Tuesday, 22 October 2013

Mediterranean (from this window)

All the while balancing on the tip of a rising, glistening meniscus
biblical trawler boats curve, curl, cut perfect crescents,
lazy tankers ghost the hazy horizon;
a cruise ship steals centre stage, lingering for applause
while piston kayaks power past and
water skiers balance and dance...

A fisherman puffs and casts, connecting into
(waits to heave from)
waves which whirl and weave perpetual tremors,
their unhurried worry lines dissolving into liquid dust
on shingle shorelines,
returning their rhythms to rest;
in travelling to sand,
enticing,
feeding the water instinct
in me.




4 comments:

  1. "their unhurried worry lines dissolving into liquid dust" what a perfect description of a wave :)

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  2. oh i have a water instinct for sure...called back often to the edge of the water....just to listen...and maybe cast a line out.....

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  3. Oh, the magic of the Mediterranean. I miss it ... lovely poem :)

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  4. Oh I know that water instinct!
    "their unhurried worry lines dissolving into liquid dust" gets a thumbs up - for its sheer beauty - from me too.
    Anna :o]

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