Moorings...

Arrived early yesterday in Freetown,

moored the skiff alongside the quay,

where the harbor runs into the long spit -

within sight of the stone bridge

spanning the mouth of the river

There was a high tide as the current surged,

debris had washed ashore

As the tide recedes, it leaves

 a lacework of brown foam

As children we spent long summer days

on the banks making little blue paper boats

with white paper sails,
setting them off to float downstream
...I dozed off as I was daydreaming

Then, it rained for 4 days and 4 nights

As it continued to pour, clearly, 

it became an emergency

I worried the already restless animals 

would be spooked, there would be chaos,

my duties impossible to complete

Inches of rain turned to feet faster than I could measure

Engulfed land became islands, tops of hills, actually

The sea swept up more structures,

fisherman were caught in the wake

By evening all people had evacuated

I tried to not panic, to focus on my mission

As yet I had still to collect the rams, 

chipmunks, gorillas, and reindeer;

nowhere to be found were the kangaroos!

"Two of each", I had heard in my dream,

"you must save as many as you can!"

Had it really come to this... already?!

Suddenly, I'm not worried about the octupi

 and other sea life.  "I will do all I can!", I replied. 

Global changes - everything's happening too fast

Torrents of rain blocked my view as

the downpour continued into the dark night

Upon my last look, rain 

steadily seeped through the plank floors

to the cavernous storage below the cabin

I heard animals bleat, cry, moan and screech 

while being shoved into corners

As the heaving waves rocked the Ark,

mauve and coal black clouds gathered to thunder

My drained body collapsed and when night came, 

I buried my face in my arms;

my soul then fell into slumber

Steady rain rapped on the boat's roof

 I dreamed of my paper boats

floating on and on under a starlit indigo sky

Hours go by, it seems

I awaken to smell the sweet night air
to which I am accustomed

I see tinted light captured in fine silver threads, 

spritzed by water sprites, 

filtered by a rainbow or two

Misty drops become the purple of an arc, 

follow sophic pulses through newly- bathed
half circles of blues 

Somewhere mid spectrum,

between lotus green and soft yellows

they disseminate into the soft clarity
of translucence        

                                        

Had I dreamed of a storm,
heavy rain, collected and met with gravity?

Almost weightless, raindrops now touch the
ground in search of new meaning

Randomly made aqueducts
take the water on detours, newly defined,

as it streams into fields and streets, 

eventually flowing into the quay

where I saw glimpses of the sun as the
rain departed
Still a dream, I wondered?

We set out anew, the Ark and I,
on new adventures

I lift the anchor into the small craft

My boots set foot inside and find balance
in the floor of the skiff as it rocks

 in the wake of small waves

I think of how much I love the rain...

how similar we behave

I coax the boat away from the bridge,

steer it toward the channel,

 leaving the shore

 Everything has changed,

yet so  much seems the same
The elements and I constantly change;

 we may even think in the same vein

Thunderstorm or not,
nightmare or dream

I realize life after life goes on

and I know - I could live without

many things, but never without the rain

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         
     Everyone is having fun writing from Claudia's prompt today -                                                                                                                                                                                                                 

• something or someone that/who is not real suddenly comes alive
• a character from a book shows up in your poem
• someone suddenly disappears and finds themselves in a whole new place….
• someone who appears out of a book or you put into a book... 
• dversepoets.com