On the ship, it was not indeed as when the maid bears the mead…
Sigvat the Skald

Beneath endless gray hulky clouds
hustling away to find some light,
our prow slaps the swells

smashes out plumes of icy spray.
Like Sindri’s hammer
rises, pounds and flings

sparks of stinging brine.
All around heaving seas
sway the deckhands.

Their grimy yellow oilies
daring more than dreary
mock the bruise-hued water.

Sea of angry brow
storms and storms the weeks.
Each day a life-time

bearing drizzle, frost and surge.
Winds howl-away words
talk turns clipped.

Skin chafes, cracks, blanches
to death’s pallor and memories
all go stale.

Neal Ostman has learned from people stateside and abroad. After trekking, his work life involved responsibilities as a Chief Financial Officer for healthcare companies. Neal has taught writing and poetry classes. In addition to poetry, his published credits include business and historical articles. Neal is a member of the Poetry Society of Texas and lives in Colleyville, Texas.