We travel carrying our words.
We arrive at the ocean.
With our words we are able to speak
of the sounds of thunderous waves.
We speak of how majestic it is,
of the ocean power that gifts us songs.
We sing of our respect
and call it our relative.

Translated into English from O’odham by the poet.

’U’a g T-ñi’okı˘

T-ñi’okı˘ ’att ’an o ’u’akc o hihi
Am ka:ck wui dada.
S-ap ‘am o ’a: mo has ma:s g kiod.
mat ’am ’ed.a betank ’i-gei.
’Am o ’a: mo he’es ’i-ge’ej,
mo hascu wud.  i:da gewkdagaj
mac ’ab amjed.  behě g ñe’i.
Hemhoa s-ap ‘am o ’a: mac si has elid, mo d.  ’i:mig.
I was looking through some of my computer files and came across this. I have no idea where or how I originally found it and actually didn't even remember it. But I like it and thought I'd share it. :-)
dive deep into
shallow water
and fill your lungs
with cold waves.

salt your mouth
until it forms
sea foams,

taste the burns
to bite
your tongue away.
Bloom 2d
The sea set it's spell on me, and I willingly gave in.

If home is where the heart is,
my heart is at the sunken depths.

Indigo and serene,

Wind dancing with the waves,

The water surface is the mirror of the moon,

Underwater, is the only place I feel like I belong.
Tranquil, still and blue.

My greatest teacher is the sea,
it thought me not to fight the waves, but to swim with them,
it thought me even with a storm, I am still breathtaking.

You made me feel underwater, until you were no longer you,
I began to drown in your shallows.

the moon
a darkened
plank of cloud
in iridescent
river of sky

the moon
the sun’s
round full
lake of fervor

the moon
the stars’
silver frosted
ocean of ecstasy


                        the moon...
A rerun of a poem from last April - though renamed.

April’s Full Moon, the Full Pink Moon, heralds the appearance of the “moss pink,” or wild ground phlox—one of the first spring flowers. It is also known as the Sprouting Grass Moon, the Egg Moon, and the Fish Moon.
These names were not invented by The Old Farmer’s Almanac. They were used by early Colonial Americans—who learned the names from the local Native Americans; time was not recorded by using the months of the Julian or Gregorian calendar. Many tribes kept track of time by observing the seasons and lunar months, although there was much variability. The name itself usually described some activity that occurred during that time in their location.
Mary L 2d
Swim in the ocean
When the rain pours down
Seemingly in the middle of nowhere
But you're not afraid.
Salty spray
Rises above us
In a pirouette
The rainbow
And I laugh and
Grab your hand.
You can forget everything here.
You're so beautiful,
Why don't you see that?
The walls of
Smell the crisp, clean air
The sound of it
The rain
I can feel
The soft sand
Sifting between my toes
The sun,
Wavering carefully
Your eyes are
As you take it all in
I can tell
You love it here.
clever 2d
I've always thought that love was more like water than anything else.
It evaporates so fast, invisible to the untrained eye.
It changes with the moon, depends on the night.
It crashes so fast, eroding like the waves.
It stays unreliable, currents pulling hard.
It changes hands so easy, used by everyone.
It drowns you quick if you're not careful.
I guess that's it's sad that I'm afraid of the ocean.
I sit silently on the rocks
as water leaps
upon my feet
the little grains
so many
so fine
find their way
to reach me here.

Just as once
your eyes did so
alluring sunset
pure they glow
though did I
ever know?
how they brought me
no hello.

Admired only from afar
but warmth enough
like the star
your eyes they held me
an embrace
I did not long
for words
no sake.

Deep emotions
but eyes they'd flee
Full moon upon
the misty sea
mine were drawn
like that
you see...
Kyte 3d
The thing about you,
is that you are magical.

I'm sure it's in your eyes.
They are bewitched.

I tried not to lose myself in them, but I cannot.
It's in the way you blink,
and in the way to open them so big
that an ocean would feel at lost in them.

You know they have powers
and you walk around through life regardless,
recklessly enchanting everyone around you.
“I’ll get over you”
I whisper to myself through the nights
memories haunt me
and your voice that taunts me.

But there are tears on my pillow,
tears on the ground.

My tears flow like the ocean,
dripping in slow motion,
scraping my skin
and bringing me down to my knees.

I find myself turning into a storm,
howling like the wind.
Clutching my heart
as though it was ripped apart.

I am unable to escape from the pain and ache
The constant search for your face
in the passing cars and soaring clouds.

My breath is stolen and gut twisted
at the sight of someone similar to you,
face turning to the side your name is called.

When will these feelings end?
When will I escape
from the shadow
that lurks in my mind and heart?

The loss that ran deep,
breaks open through resonating heartbreaking songs.

But I know the pain will wash out
and you will leave me
like a distant memory.

I’ll pick myself up
and won’t be feeling blue.
I know I’ll find love again
if I start loving myself.
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