Posts Tagged ‘ocean’

Love alone cannot soothe the tide,

bring waves down

to swaddle one’s side.

Yet in this town,

where love be a familiar spell,

the water itself is love,

which flattens at ring of church bell.

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Into the thrill of clattering hooves,

black steel on the stony street,

red sparks flitting like fairies in the night;

into the night

vivid as the jungle with its wriggling shadows,

and amber eyes, the lights

small and white through canopy of shadow;

into the forest

with its ground of beige dust,

and pines and spruces

regaling times of fire

and rising like turrets with jewel-needles;

into a new sky

more infinite than a road

and flatter than mirror

where clouds drift above like friends

watching a companion dive into an ocean.

Cruel Dawn

curls her mischievous hair-

glowing flames of flamingo pink

and citrus orange,

into the window

to settle on eyes like buzzing insects,

irritating one’s eyes out of landscapes

of the mind,

and into the dimly lit room

as real as paint,

where one sighs

as hooves, night, jungle, forest, sky

fleetly leave one’s eyes.

Two Things

Posted: December 11, 2013 in Poetry
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

There are two things I must do.

One is live,

not simply breathe in the salt air of the ocean,

but wade in its watery body, feeling the tide

teethe and ripple against me;

not simply walk on glacial hills,

or in whispering emerald field of grass, or on gray sidewalks,

but stroll, and gaze,

and feel the solid ground vibrate smally with each step I take on it

and see the smallest of miracles- ants or flakes, cracks in stone

even at from the distance of my full height.

 

Secondly, I must do what all humans must.

I must die,

whether by wind ripping my soul into its vacuous center,

or by water pulling my body down to its bubbling hearth.

I must let go of that last breath,

that final whisper.

I must speak final words.

We could look objectively at everything,

but then the heart would remain unseen.

The fire would be doused;

the flower would droop its full and unfurled head,

there would be no crystals within the bloom,

no smiles on the petals,

no dreams in the scent.

There would be no call of the ocean,

no challenge or caress in its waves,

no luster in the sand;

there would not be temptation from the dark forest;

there would be no warnings from the wind,

or grasp to it;

there would not be hope released with the rising

of the sun, nor fertile beauty in the glow of the moon;

there would be no celebration with death.