On the wreck of the Costa Concordia

by poetrydiary

Waters lapping at your door,
and your ceiling is the floor.

This fantasy you bought, built
on paper-trails and silt;
techno-arrogance, un-gilt
by respect for earth’s will –

has learnt her lesson now,
and bows.

So the waters lap softly and clear:

like kisses,
with fishes.

You will remind us for a week,
that we should be more meek.


A very complicated and expensive piece of engineering and marketing tells a simple story in the Mediterranean.