POEM: Ice Patrol

editorial image

Frost rimed bows

Nudge underwater caverns

Of glass, as

Our despairing breath

Huffs into wraiths’

Of souls lost at sea

We lay clothed

In sleeping bags, shivering

Listening through the hull

Whales sing their songs

Of hopeless melody

Warning of nightmares

Yet dreamt

Ice fields’ which

Groan like a brittle choir

In pain

The quiet grave-like cold

Envelopes and caresses

Like a white linen shroud

‘Newfoundland Banks’

Where the ghosts

Of Titanic lifeboats

Still row

In endless agony

Cold to the bone

And fog, eerily chilled

Like sailing on a steaming pond

Or

Gliding through

A memory of death

This graveyard

Of the Atlantic

With its rusting harvest

Of wrecks...

Adrian McRobb

Cramlington