Daydreams take hold playing a reel of
what could have been of my little life.
Couching and cooking won’t help my
waistline, nor stop the movies playing.
Succumbing to the reel of many fantasies,
I sit for hours unaware of the time of day.
Daydreams play themselves until the end,
yet I remain the same person I once was.
Idle, I didn’t realise holding on to a dream
could mean losing the one I love the most.
The sounds are muffled by sight,
so we close our eyes and listen.
The Earth sounds vibrate unending,
as the location dictates the intensity.
With eyes closed the wind whistles
through the hills of green to grey.
A chorus of cows moo and grumble,
then the birds chime and chirp around.
With eyes closed the ground disappears
as the seashore comes closer, closer.
Sea waves move and splash, as the cold
winds of the North take us far away.
Held for so long, we stay there for a time
not realising the hills have darkened and
night has come to our Winter wonderland.
Yet the sea still calls us back from the hills;
always calling us back to her cold shores.
Wind from the hills moves down,
moving across fields of colour.
Waves of the sea move through
the spring blossoming flowers –
moving, swaying, blooming.
A melody plays on the wind,
a song from the many birds.
Whispers of so many scents
dance in a poem on the wind –
melody, music, movement.
Towering, wise and stoic, The Lighthouse remains whole
Standing, waiting, watching, keeping sailor and sea secrets
Towering, remaining whole, until its’ light touches the sea
Standing, wary, unwaveringly calm, watching the ships
The sea, wise and cunning, knows the ways of sailors
Pillaging, profiting, putrefying, destroying the soul of the sea
The sea, calm, experienced, wait until storms begin
Pillaging, foolish, unwise, sailors ignore the weight of the wind
The Lighthouse, alive and well, begins shining light on the sea
A Wickie, solitary, brave, sturdy and comfortably alone
The Lighthouse, guided, independent, saves the ship from harm
A Wickie, thankful, shy, talks to The Lighthouse, friend
Sailors, changed and silent, know the power of the sea
A ship, trusted, tailored, obeys the sailors for fear of the rocks
Sailors, grateful and smiling, thank Wickie and Lighthouse
A ship, tired, tall, sails into the storm and onto the cold shore
Towering and standing wisely on the cliff, The Lighthouse
Sailors thank the Lighthouse and respect the old sea
The Wickie knows The Lighthouse and the sailors’ hearts
The ship feels forgotten until the sea splashes her
Goose flesh from the strings
The notes gather momentum
Motion in the sea
Born from silence on the vibration of little strings your young life gathers tempo.
Childhood days by the pool become teenage nights by the sea.
The notes of life flow through you and gather pace, as the wind whispers of love’s first blush.
Feelings set in on the vibration of louder strings, then gather momentum as the notes move into place.
Love takes over, becoming so loud that your heart might explode.
Then it’s gone: You know what it is to be an adult now.
Sadness sets in as the strings slow down and you learn to pull yourself apart.
Then the notes of life gather pace, and you wish for the sea to dash you against the rocks, for your heart might explode.
Pain moves along the strings, as thoughts of darkness and light ebb and flow.
Now you know who you are, as the strings soften and life gathers pace.
Then the strings grow so loud. You can’t understand what the vibrations mean, as you struggle against the tide and the sea holds your heart.
You see him standing there. You’ve never felt this way. Your whole heart of strings vibrates, for you have found your soulmate.
If sleep came knocking
I would still sit by the sea
Lost in coral dreams
Emotion takes hold.
You linger looking towards the waterless sea.
We stand, sit and speak,
yet we walk through life
unnoticed and unscented.
When flesh and bone go,
stripped naked and bare,
you see our vintage souls.
We smell like Patchouli,
lavender, old spice, rum
and the soft sea breeze.
We stand around the bonfire,
listening to fire crackling wood,
as ash and embers touch the sand.
We think of magical tridents on fire,
as we think of Poseidon and the sea.
