ocean

Sea Glass

 

 

Knob kneed and pale,
I glow
before the waves with toes painted green

like the world through a piece of sea glass, my vision hazed and

calm. Your thumb presses my fingers

like the tactile press of a keyboard's

steps towards the fully formed sentences

I can't quite seem to finish. The storm on the horizon

is electrifying. It drowns out my breath with each rumble

echoing over the waves and we know we should leave,

move to safety,

but the water is the most intense

shade of you.

 

 

 

 

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The Sound of the Seagulls Above the Wind

 

 

Seagulls voiced their need

for the crisp winds of early spring to

warm into air worth their spread wings and

readiness to fly. We stood

with the sand stinging the backs of our claves

and our hair in our faces

deciding if it was worth daring

to dip our toes in the waves.

The view from the shore was tremendous. Still,

all oceans criticize the scope of their onlookers and

I was no different, casting sidelong glances

over the foam collecting at its edges like great scars

left from when the surf and land met,

my skin recoiling against the sea spray.

But you –

you spread out your arms like an egret spreads its wings and

I swear I saw you fly. 



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Salt and Seashells

 

Sea salt made a fine layer of dust on your skin

when the cresting waves alternatingly

pushedand pulled your body

with the readiness of a lover. I stood

on the shore, toes gently lapped

by the aftermath to

the small violences you refused to shy away from

and daydreamed about your voice against my skin.

I called out to you, then,

and culled the seashells from my fist to select

the one best suited for your hand.

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Maiden In Waiting

Folder: 
Simple Thoughts

"She had been waiting, 

for her knight. 

Her proper gentleman, 

the one who at night

 

would hold her tight,

the only way

that seemed right

to sleep.

 

So deep,

was her love

for someone she hadn't met yet, 

it kept her away

 

from the others.

No prince

could ever save this

damsel in distress. 

 

She was busy, anyway.

But on one

humid, busy day,

one said hello.

 

And in a blur of a year,

she realized 

she had said 'yes', 

with stone like Ocean

 

adorned on left hand.

She was happy.

She was going to unite 

with one whom

 

she had searched 

her entire life for.

One who loves her

for who she is,

 

and every thing

that implies.

He is no knight, 

no master-commander,

 

just a man

who has a way with words; 

or so he likes to think.

All she wants,

 

is to ink into passing

the change of last name.

A light love story, 

that began two year ago,

 

one busy day.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

When I met me wife!

Men at Sea

Ecstasy of the heart,

Is this a new start?

 

Filled with happiness and glee,

Five ships on an open sea,

 

Cups of rum

And mothers lost sons

 

New worlds to explore

Past the golden shores

 

No tyrants or hypocrites,

On the sparkling sea

 

Sail to the ends, Just to be

Men at sea

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Simple, but one of my favorites. 

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An Ode to Sailors

Leave behind thoughts of those missed and make way for future ports of call. Tendering while being satisfied with one's commission, breath, and brio. Many a shipmate is sufficiently contented with this. The lady goes forth with unfurled sail and mirrored masts atop deep water through a wide expanse. Far from peaceful nights at when the owls had grown still. Bluejackets rise before dawn, readying for their turn, standing by for orders for endeavors of the new day. Before long, the sun shall show bright through the casements of the skipper's cabin while those at their turn, top side, are at their office. The coming nautical day bids elation to the shipmates' hearts with desires of a glorious new day at sea while the seamen are vigilant. They are filled with dreams spurned on by the rolling waves. Skuddlebut, now begins to murmur, it is a reticent prate, wise with know-how. Their souls are imbued with the quiet peacefulness of the love of the sea.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Skuddlebut is gosspi in eaman's terms.

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Corpse Pose

Folder: 
Hand Written

"Feel it, 

the sensation of breathing, 

with a new friend. 

Not

 

the addition, 

but the release of a union

of muscle and sinew, 

effort

 

cast to the side. 

The breath

enjoyed

with the support 

 

of the floor. 

The ground, 

the dirt below, 

thinking now

 

of feeling the green grass

in between your toes, 

the Earth, 

our Earth. 

 

Nay, she is not ours, 

we are instead Hers. 

Your breath... 

given strength by Mother Earth. 

 

Do you feel it? 

The ebb of the Earth, 

the beat, 

the ancient, encompassing embrace. 

 

Do you feel the flow

of the Ocean,

the breath of Mother Earth

made manifest?

 

Do you feel the presece

of the energy,

in this room, 

right now?

 

The energy that is still, 

the energy that links us, 

neighbor to neighbor, 

the energy of the mightiest wave

 

crashing onto the shore,

the wrath of the surf

felt as fury by the surfer

that Hell hath no. 

 

The energy of the exhausted canine

resting finally on couch

with the child who so tenderly

ran it tired. 

 

The energy when Autumn comes

when you're not quite done

kissing Summer

goodbye.

 

Do you feel the breath? 

Do you feel your mind 

spiraling all over this

whirl of whimisical words?

 

Do you feel the heart? 

Your heart? 

My heart? 

The flow of energy 

 

of the one to your left

or right? 

Us all, limited not

to labels

 

or categories, 

not by old, young, 

American, skin tone, 

the foolish boy or the sweet lady.

 

Try Human, 

Homo Sapien, 

try Earthling, 

giggling practitioner about spirit fingers. 

 

But, 

you know what? 

I do not

need to instruct, 

 

because I feel it. 

I feel you. 

I feel joy,

stress, searing pain, 

 

us joining as a whole

with our Om. 

So beautiful, 

you people. 

 

This is it. 

This is you, this is me. 

This is Mother Earth. 

I feel it.

 

And maybe you do too."

Author's Notes/Comments: 

The piece I wrote for Lululemon's UNITEd State campaign, during a yoga session I sat and observed.

To the Sea (day 47)

Until the water calls me

I stay human, with a human memory

I can recall everything about

standing there at high tide, waiting

Watch me as I sing to the sea

 

Even when I’m here

my shadow is outside the window

Something about this discontent

the rocks and dust break under my feet so I’m

dreaming of somewhere else

Watch me as I sing to the sea

 

In the water they can’t break my shell

I can defy gravity

maybe I can conquer the world

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written 9/16/16

Ouside the window

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tags:

Absolute Heaven

Folder: 
Simple Thoughts

"Again, 

again, it's been so long, 

yet the feeling still runs 

deep inside. 

 

As though not a second 

separated this and the last, 

my heart racing 

my fingers fluttering. 

 

To spin a tale, 

weave a rhyme, 

picking up a rhythm 

lost to time. 

 

The reason? 

Inconsequential, 

or unimportant, 

rather. 

 

It's been so long, 

it seems, 

but currently at ease 

letting flow out 

 

what some call the soul, 

others call just words, 

or poetry. 

The goal 

 

in the end is to spark a flame, 

light up a mind 

with imagery. 

Personified, 

 

the thousand miles 

traveled, 

just to have another light 

come into my life. 

 

Again, 

the slow boil of the machine 

turning over to toil 

and burn and smoke 

 

and chug along the engine 

of mine, 

the mind 

that writes. 

 

Taking corners too fast, 

imagery still spinning 

left and right, 

picking up speed 

 

and becoming a runaway, 

such mass and inertia 

turning energy 

into nothing less than unstoppable. 

 

To write again, 

to sing, or dance, 

to do what you have done 

because it is who you are, 

 

it's every fiber of your body, 

every sliver of your soul... 

is intoxicating, 

gratifying. 

 

It's heaven, 

absolute heaven. 

 

When you're below the beloved Ocean 

of Life, 

it's waves and currents 

holding you underneath. 

 

That moment you see the surface, 

the ballet above 

of the light dancing 

and beckoning you up for air. 

 

That moment you swim up, 

the sun becoming brighter as you draw closer, 

the cold water becoming clear,

you're so near, 

 

the warmth of the top 

felt through, 

but you're not quite there yet. 

Swim! 

 

Swim harder, 

reach for the surface, 

because that exact moment 

you burst through, 

 

inhaling that open, 

sweet, succulent air 

of inspiration... 

filling lungs, body, 

 

mind and soul... 

it is 

absolute heaven; 

to be inspired again. Gorgeous."

Author's Notes/Comments: 

It is great to write again. To be taken serious again.