The Moon on the ocean

For Bjorn’s prompt on dVerse Poets Pub. Today he explores the sonnet. I have written a modern free form sonnet for the prompt as rhymes and I don’t play well together.Also posting on Poets United Poetry Pantry.

The Moon on the Ocean
The moon lies upon the ocean –
a sleeping dragon curled about itself,
one eye half open observing the world below.
Snow falls like meteors – a shower of cold fire
doused in the black water heaving itself
Upon the shore. This moon is red as blood –
The dragon’s eye carnelian in its glow.
Bits of phosphorus twinkle on the sand.
A crab washes ashore and walks a few paces
before being swept back into the blackness again.
Farther from the shore early breaking waves
show white in the blackness and ladders
from the moonshine track back to the moon
undulating gently upon the water. The
moon on the ocean is a mysterious thing.

The Atlantic in January

For Sanaa’s prompt on Real Toads – Get listed.  I have chosen these words for my poem: January. snow, wind, clouds, poems.  the optional words of my choice are mysterious, Atlantic, and lover.

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The Atlantic in January
“There’s something wonderful about drinking in the afternoon. A not-too-cold pint, absolutely alone at the bar — even in this fake-ass Irish pub.” Anthony Bourdain

The winds blew the clouds about in the
January sky – like poems written on tissue paper.
Bits of sea foam snagged on the sand
and then were swept back into the ocean.
Snow fell slow and steady.
The grey Atlantic heaved to the shore and back again –
breathing like a sleeping lover –
chest up and chest down,
chest up and chest down.
The Atlantic in January is a mysterious thing.
Fifty shades of grey –
In the sky,
The sand,
The water,
The partial whelk shell holding firm in the sand
as the water washed over it.
The Atlantic in January is a mysterious thing.
It is the kiss of lovers,
The words written by a poet in her mind,
A glass of beer drunk in an empty bar
on a Tuesday afternoon.
I walk along its edge and wonder
at its quiet beauty –
the things hidden in its depths.
The Atlantic in January is a mysterious thing.

The Atlantic in November

For Sanaa’s prompt at Real Toads and dVerse Poets Pub, using as a point of reference Neruda’s poem, If You Forget. Posting on Poets United Poetry Pantry as well.

The Atlantic in November
“If you are not too long, I will wait here for you.” Oscar Wilde

Remember that day by the grey-green Atlantic,
Standing there in the rain riddled with snow,
You pulled me close to you and kissed me.
We stood there lost in each other
Until the waves began to splash our boots.

Remember that day by the grey-green Atlantic
We walked in the fog
That misted our seeing, that misted our hair
With damp that made us shiver
As we wandered in the rain riddled with snow.

I remember that day by the grey-green Atlantic
Even if you do not remember.
I remember the gulls reeling overhead
crying like lost souls  in the fog.
I remember as the waves splash my boots.

 

 

I Took a Walk

For Sumana’s Prompt at Poets United – It’s a Beautiful World

I Took a Walk

“If you’re a writer, particularly if you’re a writer or a storyteller of any kind, there is something already kind of monstrously wrong with you.” Anthony Bourdain

I have traveled a lot.
I’ve seen things, heard things,
eaten things –
I have seen incredibly beautiful things and
heartbreakingly ugly things.
I was feeling down about the world,
about what we humans had done to it –
how we have trashed it, burned it,
raped it, murdered it.
But then I stood at the edge of the Atlantic Ocean
in January.
I watched the grey and white waves rolling in
under the grey and white sky.
I became at peace.
The waves washed over my boots and it began to snow.
I looked at the dull tan of the sand
and I thought,
You know. this world is still beautiful.
I took a chance and sat down and let the icy
waters wash over me –
baptizing me in the spirit of the sea.
I nearly froze to death
but wow – what a rush.
I stood up and shivered.
It is a beautiful world.
I felt connected for the first time in a while.
I let the waves wash away my anger.
I let the waves wash into me
the beauty of the grey and the white.

 

dVerse Poets: Water

Today at dVerse Poets Pub, Bjorn is prompting for Haibun Monday. He is asking that we write about water – rain, snow, frost, sleet, ocean, spring, bath water – any water that is from a true experience from our past. Come visit us at:http://dversepoets.com/2017/10/16/16428/

Sea Glass
The colors of the ocean that washes up on the North Carolina coast is all the colors of sea glass on any given day, or month, or time of the year or even, the time of day. The colors shift like an ever revolving kaleidoscope – blue then green, grey, dark green, light turquoise, and white. Some days the wind will whip up little wavelets of white on the water.

But tonight the ocean is black. The wind smells of salt with sweet undertones. Lights from the pier and the full golden moon dapple the ocean. It is 2 a.m. on New Year’s Eve. I’m standing on the balcony at the hotel, my husband’s Christmas present to me this year was this trip, by myself, to the ocean in winter. I breathe in the air deeply. A bit of wet touches my cheek. I look up -the first flakes of snow for the year has begun – first snow! New Year’s eve! Oh the magic of the ocean at night!

black winter ocean
sleeps silently as snow falls –
first of the new year

sea glass, public domain image

http://dversepoets.com/2017/10/16/16428/

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