Peter

Alright, so this is my first post. I'm supposed to be the poet here, so here goes. I just came up with this one a couple of nights before, so it's not exactly polished but if someone wants to comment on it aesthetically, you're very welcome.

Peter

Three years is a long time.

I think about them, these three years.

Three years with the nets, heavy

with sea, grey and secular

the nets I’d thrown

aside, rough against the palms

I recall my art –

the knotting rub of fingers

the haul of fish and gale

the empty net plopped against the side.

I try not to dwell on

those two strong days,

the vertigo of words and wind and boat

the multitude of shores that ring

and ring around my ears.

The heady doublebrew of despair

but the high, rich kind

when the poured storm

rose to a pitch beyond the human eye,

until at last, one of us thought

to call his sleepy head.

The calm,

as though sky had been whisked clean away

and replaced by another sheet.

Beloved,

will I ever know

that gently humorous raising of your brow?

The ship turns on its prow

I have been left to fish

the gaping maw

the strong muscular raving of the storm

will lap my feet,

will swallow me whole

--

Personally, am dissatisfied with the voice in this one. Somehow burly Peter doesn't seem as introspective as I am :p I always imagine him bouncing around trying to be the life of the party and treading on people's toes all the time but then laughing it off with a pint. But then, this is post-Calvary, pre-resurrection Peter, so he wouldn't be so rowdy would he? Triggered by the hair trigger of speculation over how long exactly it was until the disciples believed that Jesus had arose.
Also, I dislike depictions of Jesus as an absolutely humourless fellow. God certainly has a sense of humour: he created giraffes. Have you ever seen a giraffe fight another giraffe?