| Hammers. Timbers. Iron. Steel.They're
| |
| | but a glancing blow", I think,She will
|
| laying down a mighty keel.As ant-like
| |
| | not, cannot, must not sink!But down below
|
| workers scurry roundI hear a truly
| |
| | the decks, unseen:In sneaks the ocean
|
| riveting sound.And as she rises midst
| |
| | cold and keen.And as up each steel wall
|
| the swarmI see the beauty of her form.(He
| |
| | it growsIt reaches top, and
|
| has no soul who cannot seeHow I am forced
| |
| | overflows.Boats are lowered. Ah! Sad
|
| to call her "she".)And then, 'a sudden,
| |
| | few."Women and babes first!", shout the
|
| she's a ship!She waltzes down that mighty
| |
| | crew.A panicked man, in dressing-gown:"My
|
| slip.Then, in the water, no splash,
| |
| | God! My God! She's going down!""Nearer
|
| mind,This lady floats. Oh! How
| |
| | my God, to thee how near".The band plays
|
| refined!Southampton docks: I want to
| |
| | on, to calm the fear."You've done your
|
| feel,And touch, and taste the British
| |
| | duty, lads, now go."But does the music
|
| steel!Palatial, and stately too.(There
| |
| | stop? Oh no.A fervent prayer to He who
|
| was no like in Xanadu.)The passengers,
| |
| | savesAs down she slips beneath the
|
| the crew, all weAre safe aboard, so out
| |
| | waves.The silence!Then those dreadful
|
| to sea.The cheers, the midget well-wish
| |
| | screams.(I sometimes hear them in my
|
| fleet,That siren deck beneath my feet!A
| |
| | dreams.)Next morn, upon that sorrowed
|
| jewelled city, in the night,From shame,
| |
| | billowA wreath, a chair, a toy, a
|
| the very stars took flight.Her mighty
| |
| | pillow.No souls, the souls are all
|
| speed seemed but a creep,So steady that
| |
| | asleep.I stand in silent prayer, and
|
| she seemed asleep.Indeed the city slept.
| |
| | weep.Patrick Lockerby - March 2005Born
|
| A fewRemained awake, they mostly
| |
| | 1946, London, England.
|
| crew,To feed the rav'nous boilers' maw,To
| |
| | Grammar-school educated.
|
| bake the bread, sort mail, and more.I
| |
| | Retired engineer.Interests:
|
| almost dozed and wished my
| |
| | Anything at all to do with language &
|
| bed,But:"Iceberg!", "Iceberg! Dead
| |
| | linguistics, esp. --
|
| ahead!"With straining engines, spinning
| |
| | poetry, prose;
|
| wheel,She strove to swerve her awesome
| |
| | natural language processing;
|
| keelAnd almost, almost, but, not quite
| |
| | control and communication in human
|
| --A straining shrieking rent the nightAnd
| |
| | systems;
|
| rent her hull. (I took no fright.)'Twas
| |
| | law, lies, logic.
|
