The Soul of the Sea

I remember, at the age of four,

a violent storm that blew outside

like nothing else upon this earth –

when I was taken near high tide

to feel that force of Nature’s birth.

Within the shelter of the land

the trees would sway and whip and sigh,

below the dark and dreary sky.

Before the beach a bank stood high,

with us behind, within its lee;

we climbed to face the deafening roar

and fought to stand upon the shore,

and saw the savage sea.

~

Far offshore great mountains boomed,

crashing in heaping boiling whites,

spray streaks pulling through the air –

bright in the green and purple light.

The salty blast blew through my hair,

blew through my clothes like paper, soaking

my face, my eyes, and stinging my nose.

I shuddered, cold from scalp to toes,

in awe as Nature’s violence rose.

~

And here I am in silent air,

nothing moving in this room,

trapped in a timeless, heavy gloom.

~

But I remember being there,

and once again I long to be

a shaking figure fixed before

a mighty storm upon the sea

with huge waves crashing on the shore.

~

And I will see that storm arrive,

my feelings swelling with its rise,

a fire burning in my eyes,

insignificant beneath tremendous skies,

the Atlantic blast beating through me,

a smile behind my wild eyed stare,

knowing that I should be there –

a part of Nature, with Nature in me,

alive in that moment, with the soul of the sea.

The Path (A Big Triku Poem)

Prickly gorses brown

and grey – flowering yellow

by the blue green sea.

~

And in between an earthy

path that dips and weaves with stones and shells,

heading through my memory.

~

Close, far, elusive

as a star, sublime. Other

place and place in time.

The Path (A Big Triku Poem)

Prickly gorses brown

and grey – flowering yellow

by the blue green sea.

~

And in between an earthy

path that dips and weaves with stones and shells,

heading through my memory.

~

Close, far, elusive

as a star, sublime. Other

place and place in time.

Big Triku ‘Helping at a Show’

Alone, I walked the

empty halls – stopped by a view

of the cold grey sea.

~

And I found friends inside, and

people flowed in in swelling tides with

voices as warm as summer.

~

I might know what such

days can be, if I let them

rise to memory.

Big Triku ‘Wave Period’

Leaves whirled fast, scraping

in receding currents, to

gather by the oak.

~

The world was such a wonder.

I doubt I thought how small I was, nor

of my life beyond the fence.

~

Puddles freeze. Clear ice

is cracked, chipped, then pressed opaque

by new probing toes.