Nautical Terms

We hear the harbour traffic,

Chuntering, nosing in,

And feel the rise and fall

On a harbour wall.

At times when we sit below

Some boat ties up,

Bruising our fenders,

Jolting our quietude.

Another seems to touch and say:

I am here; sleep for the night;

This is my place;

Sails reefed, engine still,

Only the occasional creak and tap

Of a mainstay in the wind.

So, too, occasional words,

And signs of hand or eye,

Tell us to draw in,

Tie up alongside.

They decipher what we fathom

Of shifting sand and channel -

Bearings on a misty day,

As we coast and pick our way

Towards exchange. We find

Of what and where we are.

They show us if we know

The real from dreams which flow

In tides which swell behind

The quietude of the mind.

©Terry Hodgson2025