Poems about Natural Wonders.
The last race over they begin
training for next year, move to the Arctic,
follow the snow south holding part-time jobs.
They never sell a dog, breed a hundred,
choose a team, destroy the rest.
That one must do so much to excel
in even this disheartens me.
John Barr, The Hundred Fathom Curve: New & Collected Poems
I saw the Portuguese men-of-war
shipwrecked like a treasure fleet
a solid mile along the shore.
Hard aground they tried to beat
to windward, set their living sails
this way and that around our feet.
A wave would sometimes climb the trails
of slime and lift one almost free,
then lapse and leave the pooled entrails.
We tried to flip one back to sea,
using a piece of board to help
then left them, fouled for good in kelp,
the great blue spinnakers to gleam
and gesture, either after help,
or merely sailing their species' dream,
judging the distance as before,
keeping the middle of the stream.
John Barr, from The Hundred Fathom Curve: New & Collected Poems