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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
My visit inside the shipyard was an awesome experience. This poem is the result of that visit.

Submitted: April 11, 2010

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Submitted: April 11, 2010



The Newport News Shipyard dares

me to buoy yesterday's image,

urges me to hold anchors of gold

like the aircraft carriers

carving waterless bays

in the shipyard shore.  Dragon

eyes, are those spike-fire stares

from a gray face of seafaring steel?

Behemoth, are you a city longing

the main, eager to cast

F-16s skyward

from the Atlas arms of catapults?

Brother speaks of you, and speaks

of submarines

slipped from trial, sterns

venting steam, lamp black,

feeding on fresh torpedoes.

The shipyard surfaces

like thunder in thought waves,

revealing gunwale blue,

yellow booms, washed out decks

of white.

Challenged by a force, shrouded

by the James River fog, swirling

and billowing, Atlantic horizon

consuming vessels

welded in the draft

of the shipyard's sunlight.

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