Anchor’s Away:  The Marine Mind

  “Friendship:  The Truest Safety Net”

 

Friendship is an anchor

Against Life’s undertow.

Keeping us from currents,

Fickle winds that blow.

 Friendship is a buoy

Keeping us afloat.

A gentle life preserver,

For any troubled boat.

  

Friendship is the keel

Of a strong and fruitful life.

Co-captains at the wheel,

To sail through any strife.

  

Friendship is the mast

To which we attach our sails.

Without such strong support,

We’d sink in stronger gales.

Friendship is the hull

In which we store our treasure.

The islands in the streams,

Where we find our pleasure.

 

Friendship is a lighthouse

A blessed guiding light.

Piercing through the fog,

A beacon in the night.

Friendship is the towline,

We cling to in rough waters.

Without this SOS, my friend,

We’d never find the harbor.

Let me be your crewmate.

For without your love for me,

I’d gladly walk the plank,

And be forever lost at sea.

Composed for Anchor Club   

In thanks for my honorary membership

Diane Chancy 2/04

Allegory for my Mother    

     Once upon a time there was an architect who wished to build the most beautiful arch in the world.  He wished to set it up high so that all could admire it and enjoy it and say what a wonderful arch it was. The architect set about selecting the most beautiful and expensive stones for his arch, not compromising on anything – time, money, or energy.  Finally he went about the task of erecting his dream.  But he was beset with one fundamental problem.  He needed to build two columns or towers first so that the arch would have a place to perch and press upon for support.  He was wracked with annoyance at this architectural necessity and so dispensed with the labor quite hastily and without love.  After all it was the arch that mattered, the arch that would be his greatest monument. He chose fine stones, but not the best quality.  He chose sturdy stones, but nothing burnished or marbled.  Nonetheless, the towers were completed and the arch was set in place.  And it did garner attention.  It attracted admiration and the architect was well pleased with his creation.  Over the years he added jewels, statuettes, gargoyles, and other decorations to the arch to celebrate its loveliness.  However, he failed to make improvements to the towers, never noticing them and neglecting them in favor of adding to the arch.  Over time, the two towers became weak from the weight of the arch and tumbled to the ground.  Of course, the grand arch toppled too.  Its statuettes, bas reliefs and friezes became rubble.  It’s jewels shattered like colored shards in the sands.  The architect, old by now and inconsolable, would not hear his fellow engineer’s philosophies about the importance of pillars to structural integrity.  He would not listen to their ideas about the understated beauty of columns or the pure utility of towers. He sat in the sand and cried at the debris of his glorious arch.  He died without understanding.  He died in ruins.

Diane Chancy

December 29, 2006

Shimmering Dancers: A Poem in Honor of the Lovely Linguists in Leon's English Department

Shimmering Dancers

No Fish Out of Water

The loveliest school of linguists I ever did see,

Undulating, pulsating, pure poetry!

Speaking the language of Sirens, so fluid and lithe, 

Like sea-blooming selkies, on shore come alive.

No prim proper school marms, these novel women,

Each sings her own story; each spins her own rhythm.

A round dance of nereids, all rolling and surging,

Shape shifting women, like mermaids emerging.

And nothing but vowels from the boys in the back,

The men hover round, a clumsy land pack.

Like an Irish school dance, the girls’ hub is charged,

Stiff boys on the spokes dare an occasional barge,

Into the circle of waving arms, shaking tails,  

Silkies who have hid their own coats by the sails.

Some rock and some stay, most head back to the sea.

Leaving men land-locked with dreams of the sea.

Leaving them tongue-tied with tales of the sea.

Undulating, salty, and pure poetry,

The loveliest school of linguists I ever did see.

Written in Honor of the Goddess of the Sea Foam and

The Ladies of the Leon English Department who betook to their legs dancing at the end-of-the-year faculty party—May, 2012.

'Bout to begin bloggin again. 

Polar Parade

Wolves wearing stoles of bright winter white,
Pad intricate icy prints in the forest at night.
A nodding old owl, feathers frosted with light,
Snoots, ruffling snowflakes and crystal moonlight.

Sugarcoated bunnies bound over alabaster dunes,
Pristine polar bears tumble on icy, silver blooms.
After up and downy tumbling, tired cubs cocoon,
Inside cold caves covered in blue icicle runes.

The falling flakes, shimmering stars flicker and fade,
Frozen fire rosettes in a winter's waterfall cascade.
Might bear, stately wolf marshal a Midwinter's Parade,
Lesser creatures gambol behind the Great White Cavalcade.

Friendly foxes, splotched does, and sleepy seals in a row,
March under the Midnight Sun, silhouettes in the snow.
The sparking troop eyes Northern Lights and reverently bows,
Paying solemn tribute to Arctic skies and the opal Polar Glow.

Book Bark

I think that I shall never see
A book so lovely as a tree
But, oh, the stories within the spine
Inspire greatly as a Pine!

Miniver Cheevy and I

I keep my castles in a book, right beside my bed.
And now and then I cross the moat to ease my modern head.
. . . . . . . . . .
Miniver and I share magical dreams – a portal to the soul.
It is the only way we know to keep our psyches whole.
So if you see us over parapets peeking and tiptoeing around the tower,
Prithee, my friend, please understand – it is the wishing hour!
Chancy