PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

That afternoon,

the shore seemed to carve

the world forever;



and about the crying of the gulls

there fell the echoes

of the sea torn waves

that seemed to roll forever;

the long, slow stutterings of eternity,

along that wintered

shore…



the crushing of the flattened pebbles and surf

worn rocks beneath our feet

the smell of the sea kelp drying and

the smell of the wet spray and the piping

of the oystercatchers and

the pounding of the breakers and the

ponderous clouds and skipping foam

and the tumbling wrack of sea borne drift:



all fell around our bare feet and eyes

and clothed the nakedness of our humanity

and hushed



our stumbling words



drawing our unsure steps together



wetting our cheeks with sweet salt water



leading us, mute,

to the end of the day,

along a wrack strewn, ruinous shore,

as ocean songs like banshees

tumbled the wild and longing

spilt winter before the winds.





later

as I burned the wood

that we had gathered

from the sea,



I learned to long for those things

which

the sea had brought to me



in that long year

of the wintering winds

in that long year of

the winds.