Just a Grain

shoreline

And wave after wave

Batters my foundation,

Uncertainty of the sea;

Currents shift

And I drift,

Find footing here,

Lose balance there,

But always,

Ever,

I am on Your shore.

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On Wading

evening plovers

 

Life laps, waves on shore

Which dare the brave to enter;

Cold feet are coaxed in

Of Boats and Seas

Vrsar marina

 

If I were a boat, and you the seas,

I’d hoist my sail and let the breeze

Bear me ever homeward bound,

Within your harbour, safe and sound;

And if a storm should cause dismay

With roaring gale and stinging spray,

You’d take the wheel, your waves escort

My shaking hull to safer port.

Midst unknown anchorage, should I

Dismiss my destiny, my why,

You’d paint my name upon my deck

In sea-foam green, lest I forget

That I am one with deeper swells,

With azure waves, and sea-carved shells,

With pirate kings, and mermaid songs;

For in your arms, my sail belongs.

 

Shipwrecked

sandy treasures

It wasn’t until her fingers ached with the holding

that she stumbled upon what her heart most craved.

Recasting flotsam into jetsam proved complex –

each snippet and stub, accumulation of a misspent life,

ingrown toenails like colonized barnacles on a heartless hull.

Which to discard?

Where to lay it down?

Her broken treasures had put down diseased roots,

fusing flesh to failure, marrying captain to ship.

Scraping at the splinters, mutiny of the highest order,

was pain more exquisite than the requisite lashes.

But unimaginable riches winked on the sand

and sang Siren notes pure and sweet,

daring surrender, demanding an answer.

Her cries of agony crashed like breakers

as her keel cracked wide;

sea air seared skin freshly exposed to the elements

while baubles trickled to the sand,

frothing like the surf.

Layer upon layer,

all, all became Crusoe to her perfect storm,

her tears lost at sea

with the pounding of her chest

as freedom stirred chains.

At last,

trembling,

spent,

she knelt on bloodied knees

before the pearl of great price

with all she had left –

empty hands.

Reason Swirls

frozenpuddle.jpg

Reason swirls in

rippled tidal waves,

schools of thought

propelled along rip tides of random compulsion;

Mind must master momentum

or be dragged to Davy Jones’ locker,

misled by swanky salesmen.

Lies ring true when artificial authenticity

sweeps senses out to sea,

when truth is misplaced

on the shelf next to pulp fiction.

The undiscerning dragnet

will troll for all species indiscriminately;

not every fish is worth the fry.

 *

‘…take captive every thought…’

Catching the Waves

catchthewave.jpg

I and my board on a frozen sea,

catching the waves waving back at me,

suspended in time with my lens as we

capture each drifting curl.

Prairie is still with the shell’s great roar,

diving in deep to experience the more,

ocean’s delights on a landlocked shore,

watching each crest unfurl.

*

I so love the sea – and literally live 1,000 miles away from the nearest, so any time I can take a mental beach break, I do!