Loch David Crane Poet Ballad

Gazing Windward On a Summer's Evening

Gazing Windward 
	on a summer’s evening
Loch David Crane
1981

Whose waves these are, I think I know:
   his home is in the sea below.
He will not see me stopping here
   to watch the whitecaps come and go.

Enlisted sailors think me weird
   -- civilian with no duty near—
they stop to wonder, one or two,
   if they can help me out of here.

Up from the depths comes royal blue,
  which lightens into turquoise too;
the aerating bubbles rise
   dissolved to see the cycle through.

Dark and deep beneath the skies
  the pulses in the ocean rise.
So lonely, not a seagull cries;
   so lonely.  Not a seagull cries.

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Holly Bohto December 24, 2016 at 12:18 PM Surface emotions. nice writing. I wonder what you could write if your dove deep into your emotional side?