“Poetry might be defined as the clear expression of mixed feelings.” —W.H. Auden

“I wish our clever young poets would remember my homely definitions of prose and poetry: that is, prose = words in their best order; poetry = the best words in the best order.” –Samuel Taylor Coleridge

I’m sure my writing falls somewhere in Mr. Coleridge’s description of prose: “words in their best order.” But that being said, it also falls somewhere in W. H. Auden’s description. A “clear expression of mixed feelings.” Therefore, I’m not sure what I’m writing. I’m going to say that what I write is sort of like stories written in prose. The following one describes the area where I grew up. It’s about times gone by; happy times. I’ve titled it: Joining the Sea

Joining the Sea

This little poem is set on Canada’s rugged and craggy east coast,
Where there’s unlimited beauty of which one can boast.
In the west of the alluring Province called, “Canada’s Ocean Playground,”
Lies the quaint and scenic little jewel known as Digby Town.

Thirty miles further west sits the tiny fishing village of East Ferry.
This is where I spent my childhood – and oh, t’was so carefree and merry.
This serene little village lies situated between the Fundy and St Mary’s Bay
Surrounded by some of the most natural beauty anywhere, whether near, or far away.

It’s positioned at the tip of a very narrow and picturesque strip of land,
That juts thirty miles into the ocean like a thumb on a giant hand.
It offers some awesome sights of St Mary’s and Fundy waters so clear and blue,
Of fishermen and boats, and beaches, and tidal currents too.

During my growing up years this tiny village was a hustling and bustling spot.
It was filled with fish plants and boats and there were lots of fish being caught.
The fishermen were a hard-working group, who knew their trade beyond measure,
Well enough to look beyond its misfortunes, and find the humor and the pleasure.

My father was one of those fishermen, and he understood the trade so well.
I used to love to sit and listen as he and others spun the stories they had to tell.
Of how they would set sail without hesitation, long before the morning light,
With just a pocket watch and a compass to guide them through the fog and night.

They set their courses as certain as an archer’s arrows do fly,
And settled on the fishing grounds long before the sun appeared in the sky.
Fish were plentiful back then, and usually there was enough for all.
Which made for bragging and some extra smiles after the hauling of the trawl.

My joining with the sea found its beginning during those early days,
Long before I reached the age to go fishing I dreamed of its ways.
I used to sit on the bank, high above the passage that I knew so well.
My body was on the bank, but my spirit was running on the ocean swell.

From that bank my physical vision would reach only to where the Fundy meets the sky,
But my imagination reached to the end of the expanse and passed the horizon by.
It was at these moments that I formed an unbreakable bond with the sea,
We both seemed to know that beyond the physical, our togetherness would always be.

And I’m going to state that the ‘unbreakable bond’ link is absolutely true for me,
I know because I tried to break it many, many times, but this breaking was not to be.
Many times I tried in vain to cut that bond, and stay on the land; I really tried my best.
But every time I was drawn back, as a swallow in the springtime, is drawn back to its nest.

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“Veganism is believing that an animal’s life is worth more than a sandwich. That’s it! That’s how simple it is.” –The Spiritual Vegan

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