Tag Archives: ocean

Magnetic Morning


This morning’s walk on the beach was graced with the largest eagle I have ever met – enormous back and shoulders, and he wasn’t even in flight. He perched like a Lord on driftwood throne and watched my dog with an expression that said, I am one bad-ass eagle, baby, so don’t come near me or you’re toast. She respected his boundaries and went the other way. I took his photo, but my camera zoom doesn’t do justice to subjects further than 20’ and nothing, aside from the visual experience, could do justice to that eagle. He became ingrained in my brain with the demeanor of a white-wigged barrister, not Rumpole of the Old Bailey – but someone far more pristine and noble, yet not unlike Rompole’s keen wit and knowledge of law and nature.

The view of the Olympics contains a new magnetic property, one that affects my eyes. Usually my eyes roam the skyscraping India ink ridges, and they trace peaks, while imagining valleys and other-worlds within, and between imaginings they keep watch on the ocean and its currents.  This morning they measured the coast and were drawn 5 miles inland where blanketing trees, one horse, two dogs, some cats and a very intriguing human being were sensed.  When I looked away, the long line of sea foam that delineates a changing tide had appeared – I missed its birth in my moments of distraction.

In penance I stood witness to the afterbirth and the frothy line changed shape – reminding me of a hospital room where the electronic heart-beat instrument displays the rise and fall of action potential reached: a spark, a peak, a dip and decreasing bounces with steadying aftermath only to reach its potential again.  A mirror image of the mountains and the feelings in my heart and body.

So often I arrive at the shore just at the point of tidal change and I wonder, does my body know? Does it hear the ocean stretching, pulling, relaxing, constricting and the silence of the pause between ocean’s breaths? Because in that silence, in that miniscule pause, my soul feels where the knowing exists. And I am so attracted to the knowing.

Image courtesy of Martha, Amazing Poet and Photographer: http://lilliesavage.com

11 Comments

Filed under Poetry, Uncategorized

Morning at Keystone Harbor


Mast-high pilons root deep in the harbour sand

and slapped by bickering waves

abrupt and cold, as if salt-crusted sea cow’s tongues

washed the creosote, lapping the rough black skin

cringed in retreat at the horrid tar taste

and swelling again hunched their wet shoulders

A stadium wave pummels the shore

incessant and rough

stretched and rolled beyond limits

potential velocity breached and broken in foam

while terns and kittiwakes play on invisible currents

spearing the air with their descending cries

high wire acts on daredevil wings

flickering from kohl to silver

shimmering white then back to black

frontside to backside, fishschool patterns

flocking and swirling their silhouette like smoke

dissolving against the cyan blue sky

Two terns in the harbour mercilessly tease

a solitary grey-winged king of the pilon

the glaucous gull, the beggar bird

Detached and rooted he cries

tasting the aromas of

fresh baked bread and buttered crab legs

Across from the harbor

a broad windowed café gazes at the sea

surrounded by flowering weeds and dancing climber roses

red against white beside weathered ash benches

There, a writer sits in her windproof jacket,

intense and frowning

lost in the force and dimension of imagine

her broken stories mended by a smooth wooden pen

while, gathering the morning sun,

the oil of rose wafts subconsciously

into her work

Beyond her a mocking ghost fence

groans in the breeze and rattles in the wind

and traverses the meadow grass beside the coast road

a wooden signboard, wearing time-peeled paint,

hangs upon rust-bleeding screws

Chipped and blistered

it tells its own half-dead

but still kicking story

in black on white with three simple words

Private, it says.

No Trespassing

gulls painting may be purchased from:  http://www.carolthompson.com/seabirds/harbor-gulls/index.htm

Entered in: http://promisingpoetsparkinglot.blogspot.com/

http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/

http://promisingpoetsparkinglot.blogspot.com/2012/04/thursday-poets-rally-week-65-april-5.html

23 Comments

April 1, 2012 · 5:03 pm

Opportunity Knocks


On the edge of this island farm, a crinkled, indigo ocean waits

below massive mountains that rise into snow-capped ridges,

like Samurai swords, slicing the blue with ice-pick white

defining the border where earth and sky meet.

Eagles, gulls and terns circle and swoop

as sunlight catches and flashes on their wings, 

their cries falling high above the fog horn’s moan

disappearing like shadows in gossamer mists;

You can’t see them, even though they are there.

You know, but knowing isn’t enough.

All you can see are tussocked rows of lavender and green 

perspective points of view on this land at your feet.

Lines merging, and lost in the brilliant fog, 

they tempt one to enter and stroke

the soft, yielding heads of mauve

knowing this is their moment

stealing the mountain’s glory

like purple Prima Donnas

 

9 Comments

Filed under Poetry, Uncategorized