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( Sonnet )*

I once caught you naked by the sea,
No one noticed, such noble shyness,
Invited to worlds, aloof as sun breeze,
Of purple sands, heathered highness.

In novae of your eyes was shipwreck,
Forlorn beacon chiding the weary lost
Of new worlds lumbered on the decks,
Seabirds caroled up wing, heavens' loft.

Skin, fleshy of netted eel, salt and foam,
Was hide for a brigand, lubbers sessions,
Sheered by sheen, blinding sky of gloam,
Stars runged on their draped processions.

My seal, now fate, cloak within jubilance;
Coral sea wave, slips under moon dance.
In Celtic myth, if a man steals a female selkie's skin she is in his power and is forced to become his wife.  Female selkies are said to make excellent wives, but because their true home is the sea, they will often be seen gazing longingly at the ocean.  Sometimes, a selkie maiden is taken as a wife by a human man and she has several children by him.

Selkies (also spelled silkies, selchies; Irish/Scottish Gaelic: selchidh, Scots: selkie fowk) are mythological creatures found in Scottish, Irish, and Faroese folklore.  Selkies are said to live as seals in the sea but shed their skin to become human on land. The legend is apparently most common in Orkney and Shetland and is very similar to those of swan maidens.
Joseph Yzrael Apr 2015
Nightfall. Half-closed eyes
Shattering stars. Daylight cracks
In melancholy cups, in ambient air
Coffee slithers, lungs smolder

Hurricanes sing to raindrops
Rabid bottles, prancing shadows
Footsteps glide, sideways sways
Sobered by non-existent memories

The pale goddess smiles. Dreams
Behind scheming walls. We dance
In a place of vertical confusion
Future's past quickly slips away

Whispers. Bays of broken chords
Forgotten winds. Ruminations.
Transient scribbles, dusty tables;
On misty panes. Forgotten. Decay.
(An amalgam of several past poems.)
Joseph Yzrael Apr 2015
This is how it ends
In an airport smoking lounge
Wasting life and breath
Oh delayed flights
Joseph Yzrael Apr 2015
I do not write about the joys of life
Or the calm and gentle quiet of nature.
There is too much faked joy in the world.

I do not write about love and loss.
I dare not tug at the fragile threads
That bind old wounds in rememberance.

I do not write about worldly truths
And the fallacies that we are often told.
I have forgotten them ― outgrown.

I do not write about my thoughts
For fear that I cannot find the words to fit
And that my mind will soon consume me.

I do not write ― I bleed.
Joseph Yzrael Apr 2015
I have watched the ebb and flow of the Sea
Under the cold glow of distant Galaxies

I have tasted the rush of City lights
And all the Mornings that have come after

I have heard the Heavens move and balter
To the Music of the world underneath

I have seen the many Faces of the night
At the dawn and death of every Day

I have witnessed the Ground give way to life
And the Living given back to the ground

We are as the World that we move in
We are the Bones of the earth; Salt of the sea.

We are an eternity clothed in Transience
No Permanence is ours to hold and keep
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