Grey-green waves are crashing;
Cold south winds whip through the twisted coastal tea-trees—
foam lashing.
Dune grasses sigh;
bare beaches cool under grey skies,
sea high.
Kelp drifts;
tide pulling free—
still.
Grey-green waves are crashing;
bare beaches cool under grey skies,
still.
salt-softened stillness drifts inland
storm-shattered shoreline finally tranquil
sand-swept silence lingers here
surf-stilled sky offers quiet solace
shell-strewn span becomes calm
sea-sighs soothe wounds with calming winds
sun-slowed minutes glimmer softly
white snow pushed aside
gravel leaves its greying mark
dirty snowman stands
Pour it slowly
Cannot cup overfill
Combination deliberate
Dissolves into the dough
Takes on new form
Swimming is a moment of pure freedom
The water envelopes me
Holding me close like a gentle lover
with each stroke, I let go of the weight
that pressed down on me
The world above fades away
and I am left with the quiet rhythm of the water
In this moment, time loses all meaning
I am suspended between the surface
and the depths, a fleeting moment of peace
A sense of connection to something greater than myself
The water carries me and I am free
In its embrace, I find my solace
The world may be chaotic but
in the water, I am at peace
With each breath, I let go a little more
I let go of my fears, my doubts and my worries
I am left with the sensation
of the water against my skin
The feeling of weightlessness
The sense of being alive
Swimming in my sanctuary
My second place of refuge
My moment of freedom in the water
I am me!
Unencumbered and untethered
I swim and I am free
rushing into waves
I face my fear of water
with bathing suit on
The wind picks up across Small Bay,
it whips the sand against my face.
The kitesurfers in bright array
are carving lines through salty space.
A crowd of families line the shore,
their children's shouts like distant bells,
while Table Mountain, ancient core,
stands watch above the crashing swells.
I watch the bathers, brave and bold,
who dive into the icy deep.
I join them in the biting cold,
but feel my spirit's heavy sleep.
I plunge beneath the frothy white,
just going through the motions there.
A ghost beneath the surface light,
with salt crust tangled in my eyes and hair.
I slowly walk across the cooling sand,
the Western sky a fiery bloom;
To join the others on the strand,
and dispel this encroaching gloom.
But as I reach to touch a hand,
my fingers pass through vacancy;
The bay is still, the water's grand,
and I am all that's left of me.
Spring is here,
and for the first time
the air smells like living.
Standing in the golden rays,
I feel a weight lifted —
like shackled stone losing its chains,
floating back towards the surface of the ocean,
carried to and fro,
dancing with the waves
as they carry me towards the horizon.
My lips begin to crack,
dry from the salt
that preserved my spark.
I sip from the freshwater spring
that bursts forward —
a ship with tattered sails,
hemming the threads
one seam at a time,
secured at the helm,
navigating west,
chasing the sunset.
To follow tradition,
When someone has moved,
If to buying a gift
You feel somewhat behooved,
Instead of some flowers
Or wine, try instead
The old-fashioned welcome
Of salt and of bread.
These both are symbolic
Of things households need,
Ensuring its members
Will thrive and succeed.
An extra for sweetness,
Like cookies or cake,
Will round out the offer
Of mazel* you’ll make.
Whatever you bring to
Your kith or your kin,
It shows love for the home
Where new lives will begin.
*luck (in Yiddish)
An open wound
Fingers digging into the sides of my seat
Stomach lurching forward
Poked and prodded, how did you become such a miserable thing so young?
There's a price that must be paid.
Cover my eyes.
Reach deep into my frame.
Tell me when it’s over.
To make a limerick oatcake
Five spoonful of wheat flour it`ll take,
The first, second and fifth spoons of 7-10 syllables must chime
With a rhyme that flows smoothly through all times.
The third and the fourth spoons of 5-7 syllables are bound,
To hold to the same sweet final sound
To each other with the same air,
Though quite shorter they surely are.
Then one adds a cup of powdered milk grand,
One cup of rolled oat of a noble brand,
Half a cup of sugar one must weave,
With a pinch of salt as joke that readers shall believe.
Let `s not omit drops of vanilla, a spoonful of baking powder,
And half a cup of butter before bringing to a knead proper
By adding a cup of liquid milk, a little at a time,
Leaving the knead for a while to shine.
The knead is checked for correctness,
Rolled in little balls, flattened with sharpness,
Then placed on a preheated buttered pan
And set in the oven, eight minutes each side, to turn grand.
Water turns to salt
Leaving behind a bitter sting
The ghost of the ocean sings
Salt turns to light
Turning the bitter into haze
The light turns to you
And I feel right in place
Salt on my lips
Arm on the door
Sun sinking slow
Like it’s begging for more
Paint on the sky
Pink into gold
Dashboard glow
Make the whole world fold
I’m driving down the coastline
Nothing in my way
Shifting into forever in this endless day
Engine like a heartbeat
Louder than my fear
Unstoppable and weightless
I was born for right here
Lines on the road
Blur into one
Wind through my hair
Like I’m outrunning the sun
Signs flying past
Names I won’t know
All that I need
Is this endless glow
Hands off the past
Both eyes ahead
That old life shrinking
In the rearview red
If this is a dream
Don’t wake me up
I’m racing the edge
Of a burning-up sky
I have almost sleepless lonely nights
Here in my room with string of neon lights.
I wish you could be here every single night.
I need God to hear my longing plight.
I have almost no true lingering feelings
For those which I had former dealings.
But I choose you for a far deeper reason
Than to be anyone's for merely a season.
I have almost nothing of my ego left,
Due to all the times in which I was bereft.
I can only offer you my own divine soul,
For my mortal heart has taken many a toll.
I have my wounded heart open to you.
You are pink salt which will heal me through.
Your love heals and soothes my bruises.
I hope my love for you, never confuses.
Great deceptive scheme lies waiting in each dream.
How far will you travel beyond heaven’s reach?
To meet with the ancients, whose language you speak.
Where time holds no claim, beyond the Archons cruel reign
A cinder still burns, a flicker of light.
The beginning of creation. Start of all life.
Sofia’s promise to her Lord and her King
Merging with memories. Restoring the peace!
Healing the waters poisoned from greed
Restoring the balance , in the lands and each sea
Gaia is me.
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