"seabirds" poems
there’s a barnacle scar
deeply ingrained
on the basalt stack
at mark thirty two
whispering summer winds
scented oil
cotton and roe
drift
as waves brush
and shape
the sandstone shore
the briny air
and lost erratic
set a tone to this
pollyanna portrait
it's andrews undulations
and gifted benches
its concessions
and traces of the barry burn
its sculpted driftwood
and sanko lines
make this picture
almost perfect
children play
as venom spews
from the caterwaul pair
those odd looking mates
casting smiles
with arrested despair
settling shots
swiping bugs
dipping and darting
as photo men
and muscles
and long neck seabirds
make their turn
the hunched hoody
and his sorted sidekick
get their fill
(of moss and rubble ~ chubby and kelp)
nice to meet your acquaintance
the pho man would say
an odd drop
and ironic turn
from those horrific corners
of timeless desperation
down by cannon bridge
harbor seals
and carriage horse
are fronted by
raven shade
jolly tides pause
in quiet bays
(with curious looters
and *** pickers)
sand merchants
and field totems
all streamed by the light
cirrus strands
blanket the
outer edge
hovering craft
and shimmering willows
bolt the evening frame
blood orange
and tethered
with a filtered glare
bottle-nose dolphins
and seabirds
(and shifting tides)
are all settling in
for the long night stay
Mar 9, 2017
Mar 9, 2017 at 11:21 PM UTC
The ocean,
oh it looked so blue,
shades of colour swimming around like clouds around the moon,
The water,
oh it looked so clean,
but it was just the sun's reflection making it clear,
Underneath the waves lay a graveyard,
a promise of death,
a promise of extinction,
Tombs made of plastic,
slathered in oil,
steaming with toxic waste,
and all the people know,
The damage is unfolding faster than we are evolving,
The turtles are ingesting plastic as if it were their only meal,
begging for their fins to just be free,
so they can dive through the sea,
The seals are tangled in nets, lines and lures,
plastic bags and packing bands,
till they're tied to their grave as if life were just a brief phase,
The seabirds skim the ocean waves for fish and squid,
yet plastic is their only catch of the day,
leaving them broken inside and out,
and dead on the beaches we claim are our own,
The whales are submerged beneath the sea,
eating most things that they see,
plastic, plastic everywhere beneath,
not giving them much time before they can no longer breathe,
The dolphins are gliding through the sea,
taking what they can to eat,
plastic as their only meal,
tearing them apart from within,
leaving them starving for weeks,
till the grave is the only thing they see,
Us humans are so weak,
we can’t see how deep the pain seeps,
but when nothing is left for us to eat,
and the rich have nothing left to steal,
we’ll end in the same graves as all the lives we could have healed.
Jan 23, 2019
Jan 23, 2019 at 12:16 PM UTC
.
The waves spilled the rising tide
back into the scattered footprints in the sand
deeply entrenched in life’s mystery,
receding into every breaking wave
A stiff sea breeze put back every grain of sand,
elements of a larger object gathers,
gravity firmed, into the silent shoreline chasms—
a beheld essence washed out to sea
by the fugitive tides and retreating sea-foam
Soon all trodden traces visibly vanish;
unmarked mileposts on a metaphysical pathway
slip away back to a windswept shoreline
and elapsing summer tide
Seabirds glide in slow-motion,
held sway into the shapeless gusts —
as if feathered puppets hovering,
hanging from the rafters
of the burgeoning orange sky
There's an uncommon peace in the renaissance;
effervescent crisp ocean air filling
the indefinable emptiness
marooned within each heartbeat’s echo
Each new breath inhaled, disappearing within
the unhealed hollow of every thing once believed;
fully aware this life is unholdable as time,
yet feeling many things deeply retained
in each passing moment—
slipping away like a handful of sand
sifting through all these hands once held
Presence becoming wreathed in a miasma of stillness,
space that levitates like an unpredictable fog
that seeps into the gnawing voids
of an unsated hunger
harlon rivers ... August 1st, 2018
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 8:34 PM UTC
Twisted reeds sway gently in the wind as black seabirds slice the sky overhead.
Waves rolling one by one crash with increasing ferocity on to the rocky beach,
And I watch the red sun set fire to the spray while the tide encircles me.
Tugging at my feet, pulling me forward, it beckons for my consent. I give in,
And all is quiet even in such chaos. All is nightmarish and beautiful all the more.
The blood red horizon seers my retinas; freshly unleashed tears take to the sea.
These waves, such enormous swells, crash in on me; an unseen war is waging.
They press me down and back, and then drag me further into the endless blue.
Over and over again, repetition loses count, my outcries die prematurely.
Only seawater and air manage to sputter from my lips, cracked and worn.
Not a whisper can be heard out here in such a true state of despair, but not all
Castaways are without faith. The past I once cherished has been lost to the depths,
Yet a knowing tingle in my gut keeps me searching for a message hidden merely
'Neath the surface. Drifting deeper into my pain, I notice a curious thing:
The force of the waves lessening as I gracelessly surrender to Sorrow and the sea.
My feet torn by jagged rocks no longer felt, my eyelids blistered by the red
Eternal sunset, a few waves push me under before the siege of the sea falters and
I learn to ride the surf, taking each afront as it comes, whether predicted or
Suddenly upon me. My pain ebbs away slowly with the passing of each episode,
And with each wave I acknowledge my loss, relinquishing my burden.
Like so many desparinging hearts before me shipwrecked in the sea of tears,
I forcefully remind myself that one day the lush, inviting green shores of the
Other side of the sea will appear in my line of vision. Yet, for now, I let myself
Drift through the grief of grieving you, often unsure of whether I'm meant to float
Or should let myself sink toward the blackest crags of my mind. Here alone.
Apr 19, 2011
Apr 19, 2011 at 11:30 PM UTC
I took a walk with my love,
From Bray to Greystones.
Sharing smiles as we talked
Under a rainbow.
And the clouds rolled in
And the wind sprinkled rain,
Our path was etched in stone,
Along Erin's coast.
I took a walk with my love,
From Bray to Greystones.
Time unwent as we strolled
And dreamed of nowhere.
And the clouds rolled in
And the wind sprinkled rain,
Wild rushes and reeds so tall
They sheltered our way,
We moved through the day,
And suddenly,
We were two seabirds gently flying
And our souls
Were laid to rest, on the breath of heaven.
We devoted our lives,
Felt as one our spirits rising toward the sun,
Peacefully, so peacefully
And the Earth,
We felt her deep,
Undersong.
I took a walk with my love,
From Bray to Greystones.
Sharing smiles as we talked
And dreamed of nowhere.
We dreamed of nowhere.
Jun 19, 2012
Jun 19, 2012 at 3:26 PM UTC
ocean, sky, horizon blurred, seabirds call into infinity
time stands still on the edge of forever
capturing stardust and spinning into oblivion
existence is but fleeting
cast your heart into the great unknown
Feb 3, 2013
Feb 3, 2013 at 3:31 PM UTC
By the pond, where the egret sleeps,
where the hawk flies overhead,
and the weeping willow weeps,
I will find my lullaby, to lull me to sleep.
By the pond, where the ducklings go,
back and forth, to and fro,
following mother, grey fuzz, all in a row,
I will walk unhurried, slow.
By the pond, on the grassy banks,
I will hum a tune under a cloudless sky.
Pass by the blue heron, and silently give thanks,
and while away the hours, and watch the seabirds fly.
By the pond, where the white swans glide,
I will shade my eyes from the sun’s bright rays,
as otters frolic, swim and hide,
unmindful of time in these last days.
Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 5:27 PM UTC
**Wind
Is
Blowing
Waves
Crashing
Seabirds
Soaring
In
The
Sky**
Apr 19, 2012
Apr 19, 2012 at 10:58 PM UTC
As a maddened beast it charges
Emanating with expanse
Brute techtonic plate reaction
From the epicentre’s stance.
Huge concentric rings diverge
Expanding at horrific rate
Black, titanic, towering waters
Ploughing to a deadly fate.
*Kneeling in her bed of roses
Pollinating bees abound,
Morning sunbeams kiss her shoulders
Peaceful garden bliss surrounds.*
Surging to the coastal shelf
The black gigantis rears on high
Claws toward the placid beach
Seabirds scatter to the sky.
Tide receds to bare the reef
Stranded mackerel whitely leap,
Enormously the massive wave
Attacks the land and they who sleep.
Death comes fast to they who loiter
Violence in the tangled purge,
Massive pressures, crushing debris
Broken buildings in the surge.
Ships and cars are tossed asunder
Inexorably it slams
Far inland to slay those fleeing
Locked in highway traffic jams.
*Strange roar at the garden wall
Terrified, she finds her feet,
Roses, bees, sweet girl engulfed
As black entombedment swamps the street.*
Far inland the chaos flows
Wreaking death's destructive bands,
Halted now by highland hills
Where souls in horror, wring their hands.
Slow retraction leaving ruin
Desolation far and wide,
The smell of new death in the air,
Heartbreak in the countryside.
Marshalg
For Nippon
18 March 2011
Mar 17, 2011
Mar 17, 2011 at 4:44 PM UTC
High up above the open, welcoming door
It hangs, a piece of wood with colours dim.
Once, long ago, it was a waving tree
And knew the sun and shadow through the leaves
Of forest trees, in a thick eastern wood.
The winter snows had bent its branches down,
The spring had swelled its buds with coming flowers,
Summer had run like fire through its veins,
While autumn pelted it with chestnut burrs,
And strewed the leafy ground with acorn cups.
Dark midnight storms had roared and crashed among
Its branches, breaking here and there a limb;
But every now and then broad sunlit days
Lovingly lingered, caught among the leaves.
Yes, it had known all this, and yet to us
It does not speak of mossy forest ways,
Of whispering pine trees or the shimmering birch;
But of quick winds, and the salt, stinging sea!
An artist once, with patient, careful knife,
Had fashioned it like to the untamed sea.
Here waves uprear themselves, their tops blown back
By the gay, sunny wind, which whips the blue
And breaks it into gleams and sparks of light.
Among the flashing waves are two white birds
Which swoop, and soar, and scream for very joy
At the wild sport. Now diving quickly in,
Questing some glistening fish. Now flying up,
Their dripping feathers shining in the sun,
While the wet drops like little glints of light,
Fall pattering backward to the parent sea.
Gliding along the green and foam-flecked hollows,
Or skimming some white crest about to break,
The spirits of the sky deigning to stoop
And play with ocean in a summer mood.
Hanging above the high, wide open door,
It brings to us in quiet, firelit room,
The freedom of the earth's vast solitudes,
Where heaping, sunny waves tumble and roll,
And seabirds scream in wanton happiness.
2.8k
I shield my eyes
against the glare
and see the lighthouse
far distant
stand *****
beside the sleeping sea
the tired strand
where seabirds wade
children play and
parents guard their
moves and makings
. . . at my feet
the detritus of time:
tide-gathered wood,
salt-stripped,
sea-stained yet
polished by restless
turn and tilt
of the absent moon.
Sep 22, 2012
Sep 22, 2012 at 3:19 AM UTC
Wide, grey waters rolling in
Invisibly it flows
Like a spreading carpet over mud
Inexorably it grows.
Created by a lunar force
And global winds at play,
Twice each day the tides do surge
To crest and flow away.
Twice each day the tide rolls in
To cover shoals of sands
And beds of oysters, muddy brown
With squirting water glands.
And twice each day the seabirds flock
To alight on draining shores
To harvest succulents and *****
And other tasty mores.
Oyster pickers congregate
In flocks of white and black
Red beaks plunging deeply
In green pastures for a snack.
Amazingly, they all take flight
A thousand beating wings
Which heel about collectively
Inking out all skyward things.
A thousand, million wavelets play
Across the level span
Pursued by wind’s relentless glove
In a patterned, surging plan.
And each reflects a kiss of light,
Each wavelet in the run
Collectively illuminate
Like diamonds in the sun.
Above the waves the seagulls ply
In corridors of air
In squadron flights of symmetry
To weave and wheel with flair,
Their raucous calls at distance
The poetry of sound,
In tidal terms, a symphony
Of seaward things profound.
The haze at the horizon
Of salt spray in the air,
White ,crunchy shells on beaches,
Pohutukawa’s everywhere.
A feeling of things tidal
In a lazy, salty way,
And enjoying the quiet beauty
Of this lovely, coastal bay.
Marshalg
@ the Gate
Mangere Bridge
4th March 2009
Nov 27, 2009
Nov 27, 2009 at 2:20 PM UTC
( 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.
Feb 4, 2017
Feb 4, 2017 at 2:21 PM UTC
~
i stand before this kneeling bench,
no sanctuary of our making;
its walls here open thrown,
on stained glass windows found
strewn upon the sand,
its tide-washed, polished glass,
my feet find holy ground;
my sandals left at driftwood door.
incense burns upon the wind,
its salty spray is mingled,
with my own upon
these joy-stained cheeks.
the worshippers that went before
have built a temple out of wood,
hewn, untouched by human hand,
a steeple to the sky is lifted,
and within its shelter,
remnants of a ring of fire,
smoke once lifted to the
heavens by believers true;
this church i see through salted eyes,
this scape awash in teeming life,
here i drink this living wine;
its ebb, its rush, its living in
each moment without need,
to connect each dot, or even speak.
i long to live at razor's edge,
where sands and tides collide;
the rocky shoals where dungeness,
find sustenance and shelter;
the coves where seabirds feed their young,
above the sandstone cliffs;
the bar beneath a setting sun,
in flames awash in waves;
find comfort ‘neath
the storm-shaped pine,
feel longing in the stinging air.
these cheeks that weep,
though want of tears,
not in sorrow mind you,
but in joy of freedom,
the lure of siren alter call;
of a close horizon on a misty morn,
the haunting breath of orca,
just beyond my sight;
the bark of ocean’s lion,
the roar of distant waves;
with these my prayers i send,
as i offer this my praise;
this church of no man’s making,
here i come for cleansing,
to breathe the life that i am given!
~
*post script.
by nature we are spiritual creatures;
spiritual... not religious. reading your
sea-scaped prose inspires me; planning
changes in my own life even more so!!
it is said that we return to what we know
best... the ocean calls...*
Sep 28, 2016
Sep 28, 2016 at 10:05 AM UTC
I wish to go to Nova Scotia
And long to play in Breton fields,
Faraway and over the oceans,
For ever a bonnie soul shall lead.
I wish to row for Nova Scotia
And glide above the seas trembling,
Far beyond my earthly devotions,
Where ever a bonnie soul shall lead.
I see long oars in every tree,
In ocean swells, a boat for me,
A lull of melodies in seabirds call,
Beyond the wave is music and song.
I will follow a star to Nova Scotia
And suffer on seas of forgetfulness,
To play a fiddle with joyful Scotians,
For ever a bonnie soul has needs.
I see long oars in every tree,
In ocean swells, a boat for me,
A lull of melodies in seabirds call,
Beyond the wave is music and song.
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 1:51 AM UTC
Somewhere seabirds pipe and bleat,
gathered on a dark low tide.
Shapes and shadows line the fleet,
cold and calling.
In the shore hide facing north
I'm focussing black ten-by-forties,
hunched against the wall for warmth;
the tide still falling.
Looking out, I'm looking back,
thirty years have ebbed away;
the boy, his joy, his haversac,
his notebook scrawling;
I see him, tremulous, wild-eyed,
among the plovers, curlew, knot,
a loosed dog shakes them and he flies,
the seawall salt sting cuts and dries;
there's no recalling.
Jan 22, 2012
Jan 22, 2012 at 6:55 PM UTC
I took a walk with my love,
From Bray to Greystones.
Sharing smiles as we talked
Under a rainbow.
And the clouds rolled in
And the wind sprinkled rain,
Our path was etched in stone,
Along Erin's coast.
I took a walk with my love,
From Bray to Greystones.
Time unwent as we strolled
And dreamed of nowhere.
And the clouds rolled in
And the wind sprinkled rain,
Wild rushes and reeds so tall
They sheltered our way,
We moved through the day,
And suddenly,
We were two seabirds gently flying
And our souls
Were laid to rest, on the breath of heaven.
We devoted our lives,
Felt as one our spirits rising toward the sun,
Peacefully, so peacefully
And the Earth,
We felt her deep,
Undersong.
I took a walk with my love,
From Bray to Greystones.
Sharing smiles as we talked
And dreamed of nowhere.
We dreamed of nowhere.
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 1:02 PM UTC
Freckles make your back a map
Seabirds circle but they lack
Grasp of what youth endures
Vacating summer shores
Carrying their lives to sea.
Mechanically they return
For bright months they did not yearn-
Only their homecoming retells
Of warmth and hope in summer spells
Of ploughed soil, banked country roads
And feathers bent not under loads;
Put-to-side partners reconcile,
Their lives measured in sea miles
Time comfortably slipping away,
Together living easy days
Until they fly on.
Dec 22, 2012
Dec 22, 2012 at 12:47 PM UTC
Memories of the North Sea
sift in like sand kernels
on a fast, frigid tide:
events that transpired outside
the confines of rhyme,
unfolding exactly
as they were meant to.
Never before had I seen
so many shades of gray;
the overcast, monochromatic splendor
was awe-inspiring,
instead of being bleak and bleary.
___
The smell of salt and seaweed
awakes something dormant and eternal,
deep within me.
I have a surging desire
to flush stagnancy from my blood—
salty blood and water
come together in a communion
of distant relations and movements.
Beside me, a flash of bright red
digs in the sand; my child
is wearing the only vibrant colour
to be seen for many kilometres.
The colour matches her
enthusiasm and energy,
as she moves from one spot to the next
like a dancing flame;
reflected, a fire glows from my eyes.
Unknowingly, I had dressed
in the same colours of the sky and sea,
blending into the scenery
like a chameleon:
an illusion thicker than the clouds;
an illusion of stone
for me to melt and reinvent
at the spinning speed of thought.
I watch my daughter
drink the seascape with a smile of wonder;
it's her first time visiting an ocean.
With our pants rolled up to the knee,
we wade through waves,
and collect stones and shells.
She knows the chameleon
who walks alongside her in the frothy surf.
Observing seabirds cover the steep cliffs
of the island located further out,
in a blanket of black and white feathers,
I wonder if people onshore
only see a solitary dash of red out here,
or if the chameleon
is more noticeable than I had thought.
2012 North Sea Remix
December 17th, 2012
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 4:50 PM UTC
Footprints
Long ago -
can't hold
Warm water
Yesterday-
now cold
Clear sky
In the past-
it's gone
Dreams made
Not alone-
undone
Seawall
Once that strong-
Broken
Seabirds
Together-
unseen
Two hearts
Believing-
asking
One love
Forever-
hoping
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 12:05 PM UTC
I've been floating in the sea,
Marveling an empty sky,
Bobbing up and down through waves unbound,
Towards an elusive horizon.
No sharks try to pull me down,
No seabirds help me fly,
No boats stop to pull me out,
But no one's left me abandoned.
I don't know how I got here,
Or what I'm meant to do,
Perhaps I'm supposed to float,
Maybe I'm just here out of the blue.
Rather quaint in size,
Compared to the composite surface,
This liquid surrounds me,
But it's motives are dispersed.
Dec 3, 2011
Dec 3, 2011 at 3:32 PM UTC
A Sky Of Melted Butter,
Harbors The Setting Sun,
Suspending It Above,
Flustered Waves Of Blue
I Smell Like The Sea
The Sails Against The Sky,
Have Turned To Silhouettes,
The Gentle Waves Caressing,
The Edge Of The Horizon
I Taste Like The Sun
Seabirds Have Flocked Together,
And Are Now Flying Back To Shore,
Slumber Has Teased Their Eyelids,
For The Jaded Waters Are Vast
I Look Like The Stars
The Moon Has Floated Upwards,
Casting An Ivory Shadow Below,
The Wind Has Now Become Calm,
The Blue Waves Have Become Still
I Sound Like The Breeze
The Salt Encrusted Wind Cooled;
The Sky Was No Longer Gold,
Sails No Longer Dragged Their Cargo,
Across The Blackest Of Ocean Waters
*If You Were To Touch My Soul,
You Would Only Grasp A Word.*
Home
© Sydney Victoria 2014
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 6:39 PM UTC
I can hear the vibrant sounds of seabirds
soaring in the air, the angelic sun shining
so beautifully across the skyline, soft
puffy clouds of magnificence, a mansion
of perfection, thick pine trees glowing
in eyesight, as I watch the pulsating pond
outside my home.
I can feel the warm water soaking my feet,
the flowing breeze wrapping around my body,
reeling me int pure sweetness.
And as I inhale the rich air, the many colorful
seashells scattered across the beach, the earth
and sky hovering over me, this place is everything
that I ever dreamed it would be.
Dec 26, 2018
Dec 26, 2018 at 9:50 AM UTC
Thou spinster of the silken night
Why slide beneath that sylphen cloud,
Why hide the blush of pallid cheek
To mask your secret smile in shroud ?
Pale crescent love of velvet void
A vivid splash of pinprick gems,
Suspended in black solitude
Such beauty midst celestial friends.
Lovers kiss beneath your spell
Hand in hand they stroll the lane
Garlanded in silver light,
Ensnared within your crescent’s reign.
Thou siren voice doth wax and wane
These very oceans sing your song,
As seabirds ply your ebbing tides
And global winds blow clear and strong.
Lunar light threads through tree boughs
Casting lurid shadows bare,
Causing wolves to crouch and howl
At living, moonbeam shards in air.
Oh sister of the silent night
Feel the haunting call of owl,
Scan the forest’s shadowed light,
Gild the snow clad mountain’s cowl.
Thou spinster of the silken night
Rest thy secrets in thy soul,
Fade as shadows blend to day,
Relenquish all to sun's control..
Marshal Gebbie
Victoria Park Tunnel
14 January 2011
Jan 13, 2011
Jan 13, 2011 at 6:40 PM UTC
In our minds fell
The silent sounds
Of seabirds singing of summer
Of sweet sun-soaked smiles
Calm blue skies,
Kind hearts
We struggle to recall
The light
And each of us searched
Through cities for something
To make us feel
But after all it was the
Ballerina
The words carried on the curve of her back
As the rise and fall of the piano drifted sweetly
Across the stage
Lifting toes and feet ready for snow
The spirit of the room was dancing
All our hearts were dancing
With the melodies which rung
Over crisp new fields
After all,
Warmth healed the rough skin
Of winter's miserable song.
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 2:09 PM UTC