the dreamers’ ark
(the haven, tynemouth)
by Paul Summers
the oak is seasoned
the sawyers done
each board & beam
is shaved & steamed
rendered immaculate
in barrel curves
planed & polished
to perfect laps
the wrights slip-
glazed by noble toil
each limb in balance
each peg set tight
like lovers’ vows
immoveable in situ
caulked with hope
& dogma pitched
our lines are tied
the mast is set
beyond the lash
of briny rain
the sirens call
a kelpie chorus
in refrain beseeches
us to join them
on their barricade
of angry waves
then truths & lies
file two by two
the ghosts of all
our champions too
then faith & doubt
complete the crew
the flexing muscle
of a lunatic tide
will raise us off
our silt-kissed keel
our petards primed
the mainsail draped
we’ll voyage toward
some promised land
towards a haven
of our communion
this ark of gesture
& good intent
within the warp
& weft of oily sheets
the reek of sheep
the thrill of transit
its canvas chest
heaved out in pride
repels the barrage
of this storm
its swell embellished
with gilded words
non nocere
do no harm
