Sunday morning sparkled your eyes— and an entire sea glistened to life born of the selfsame sky where we were blackened— blued— lost to reason hope rises from falsity— through surface light raises lifeboats from strife, and the bleed of knives
"My experience of being outdoors is so anchoring and healing. How we are breathed alive by it, healed from its touch and breath." That says it all, yet your poem says much more. Beautiful!
I have no sea to walk about, no beach where a footprint can be left to glisten as the tide rolls over it again and again, becoming ever smaller, until it disappears. I content myself with the fact that I can walk around the southern edge of a large lake, from the lighthouse to the mouth of the river that feeds it, and I stop occasionally to sit on a wooden bench and read your poem, which is a kind of prayer for me. Thank you, TSIM.
Thanks Paul, that's lovely that you heard this as a prayer. This is my nearest coastline, maybe 5km away in Dublin - The Irish Sea.
I love the wilds of the Ocean on our west coast, but it's lovely to access nature however I can. The sea always injects refresh into me.
That walk you have, river and wooden bench sound perfect. There is something magical around moving water, and the ever changing life that nature exudes.
Your Hope poem was wonderful. And one of favourite songs ever - Ultraviolet Baby! I actually read your poem while listening to the song - first read... I could go on..
Eyes see the light dagger knives cross dancer in the waves. Could say the were angels of hope in another form. Crunch of razor clams cut right through me to shave off moments where my bare feet touched the shore. Sunday listening to the silence when ebb tide returns for another gasp, resuscitation to airways pulmonary feelings that in poetry brings the next wave that are sea with touch from water’s mouth a kiss of salt and lips of gold morning light. Your hope poem provides the essence to continue walking with a feeling that will last longer than the days breezes.
For whatever reason this reads as though I can hear the empty quiet of the seaside in the morning
Oh wow David, that's lovely to hear.
"My experience of being outdoors is so anchoring and healing. How we are breathed alive by it, healed from its touch and breath." That says it all, yet your poem says much more. Beautiful!
⚡
I have no sea to walk about, no beach where a footprint can be left to glisten as the tide rolls over it again and again, becoming ever smaller, until it disappears. I content myself with the fact that I can walk around the southern edge of a large lake, from the lighthouse to the mouth of the river that feeds it, and I stop occasionally to sit on a wooden bench and read your poem, which is a kind of prayer for me. Thank you, TSIM.
Thanks Paul, that's lovely that you heard this as a prayer. This is my nearest coastline, maybe 5km away in Dublin - The Irish Sea.
I love the wilds of the Ocean on our west coast, but it's lovely to access nature however I can. The sea always injects refresh into me.
That walk you have, river and wooden bench sound perfect. There is something magical around moving water, and the ever changing life that nature exudes.
Those last two stanzas end the poem so, so beautifully.
Loved the poem spoken. I hear more of it when you speak. The Aretha link didn't work, I used to know that one by heart!
I'll check the link now. I added it spoken as an after thought this time, but that's lovely to hear, Linnea.
So very lovely. Most lovely. I know I will read it again and again. 🩵
Thank you Cynthia! Really lovely to hear this.
Your Hope poem was wonderful. And one of favourite songs ever - Ultraviolet Baby! I actually read your poem while listening to the song - first read... I could go on..
Brilliant. Really happy to hear this Damian.
My first read of your work- beautiful!
Thank you Tracy!
Eyes see the light dagger knives cross dancer in the waves. Could say the were angels of hope in another form. Crunch of razor clams cut right through me to shave off moments where my bare feet touched the shore. Sunday listening to the silence when ebb tide returns for another gasp, resuscitation to airways pulmonary feelings that in poetry brings the next wave that are sea with touch from water’s mouth a kiss of salt and lips of gold morning light. Your hope poem provides the essence to continue walking with a feeling that will last longer than the days breezes.
Thanks for this beautiful reflection Richard!
Another electric entry from the sea in me
Why, thank you ⚡
Beautiful.
That's a lovely comment to read. (Congrats on making the leaderboard on your latest piece! )