Unfathomable Sea! whose waves are years,
Ocean of Time, whose waters of deep woe
Are brackish with the salt of human tears!
Thou shoreless flood, which in thy ebb and flow
Claspest the limits of mortality,
And sick of prey, yet howling on for more,
Vomitest thy wrecks on its inhospitable shore;
Treacherous in calm, and terrible in storm,
Who shall put forth on thee,
and the gulf enters the sea and so forth,
none of them emptying anything,
all of them carrying yesterday
forever on their white tipped backs,
all of them dragging forward tomorrow.
it is the great circulation
of the earth's body, like the blood
of the gods, this river in which the past
is always flowing. every water
is the same water coming round.
Ah! County Guy, the hour is nigh,
The sun has left the lea,
The orange flower perfumes the bower,
The breeze is on the sea.
The lark his lay who thrill'd all day
Sits hush'd his partner nigh:
Breeze, bird, and flower confess the hour,
But where is County Guy?
The village maid steals through the shade,
I dream of journeys repeatedly:
Of flying like a bat deep into a narrowing tunnel
Of driving alone, without luggage, out a long peninsula,
The road lined with snow-laden second growth,
A fine dry snow ticking the windshield,
Alternate snow and sleet, no on-coming traffic,
And no lights behind, in the blurred side-mirror,
The road changing from glazed tarface to a rubble of stone,
The pale, the cold, and the moony smile
Which the meteor beam of a starless night
Sheds on a lonely and sea-girt isle,
Ere the dawning of morn's undoubted light,
Is the flame of life so fickle and wan
That flits round our steps till their strength is gone.
O man! hold thee on in courage of soul
Through the stormy shades of thy wordly way,
And the billows of clouds that around thee roll
I adored being out on the immense, rushing sea, and I had myriad dreams,
Like slumbering, yellow days of summer, with its vibrant, gorgeous themes.
My dream was for a great sea adventure, when the blush was on the rose,
Like dreamy, starlit eves on a beach, with the cool sand between my toes.
My best friend and I liked to go sailing, like pretty bluebirds in blue skies,
Or the autumn colors' seemly drifting, in the hours of vivid sunset reprise.
Family members oftentimes would join us, like crickets in the bird chorus,
I am extremely conflicted
I know where I want to be-
By the ocean-
But I don’t know how to get there
I don’t know whether I should go a traditional route,
And work full-time till I retire
Or whether I should pack everything up,
Hide out in a caravan
And live a small, menial life by the sea
She also cried as a newborn, and felt light shine through her eyes. Her favourite colour was ocean. Her lungs moved with the tides.
On Fridays, she'd make bread with her dad. Four floury hands. Two smiles, soft and wide. It was a ritual they’d complete each week, between prayers, and stories, and feasting. Sometimes, she’d take a ball of dough and eat it raw.
On Saturdays, she'd dance among ancient trees, who were too sage to take any side. This is where Alma would find freedom, with swirling scents of cedar, thyme, and pine. Below, gnarled roots met her feet, above buds and branches met her moves. Sometimes, she’d sing a song, made up on the spot.
On Sunday, Alma died, due to a paradox and plague: 'Holy war' they call it – this vain game of trying to claim the sacred. The stars, and those paying attention, saw that in the flash of the explosion, everyone's heaven was lit bright, just the same.
The ripples are still rippling. Mother is weeping salty tears. This is an old story, and fresh. Over the kitchen table and cups of chamomile tea, she asks tired and patient questions to nobody and to me. Questions about peace and breathing bodies at ease, and why we keep killing and reducing each other to less than tender, and place each other further than intimate, when all are babes here, fleshy and intricate.
floating on water
red sun's come down to the sea
blue waves in motion
shimmer and shine dusk
and stars are racing the moon
beyond fiery skies
as the hour grows late
the smoky drapes also fall
Stones tossed in ponds make dramatic impact ~ like we upon seas of life.Continue reading