‘When will I anchor here again?’
The sailor’s heart then cried.
He asked it of the wind and wave,
but ‘shh’, the sea replied.
The horizon called and still he stalled,
looking long from the landward side.
He wanted to shout his farewell out,
but ‘shh’, the sea replied.
The mist began to veil the hills
where he left his weeping bride.
Would she hear his wretched sad goodbye?
But ‘shh’, the sea replied.
The captain’s call and the bosun’s pipe
could not now be denied -
so he whispered prayer to return back there,
but ‘shh’, the sea replied.
And for all the moons and different stars
and a thousand change of tide,
he raged to be away from home,
but ‘shh’, the sea replied.
The storms blew and the cannons roared
and somehow our sailor died.
His bonnie over the ocean wept
and ‘shh’, the sea replied.
I watch the harbor through the falling snow
the sky and sea form one vast, gray tableau
the sun is nothing but a weak, background glow
the scene draws me, as if hypnotically.
Five mile’s lighthouse warnings go unvoiced
its strobes not lashing out, so what’s its point
it stands majestically but disappoints
replaced electronically
A tiny lobster boat makes its landward way
towards the inlet from the wider channel bay
a powdery blizzard is underway
which melts into the mirror sea.
Ospreys still hunt round the lobsterman's pride
snowflakes stain them as they soar and glide
other seabirds huddle side by side
shivering and crowing lividly.
Through the narrows the lonely boat steams
past icy Luddington Rock and East Breakwater's breech
its berths and moorings, within minutes reach
and sadly, it’s time for me to leave.
.
.
Songs for this:
Far Far Away (Charles Tone Mix) [feat. Brenda Boykin] by Tape Five
Hypnosis Theme (feat. Marina Quaisse) by Wax Tailor
The ancient jagged rocks stand, like black sentinels along the waterside,
Protecting the land from the continuous raging tide.
They are perpetually black, either slicked with water or as a sharp silhouette against a blue crystal sky.
They dominate everything and are especially feared by every mariner that make their slow way by.
On their landward faces they offer protection from the wind,
And creatures shelter there, in a place where peace is so hard to find.
The tops are sharpened points, that seem to reach right up to the clouds,
The only sounds are the wind, the sea and the gulls screeching out loud.
These sounds are never ending they go on for eternity,
The sentinels just ignore it all and stand there protecting everything from the everlasting sea.
cheers from the bleachers
enveloped in raging storm -
exclamation points
landward painfully
the foaming furious waves -
depth focus motion
A little ways north of Mill Creek
the beach runs round
to a single wide arcing swath
Where the tide stems landward in shattered segments
fast against the open mouth
of sea and sand and barnacle
There is also a cliff near the free stone rising
above the under-base of a million waves
throttling a darkened face
Somewhere out of sight
from landlocked eyes
salt water still churns
And churns for a million years
oblivious to the damage
inflicted on the crumbling mass
It's as if the big bass drum
of agonies from time immemorial
strums a one note dirge
And thereby summons the shelving mist
to curtail the pitiful death
from the tired eyes of a dumbfounded poet
Who loiters in the wet hiss
like a reporter in search of tragedy
and finding none, returns to home
The future seems so hard at times
Although it’s answered prayer
Unfolding futures
Offer no previews,
Are innately mysterious
Have their own rhythm and perfume,
Always leave us guessing.
The future is like a developing cloud
That can build into a thunderhead
Complete with lighting flashes
Or color an evening sky
With rainbow like diffractions of light
Calming jagged nerves.
Always a partner in marriage,
I await my bride at the alter of time,
Whether the music playing be ecstatic or a dirge
The organist has been paid,
The wedding guests have gathered
And many lives await our vows.
Do I love her? Good question!
Like a tsunami approaching the shore
She rushes landward,
As unstoppable as a tide,
How can man say no to lunar phases?
And the future also has its moods,
Blushing like a girl you just kissed,
Withdrawn like forgotten birthday.
But when she nestles in your arms
You can feel her softly purring,
Motor running, she belongs to you.
Brian Johnston
January 30, 2016
ON THE OCEAN WAVES
Ships that toss on the ocean waves have no track
To follow to lead them home by starboard tack,
Do not float abroad by evening star, or wave and throw
Their moorings to the lubbers ashore and below.
They wrest their pathway home from the deep
While landward the dry hills of home rest asleep.
Souls that search endlessly for salvation sure
Have no warrantied way to help them endure,
Cannot take or borrow the time to try new ways
To head ever closer to endless halcyon days.
These poor spirits tread a narrow path of dread,
Never knowing when, but always fearing to be dead.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Written on 27 July 2012
Entered in Francine Roberts's Contest On the Ocean Waves
Whilst landward We strive for the unobtainable peace
On the oceans reigns the universal cannibalism of the sea
Quite like the quest by Captain Ahab for Moby Dick seemed fancifully lofty
so are the images of the killing of Libya,s Colonel Khadafy
be wary of overzealous military in pursuit of hegemony
"I,d strike the sun if it insulted me" is not a coherent Foreign Policy
We have survived fascism, the Holocaust, the threat of nuclear annihilation and terrorism with moral distinction
The more we foster hate
traipse foreign plains with a cowboys gait
the faster it will lead to our extinction
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