Thrilled to travel to a coastal region in India, I was only six…
with my mother and a little sister, lived in relative's palatial bungalow,
admired lace curtains with hand-embroidered pictures of deer and peacocks,
plush carpeted floors, elegant furniture with glass-top tables…
what took my breath away was the evening stroll, a few minutes walk
to the beach, frolic with sapphire waves lapping on the shore!
couldn't race back fast enough as we, giggling, chased the waves, slipped,
got fully drenched, bodies covered with sand, still rapturously amused!
sublime chimes from a temple announcing evening-prayer mesmerized senses,
taste-buds were satisfied with plain but mouth-watering treats -
luscious fruits, crunchy nuts, pieces of sweets, savoury bites,
I still hear the splashing waves, when holding the conch I collected, to my ear,
remember the ethereal colour of the vermilion sunset on the horizon,
lonely fishing boats sailing far away in the sea as if with no destination,
emerald water and amber sky touching each other in an embrace.
In its special serpentine style too deep to fathom
while submersed beneath I was surprised to see
the world's second most venomous reptile
a striped Dubois' sea snake swim by me
when forewarned of dangers quirky lurking in the deep
altho' arriving suitably attired with fins mask and snorkel
it was sufficient to almost scare me out of my diving skin
so severe as to make my heart skip flip or turn turtle
but being bold brave of heart and fleet of flippered-foot
swiftly did I surely doggy-paddle safely away
tho' no harm was done to me a close call or so it seemed to be
which I survived to recount alive here on this another day
I stood under the tree
to see how tall I could be
but the roots kept getting longer
and the branches got broader.
The root is what you cannot see
because it is buried beneath the rock in the sea
the core of the root contains the transport pipe
that takes everything to the tree and absorb
all the nutrients from the sea.
I watch the fishermen come and go
rowing from shore to shore
catching big fish in their nets
while they cross the valley of death.
the seas are rough
and they cause the people to fuss
some people made it out alive
but others have to pay hefty human sacrifice
there is something lingering in the sea
that you must bail out for me
it's bigger than me
and it has caused mankind to flee
you must get to the bottom of the sea
to see what that thing could be
It’s terrifying to see
but take courage and get it for me.
Take me to the rock that is growing in the sea
there is something that you have got to see
What could that be?
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ fog creeps from the ¦¦¦¦ sea ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
Over ¦¦¦ pale grey ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ towers,—
And settles among ¦¦¦ roofs, ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
Along damp ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ streets it crawls,
Curls ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ among the ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ trees
And seems to freeze.
¦¦¦ fog slips ghostlike into ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ rooms,
¦¦¦¦¦¦ over sleeping faces,
¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
And blows in ¦¦¦¦¦¦ waves over open spaces . . .
¦¦¦ one ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ looking down,
Peers at the ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ town,
And thinks its ¦¦¦¦¦¦ towers are ¦¦¦¦ a dream . . .
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ within whose brain
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ shadows revolve ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ and gleam.
(Blackout of The House Of Dust: Part 01: 08: The white fog creeps from the cold sea over the city by Conrad Aiken)
In darkness the loud sea ¦¦¦¦¦ moan;
And ¦¦¦¦¦ is shaken, ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
About ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ to ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ sleep!
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ the whirling blinding ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
Out of the slow ¦¦¦¦ fight,
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ -- to ¦¦¦¦ asleep,
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ the night
¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦
Quiet ¦¦¦ still ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ . . .
Your magic ¦¦¦ your ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ strength,
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ prevail ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦
In the ¦¦¦¦¦ gloom above ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
Night ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ winds ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
Move gently ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ and watch you there.
¦¦¦ through ¦¦¦ dreadful hours
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ waters ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ have kept
¦¦¦ sacred vigil while you slept,
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
And still the darkness ebbs ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦
Quiet, and strange, ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
And ¦¦¦¦ joy ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ is shed;
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ upon the deep.
(Blackout of The Charm by Rupert Brooke)
They built him where the cliffs outlived the storms,
stone stitched to stone by hands that feared surrender.
His windows faced the horizon,
yet none were made to open.
The gulls called every morning.
He answered only with echoes.
Winters polished his walls into silver,
summers baked silence into every crack.
Travelers praised his strength,
never noticing the ivy growing inward.
One autumn, the tide stopped asking permission.
It climbed the rocks
not with rage,
but patience—
a language granite never learned.
Night after night
the sea rehearsed the same sentence
until the cliffs began repeating it
in their sleep.
No tower collapsed.
No banner fell.
Yet somewhere beneath the oldest stone,
where no map had ever reached,
a single drop of saltwater
remembered
it had once belonged
to an ocean.
And that was enough.
For years afterward,
the castle remained exactly as it had always seemed—
except that every sunrise,
those who listened carefully
could no longer tell
whether the wind
was leaving,
or something inside
had finally begun
to breathe.
Monday is here and there is nothing to fear, the sun has gone down, and the moon has turned around; time is hanging on the tree and patience is waiting for thee. I booked a ticket to sunset land to observe what was going on, the air was not clear and lots of racketeering was going on over there, so I set my ship a sail and move towards of the rail, but as I approached the center of the sea, a sudden mist came out of nowhere and filled the sky that hangs over the sea. The boats were moving about but no one could see what was transpiring in the deep blue sea. Everything came to a standstill, but the mist kept moving rapidly up the stoic hill. Throw the carcass into the sea and let the spirit walk with thee. The creatures of the sea will have a feast and dine with the carcass until the day is done. There is mist over the sea and it is taking my energy away from me, so clear it up before it starts swelling up your gut. There is a mist over the sea, and it is following thee.
You have to be hyper aware in waltz,
of the other person's feet.
To detect the slightest hint of movement.
To adjust your body,
before the wave shows teeth.
To dance around it,
lest it crash,
and you, underneath.
It crushes your chest,
and pulls you beneath.
It might put you to rest,
but leaves nothing to bequeath.
A simple southern town,
Mayberry by the water.
Quaint shops line quiet streets
Where no one is a stranger.
While life drifts by
At an unhurried pace.
A place that gently carries visitors
Back to a forgotten time.,/center>
The Call of the Sea
The ship breathes lightly,
pushing with a sway,
away from the dock
to glide towards the call
of the seas and a watery ease.
The ship slips across a
shimmering polished body,
waiting to be clutched by
wind, wave and welcome
folding into a blue, muscular rhythm
surging, urging towards distant lands, distant sands.
The sea patterns and pulses,
whispering secrets from its depths,
“What you can’t see is what you don’t know!”
Then for hours, the ship is gritted with determination
shuddering, stretching, straining its low bow
in search of a hidden horizon
but, instead, uncovering a punch of a storm.
In time, night follows surreptitiously
in the vessel’s wandering wake
painting a thin, watery darkness
while the storm’s aggressive beauty…. drifts,
leaving lightning behind to scratch the heavens;
offering a brief pathway of light.
The ship, with a sense of swagger,
a lilt of shashay….rhythms onwards.
Ian Souter
Life moves.
The way clouds do
When you’re closest to the sky
So slowly, you do not notice they are leaving
Until the shape you loved is no longer there
Drifting towards new horizons
New versions of themselves
New stories that no longer have us in the written chapter
And for a while, I fight that
I wanted to anchor everything
Hold the cloud in place, keep the tide from turning
Convince the wind to remember my name
But life taught me
That if I could watch something beautiful float away
Without believing that its leaving made it less beautiful
That someone becomes a memory
I think of messages in a bottle
How they are written with hope released with care
Trusted to the sea
Not every message returns
Not every story circles back
But still sacred in letting it go anyway
Life moves and people do too
Sea Beaver Playground
Otter
water
Kit Cuties
Otters’
daughters
Voice mail for Walrus
Call us,
Walrus
Up“roar”ious
Walrus
Chorus
Dolphin Data
Porpious
corpus
He Made a Splash
Fallen
dolphin
Maritime Non-fiction
Blue Whales’
True Tales
At one time long ago,
we stood on the beach
as lovers do
looking into each other's eyes.
In the mists of your eyes.....
I could see the hue of the oceans blue,
and the beauty that surrounded us,
but now I must look up in the sky........
There I will find you beyond the stars,
gazing at the endless clouds,
looking for God and asking why--
why was I taken from her arms so soon?
knowing that you will always be in my heart,
on my mind and on my lips
I press on.
Where the sky drifts into the sea,
I will see you there,
waving with a smile
Leashed to your dusk
of amber and amethyst
awaiting my arrival.
The scent of the sea cannot be kept,
it’s designed to burst and to be free.
With this sudden awareness I wept.
Waves with intensity quickly snapped,
ocean spray coated my face with glee.
The scent of the sea cannot be kept.
Try for a bottle fate won’t be trapped,
you can’t stop what comes naturally.
With this sudden awareness I wept.
It’s something I know I must accept,
salt lingers in my thoughts heavily.
The scent of the sea cannot be kept.
Tendrils tickled me as a breeze crept
guiding my spirit where it should be.
With this sudden awareness I wept.
Unable to change where I stepped,
I ran off but was caught hastily.
The scent of the sea cannot be kept,
with this sudden awareness I wept.
The hills of the city
The seals at the sea
The Golden Gate Bridge
The prison of Alcacraze
Seeing clear across the Bay
On a clear and sunny day
The winding street
The park retreat
The twin peaks
The trollies and
Up and down thrills
The Bay and the Breakers
The fog
And the fog horns
The far east ships
Sailing full and free
Through the Golden Gate
The shakes
And the quakes
The coolness
And occasional light chills
The city by the Bay
My 8 year stay
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