Poetry | Stories | Photography
Anchored to the shore,
sitting still and afraid to swim for the horizon.
Out there in the blue,
there is a place for everyone out in the blue.
Remaining anchored to the shore,
never seeing and feeling the differences.
Here there is no growth,
so courageously, you pull up the anchor.
Free, you start to swim,
the feeling of freedom and exploration.
Alone in the fog
Encased within a dreamscape
The sea calls me home
Wavelets move towards the shore,
a cold southern sea on a hot day.
Burning sand with sparse shells,
no sea snails hidden from sight.
Walking on the littered wet sand,
ivory beige skin turning pink, red.
Dirty white sand, dirty white feet;
soon we look like sandy lobsters.
Whispering songs to the sea of light,
playing with our mind, the dark sea.
Footprints in the sand
dancing to sounds of the sea
Fingering a shell
dancing into the wavelets
Forever my soft sea spouse
Between the cliff and the sea,
walking along a sandy path.
No, shells left for you to see,
nor the feelings you once felt.
Beautiful this place once was,
when we did not need shoes.
No heart in this place anymore;
destroyed by pollution and plastic.
Your heart yearns for the sea.
Sitting in your office, you drift towards the southern saltwater.
Lost in the south sea, you drift unnoticed and unafraid of what may become of you.
You float on the waves, the sun begins to set, and you think of nothing.
You were all about those pretty pools
filtered into oblivion on social media.
I preferred violent seas, as the sound
of waves crashing made me feel alive.
You could never understand those
violent seas and I could never understand
your love for pretty pools in paradise.
I stood on the shore of a storm raging
sea while you watched from a pretty pool;
I walked into the sea and found home.
The music of the sea,
I hear you play for me.
The music of the sea,
You help me to be me.
The music of the sea,
I become so very free.
The music of the sea,
You helped me to see.
A cliff by the sea,
where we once used to be,
there I dream of you once more.
A cliff by the sea,
where we were never to be,
here I dream of you no more.
The stories she told! I don’t see ‘er so well now, yet she’s in my heart still telling stories.”
“She must have been an interesting woman.”
“My Lassie, She was no woman unless women are created from water and shells. No, she’s the sea! The sea is the best storyteller.”
C & K 