moonlight falls
silent on snow
frozen towering wild turns its face to ancient sea
the ocean, brooding, darkly gazes back
waves crash on rock
ink upon the shore
beneath the endless starry surface
a world of light and wonder
fall and float among the luminescence
down
down
the kingdom of giants wide awake
among deep time and eons
majestic sirens of the fathoms
call to their kin across the stars
Titan, Ceres, Europa, Earth
sisters, cetaceans, sing
Antarctic abyss keeps its secrets
hidden since creation
epoch after epoch
as it was in the beginning
is now
and ever shall be... until
we meet amongst the midnight
in distant days ahead
It was not long ago that Gordon Gleek,
the renowned and gifted science geek,
announced to the world that whales can speak.
But, on this fine blue blubbery day,
the only thing this whale has to say
is mind your own business bub,
and, furthermore, glub, glub, glub, glub.
This is a poem, for the wind
Not for you to read, dear reader.
Be gone - and allow only the breeze in.
Go on, hop it - I welcome the draft.
You are eccentric; I like that
Back door gales and wrecked heel tabs
Slammed hatches; a gateway to gusts
Yo-Yo Ma on the ocean; in shorts.
Trying out - Haydn and seeking
We are energy and so are you
You are old enough now dear wind
To host your own podcast.
I'll set up a mic and table for you
If I can be your first and only guest.
Five year olds in the sandbox,
Scaffolding into the next century.
Babble, taradiddle. Bunkum.
I will always be grateful to whales…
for one simple reason why:
The first time I saw a whale fly
I thought…
if he can do it
so can I.
I will always be grateful to whales…
for one simple reason why:
The first time I saw a whale fly
I thought…
if he can do it
so can I.
May we all at least once on our lifetime
(because oh what a thrill it brings)
be blessed to be in attendance…
when a whale starts to sing.
Have you ever watched whales sleep? They have this wonderful adaptation.
They float effortlessly in the water…a kind of suspended animation.
Have you ever watched a baby sleep? If you ever have the chance to
you’ll see how in a dreamland they float effortlessly…a lot like whales do.
It seems we’re similar in a myriad of ways with our companions of the deep.
one way in particular…is the way in which we sleep
We are both beautiful in sleep…a time when worries and troubles cease.
We become united in our serenity…our silence, our solitude, our peace.
And sleep is where our dreams are made…be they simple…or extreme.
I wonder while they’re suspended in their sleep…of what do whales dream?
Do they dream of leaving the ocean? Do they dream of floating up to the stars?
Would we be surprised if they could tell us…how their dreams are similar to ours?
If their dreams are similar to ours…as I suspect,
when we take a moment to compare…
we begin to find between us…many other things we share.
We both are born, we eat, we breathe…
we love, we die…we weep.
Isn’t it amazing the things we can discover
while watching whales and babies sleep?
I'm born to kill. My name betrays
brutality in each grim ton.
I'm all my moniker portrays.
I'm born to kill.
But can I stop what I've begun
as my great appetite obeys
a blood urge? Can it be undone?
Will once I learn to change my ways?
Will I break through to see the sun,
so, my genes won't say all my days -
I'm born to kill?
Image 5
Clicks, whistles and pulsed calls
coming from whales you can't see
Within the compounds, no walls
only ocean water and Captain Lee
Sonograms and ultrasounds, its a joy
when whale voices are heard !
Binoculars views, soon they deploy
leviathans swim without a word
The echo returns not for they do run free
always returning to their summer grounds
Into the womb of the deep blue sea
they go, to a place where they can't be found.
Pink skies infest the starry dark.
Pest sprays reject the fireflies’ spark.
Bald eagles chopped by green windmills.
Right whales lie beached as sonar kills.
Rage that I can no longer view,
Bids my sense of wonder adieux.
Singers in the cold dark Atlantic Sea
Humpback whales crooning for free
Complex songs that are repeated for hours
Just one of the ocean’s mighty powers
Sperm Whales
From this Tuesday until I
die sperm whales will
no longer secrete
the waxy stuff used in
producing make-up. That’s why all the
make-up wearers are
no longer talking to
sperm whales.
What happens when someone falls out of love?
Is there a single, frozen in amber, sanctimonious moment when
you decide you’re too good for whomever - the falling-out moment
- where imperfections are revealed like a magic trick?
“Huh,” you find yourself saying, “Weren’t you cuter, half-an-hour ago?
Or is it a slow, drip, drip, drip Chinese-water-torture-like seepage?
Maybe breakups are written in the stars, you know, Mercury drifts into
retrograde and suddenly there’s empty air where your lover used to be.
I’m not in a breakup, but I like to be prepared - these are just questions.
like
Isn’t every male whale a sperm whale?
.
.
A song for this:
If I Didn't Have You (Live) by Tim Minchin
Minke Whales and The Songs They Sing
Their vocals were serene
like those of Smokey 007
humming
beneath
the ocean's waves
The peaceful lyrics they sang
ignited ripples
of saltwater tears
from the roaring spring tides
beneath
the constellation tainted sky
Jonah, praying in the great fish,
with putrid slime on red eyelids,
has the sudden faith
of near death -
sings on the beach,
fish-vomit in his beard.
Whale-songs drift,
doubts echo,
luring a pod to sand spits
where waves throw up bones.
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