at-sea.html">Storm at Sea</a> "storm-at-sea-02")
OUR THIRST
Towering, pensive Danny Boy.
Bloodied. Unbowed.
Lithe, simmering
Scar brandishing tomboy.
Preeminent cursers.
Junkyard dog hearts
Swapping reflections.
Damage.
Kiss us. We’re, you know,
Irish. Black Irish.
Fuck yeah. We invented melancholy,
Lap up sea squalls like puddle water,
Bite tragedy’s ass. Devour angst, roll over
Despair. Brood, pour, grapple, shove
The good fight and function Godammit,
Especially when called upon.
Big, deliberate, quixotic, plodding
Through calamity. Breathing little,
We flail against ourselves,
Rail, smack, filch one another’s bones,
Laughing in the morning.
Nothing sacred,
Catholic as we may be
Do not go down. Know Hell. Knees.
Swells. Rising again and again
Through the slag, flames,
Howling, baying,
Fumes. Bellowing waves.
Good one, Ms Haley,
You make being cranky and cantankerous sound admirable. If it were done without the aid of alcohol, maybe. I think that may be a major ingredient.
Thanks for the reflection on these passions and frustrations.
Jonny
Thanks Jonny; The title is a take-off on the expression, “They talk of my drinking but never my thirst.”