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.

Big Triku ‘Us’

We are

                                               lost.

Found.

                  Free.

Full.

s   a   i   s
 w  w  n   t
  e    a         o
    p    y          r
     t                    m
                               s.

                                               Lost.

Washed up

      in the lee.

~

We freeze

      as sheer

            translucent

waves,

      pounding down,

            atomised,

                  clothing

savage rocks in

      seething

            white.

~

We

      matter.

~

Let’s

      fill

our

      hearts

and

      face

the

      future

            walking

      hand

in

      hand.

~ ~

Note: this poem is a spin off concept from the poem ‘Who Matters?’ (Menu, Poems, Who Matters?)

(Also see Menu, Poetic Adventures, ‘Who Matters?’: An Adventure Exploring Poetic Technique)