Seascapes (A long, simple poem)

curtains

The Children

In summer time, they like to play in the warm water,
Standing in the swash, the gentle sea lightly laps their feet,
To feel the froth, as it swirls and swishes round their toes
Like soap suds in the kitchen sink.

In the blue shimmering radiance they build;
Ramparts and parapets, staring out at the rolling tide,
And follow the shoeprints, down to where the ocean waves at the shore,
Sand kissed by the sea.

Until evening time - when the melody fades,
Leaving only remnants; apple-cores, two buckets, a glass bottle;
Splashing halcyon light across the beach,
Washing the names of the children, scratched in wet sand.

And the castles with their flags flying…..
Red and yellow, white and green!


Dulse

That cut on his lip stings,
With the sour smell and the sea-salty air.
This astrologer, this weatherman;
Who comes from the hinterland
After every new moon.

Beneath the old crag
There lies a garden of weeds,
He knows where to find it
Between the low tide and the water-stain,
Above the flower-bed of the sea.
Deepest purple, rose and red,
Interlaced with a tinge of green,
And soggen black.

The ground squelches with every
Movement of his old leather boots,
Weathered and scoured,
Salt-wounds.

Rising and falling,
Slouching in and out of rocks,
The waves; green, chopped, and jerky,
Lazily filling the cracks and the crevices
Before slipping back out again
And pouring into the world of the deep.

Again the water groans;
A mournful air,
Lamenting those odd bits
Of rope and board
Forsaken overnight on the edge of the shore.

A heavy mist wafts over the landscape,
Tiny droplets
Dampen the blade of his pocket-knife.
As he removes each frond, carefully,
From the slimy rock,
Another bale of dulse into the bag.

And the sea exhales another breath,
Splish-splash-splosh,
The water returns to the deep.


The Storm

Such a din was rarely heard before
To stir the dead sailors from their homes,
Staring from their necropolis at the ancient masts,
Like crosses, silhouetted against
the roof of their citadel.

The moon wore a black cloak
And rolled up the waves like crêpes,
While torrents of rain pounded the shore
And a lone rock in mute defiance.

Drums beat in the depths below,
Reverberate; amplify,
Upwards and upwards,
A wave rears on high -
A wall of impenetrable blackness,
Cobra-poised, contemplating
Momentarily,
One, Two, Three, Four,
A roaring crescendo of night -
Crash!
It shatters, formless on the unforgiving rock,
A spray of white interrupting the dark.


The Cormorant

Winding his way through shafts of light,
The great cormorant flies,
Crossing verges beneath the sky;
The sun, the half-bitten moon,
And the mercury star.

Spiralling, swooping down,
An incline too steep, awkward,
Legs splayed;
His bulky frame plunging below
The glistening surface of the ocean.

Seconds pass.
A black phoenix arises, wet,
From the briny sea.
A flurry of wings, the gush of water,
And a silver smile in his mouth.

The cormorant's dark plumage
Reflects no light,
As he turns towards home,
Where the land falls away
And slips silently into the sea.


Evening

Every evening, the sun spills
The ashes of the colours
Over the sea. Gold, amber and carmine,
A flame of wine,
Reflecting in the ocean, reflecting
In the sky. Remembering the names of the children -
The games they played
And the ruins they built.

Blush_01

I assume they're all seperate poems. Please post them seperately? It makes it easier to digest them, and to respond. I'd love to say something about them individually, but I'm not spending an hour typing one post.

curtains

Actually they area ctually all part of the one poem (seascapes), kind of different aspects of the shore area. However, if ye really want me to post them separately, can do.

Blush_01

The thing is, despite having a nautical theme in common, there's no real tangible link for the reader (or none that I felt anyway) between the individual pieces, although they're quite good as stand-alone pieces. Or am I just talking rubbish?