Port of Call

Clearwater Florida

Port of call

Captain's journalling log

Steering into harbour

Going by feel

Nothing can be seen

The fog is too dense

Taking all sense

Trust one's instincts

Or strike the reef

There's too much at stake

Else coming to grief

No navigation by stars

No sonar to avail

Pointed pinnacles beneath

Forging forth

In blinded sight

Unflinching trust

In nautical intuitions

The engine room steams

Hold packed with munitions

Steering with aplomb

We are a bomb

Calmness beneath the moon

Head for the lagoon

Smelling the bay

Hearing blast of horns

Steering the right way

Moved by invisible hands

Guided by fates

Internal radar in sync

We've made it so far

No lifeboat to row

Safe currents in the undertow

Cast anchor at once

We're safely through I think

Harbour near enough to be seen

Hands still gripping the till

Calmness after the thrill

Too switched on

After the plight

Nearly moored on a shoal

Scoring an own goal

No need to ponder the brink

No lifebuoy in sink

Time for coffee

Or heady drink