"seagrass" poems
It's a still morning, quiet and cloudy
the kind of grey day I like best;
they'll be here soon, the little kids first,
creeping up to try and frighten me,
then the tall young men, the slim boy
with the marvellous smile, the dark girl
subtle and secret; and the others,
the parents, my children, my friends —
and I think: these truly are my weather
my grey mornings and my rain at night,
my sparkling afternoons and my birdcall at daylight;
they are my game of hide and seek, my song
that flies from a high window. They are
my dragonflies dancing on silver water.
Without them I cannot move forward, I am
a broken signpost, a train fetched up on
a small siding, a dry voice buzzing in the ears;
for they are also my blunders
and my forgiveness for blundering,
my road to the stars and my seagrass chair
in the sun. They fly where I cannot follow
and I — I am their branch, their tree.
My song is of the generations, it echoes
the old dialogue of the years; it is the tribal
chorus that no one may sing alone.
7.6k
Ferry Me
Ferry me, but once more.
The last ferry rides of Indian Summer,
Always arrives on schedule which is
Always and precisely, too soon.
Then, the imprisonment months,
Sentence, indeterminate.
*A Grand Jury trial of months,
I, and my co-defendant,
My sanity, this time, the Oddsmakers say,
Won't survive the lockup.
The source perfume of driftwood words,
Very ferry distinguishing marks,
Sails and seagulls, diesel fumes and saltwater,
Sunsets and seagrass, flying fish and multi-mollusks,
The stuffing of my summer turkey, the currants of
Poems and dreams, sad-eyed longings...
Now,
Evidence used by prosecution,
Confession freely uncoerced,
I Am A Summer Man
Adjudged and convicted,
Guilty of Winter's Discontent.*
But it is these last few passages,
Not of words, but over water,
The absence thereof, crush, ravage,
Worse than any grey calendar captivity,
Forlornly, I mouth silently, repeatedly,
Ferry me, but once more.
The course, straightforward,
Voyager, but a few minutes, but long enough to
Love it deeply, need it like a fix,
The mania of the mainland left behind,
The island, thinly lit, more shadow than real,
The approaching dark, shelters, comforts, embraces.
Perhaps, likely, I deceive myself.
No matter how the island comforts,
The brain always rumbling,
Can never make stop questioning,
Prisoner of 24/7,
But it is lessened, left behind,
As I am ferried away both,
In body and in mind.
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 2:23 PM UTC
Sand. Seagrass. Wind.
You are fed.
Solitude for breakfast.
Aug 18, 2020
Aug 18, 2020 at 9:10 AM UTC
~
*Major blue empty:
first listen to the weather pattern;
the scaffolding remains,
but the holding songs
of color are threadbare;
simulacra of imperfection
simply swirls like seagrass,
a pointillist matrix
of rainfall rustles
gathering scene -- nothing
stands on its own initially;
but after a few localized
moments it collects
to articulate this silence,
as each sound looms and subsides
in the garden of
selective speculation.*
~
Apr 24, 2023
Apr 24, 2023 at 4:43 PM UTC
I contemplate my choices - up into the soft, pillowy dunes covered in seagrass, into the rough brush beyond, down to the slippery water rocks. I walk along it all, past the rocks pock-marked like skulls, that I place precariously on the spindly end of a gnarled, whitewashed log that I foot. I pass pieces of wood petrified in the sand like emerging snakes, spiny, drowning spiders. The sand is chalked clay, clumps creating mini Stone Henges where deer prints have broken it. In the distance are fragile lines of birds that sound like howling wolves. I look out over the water, the sea that wiggles between my toes and spans the horizon all at once. The water laps at my thoughts and in between breathes I hear my cousin calling me. I turn towards her hungover dreamless nap, but still I hear the sea, refreshing my mind and the sun cleansing and lifting me up into the very sky. My feet break the salt-cracked sand back. The path I took before breaks out and unfolds before me like a red carpet on tracing paper and I avoid every step like it would break my mother's back.
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 12:34 PM UTC
We pull
the Humboldt
out of the water.
Sometimes
they eat each other,
and we pull
up
shredded hooks
clotted
with white meat.
Sometimes
they
scramble
underneath the surface
and the film of water
separating us
from them
becomes pink and flashing.
We pulled up
a black
saucer
of an eye
one night.
It clung
to a hook
by
pink strings of optic muscle.
Our flashlights
put little continents of light all over its placid, black surface,
and I felt human sadness
some type of animal-human
empathy,
it ****** me up so much
that I threw the line overboard
again,
almost hitting Nestor in the face,
with an un-baited hook.
Our hauls
are getting smaller.
The carnivores
used to jump
into our boats,
slicking
the planks with an excretion
the consistency of placental fluid.
Now,
sometimes dusk burns
as
we yank
seaweed,
seagrass,
and
toilet seats
over the prow;
our bodies tenebrous;
straining with the line
like warriors
stabbing the sea.
Nov 26, 2011
Nov 26, 2011 at 9:15 PM UTC
rain continues to fall
on and on window
battered like a steel
drum and you don't
get used to it there's
something unsettling
about rain that runs
for days makes you
wonder about the state
of the oceans
are they still full or
has all the water gone,
congregated here on
our lips and skin so
much coming in my
gut is full to the brim,
i cough and it's a horror
movie; schools of krill,
seagrass, algae.
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 6:05 AM UTC
The blossoms are calm, and yet still, she sings for
the heavens within, the white heron bows to the sea water,
It sees the clouds of night touched by lunar wind, the
lucid paintings of seagrass contemplate the presence of the
poet floating upon the waters, and say to her, “you too, have wings”,
the lights beneath her as dewdrops, bright as cricket melody, the lone lantern glows in the silent hour of all, where the artist’s senses awaken as ripples of butterflies opening, the petals in far flight ask her, “are you I?” , her starry form is light upon the mirror of the moon, a ghost of time and being, the beauty of imperfection decorated her as the
stars, the heron asked her, “your nature is delicate as my feathers, why did you wish to hide?” she sung back “I hid because I was afraid, I loved in a world of no love, I realize now, to reveal the amygdala that lives in color is to be brave in a world of grey, to be delicate is a strength, to have tears is to have power, to paint your emotions through eyes and lips is grace, being is the greatest gift” she perceived her revelation, “I am human, in solace with both light and dark”, her hands floated upon the water, the sounds of the ocean echo the endless journey, she becomes the milky amber dream, night has turned to day, the flower of the sea has found her abode in the one whom has loved her before existence, she spoke not, for all the songs have already been sung,
the eons have spoken, softly, she folds her eyelids in the heavenly warmth, there is only her whisper, “I have returned to you when I was never lost”
Aug 24, 2020
Aug 24, 2020 at 9:09 AM UTC
ready when the pain subsides
drunk on seagrass and
stains imedded in the
contours of your brain:
50% gelatin 50% bacteria
paper and pen or clear glass
to cast words which flow
faster than matter can keep
up-the buffalo careening mad
over the cliff to oblivion
of lost thread
let sink your mistakes
open up your chest
and let green rain drown you
whole
only the stop of-you-can
display that inner jewel,
and your inner jewel shines
ever so bright
that with it, if you let it,
will guide your way
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 10:45 PM UTC
*The sun melts in misty haziness.
I flow with its tranquil mood
as the wind from the ocean
sends a layer of
fine sand from the dunes
onto my porch.
The dunes whisper to me
with the seagrass
bending like barley
in the late summer.
They whisper in
the language of the seabirds
the salted wind.
It speaks to me of freedom
and wild waves..
If such choices are permitted
when my time here is finished
I will return as sand and not dust.
The gulls will see me
as I fly with them.
Silently yet
shouting my freedom.
In the crescendo
of the eternal blowing
sea winds.*
Oct 30, 2015
Oct 30, 2015 at 4:57 PM UTC
*Even before I came here
I was part of the ancient sea.
The primordial mix
Salty and teaming with existence
Now after countless eons
I walk outside of its boundaries.
My feet feel it's strong presence
Pulling me to it depths
As I step into the edges
of wet sand.
I hear it's whisper
in salted winds.
Come back to me
Come back
to your mother.
You are mine
and I am yours
I belong to the sea
She is my blood.
The wavelets
are my heartbeat.
The seagrass my veins.
Nothing ever ends
the gulls cry from above.
Only new beginnings
Only new life.
You belong to me
She pulses
from her mighty depths.
I am your eternal mother.
Breathe your air
Sing in the sunlight of earth.
But return to me.
You belong to the sea.*
Aug 29, 2016
Aug 29, 2016 at 10:16 PM UTC
Well God help thy soul
you did what was wrong
unlocked the forbidden chambers
and ye shall never find thy spirit
thou lost it underneath
Now there is no such thing as an escape
Thou have been trapped
.
.
.
Look at thy mortals' sky
The stellar dust long dead
Feel the tingling of fear
the calling of the gone
Now there is no such thing as an escape
Thou have been trapped
.
.
Thy spirit is wandering like
Seagrass in the waves,
Like leaves on the cold,
colourless wind
Amongst the Sun and the Moon
The silver dust and rain
Now there is no such thing as an escape
Thou have been trapped
.
Have you ever been
Lost
Yet?
Now,
There is no such thing
As an escape
Thou
Have been
T r a p p e d
Sep 24, 2017
Sep 24, 2017 at 7:47 AM UTC
Grey pre-dawn light
Twinkling stars fade slowly
into paling night sky
Waves break on the shore
Seagrass whispers to the wind
My breath plumes into chilly air
I shiver and pull my coat tighter
Colours and shapes take definition
The slow passing of time
Brings all into view
Muted but there
The first fingers of pink and gold
touch the far horizon
And excruciatingly slowly
The sliver of sun appears
Expands
And swells into the waiting sky
Nov 11, 2017
Nov 11, 2017 at 9:01 AM UTC
A kitchen was an extraordinary
place for writing. Combined with Earl Grey
it practically wrote for you; I observed the ways
in which waves curled up and moved
towards the seagrass and back.
White foam raced to the shore
almost chasing something but
never quite reaching; slamming the rocks
on its path, smoothing out sands.
Then fade away.
I took a sip and chose a wave
to root for in this contest.
My eyes followed; observed it getting larger,
whiter, faster but all in vain. Sooner or later
it would disappear and become one
with all the others.
Grandfather’s clock had signaled dinner, as I
finished my third mug and looked at you.
Henry rubbed his ears against my foot
and jumped on the chair beside,
joining me in my daily hour of
wave surveillance.
May 21, 2019
May 21, 2019 at 2:08 PM UTC
Water Everywhere
A dam burst in Iraq and that's how it began it rained for months
and no one had thought of building a Noah’s ark fill it with pigs
to feast on when Christmas came around but there would be
too many objections from practising Jews, vegans, not forgetting
Muslims and the two Semitic people's family would squabble as
they have done for centuries and the vegan's would eat seagrass.
When Himalaya was a reef sailors on ships had eaten each other
sardines, a metre and twenty long, danced in The Radio Music Hall
a shimmering synchronised display entertaining dolphins; and
the Wall Street was a hangout for hammer- head sharks as were
the way of the pre-flooding days. Finally, the water ebbed enough
for the only man left to go ashore on the reef and dry his feet,
burning his raft, smoke a cigarette and wondering, what happened
to the blue whales.
Mar 11, 2016
Mar 11, 2016 at 4:11 PM UTC
*Never fade away
by
Jude Kyrie
I can still find you
even in the distance
of forevers eternity.
Your vision is a memory
from my hearts souvenir box.
I grip it harder this memory.
but it is like golden sand.
the harder I hold a few
grains fall from my
hand like tears.
The southern winds
kiss my face with seaspray.
If I close my eyes
I feel your lips on my cheek.
the wind sings through
the seagrass.
I hear your comforting voice
whispering to me.
I replace the remaining grains
of your golden memory.
Back into the safe
keeping of my heart.
And whisper to you.
Never fade away
my beloved.*
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 6:11 AM UTC
Artistry, the mirror of my inner soul,
Revealing my true self, once untold.
Unending an enchantment to impart,
Heavy breath entwined around my heart.
Majestic beauty, a powerful harmony,
Do I love thee or only the idea of thee?
Patience in love, take your time,
Reveals the real and true sublime.
Rising gentle dawns and morning dripping dew,
Uninhibited intentions, conveys love renewed.
Building upon ice castles, whispering it's secrets,
Deep long sleep, crisp breezes among seagrass.
Painter on sandy shores with imaginations,
Essence of sea air and oil hues elations.
Journey among colors, fairweather and storm,
Oh, how lovely you and me, together and warm.
Truth in every canvas, guiding my journey,
Teaching me wonder, exploring more to see.
A moonlight flight among winking stars,
Bringing me back from wandering too far.
Even the burdens of life's play made beautiful,
Stand in awe, let joy unspeakable be unmovable.
Feb 6, 2025
Feb 6, 2025 at 1:15 PM UTC
this bay-skied easel works
pastels off the frame, to a
baby's palette off the face
of the earth.
as a cooling breeze birds--
with the moving images
of birds not necessarily
in flight.
or in view just now.
the seagrass loosens the
tide as antennas in reception,
picking up on the shadowed
cavities of distant trees
whitening birds
trying to come in.
the smell of sea salt heavy
as a sacrificial animal, trailed
by imploding senses.
Sep 8, 2019
Sep 8, 2019 at 1:48 PM UTC
You are
Raspberry when you are audacious
lavender cotton candy and rose when you are
sweet
sunshine cornsilk daffodils and cream when
you are happy
Sage seagrass and ivory when you are at peace
You are unique
Jul 15, 2019
Jul 15, 2019 at 9:15 PM UTC
still yet in constant motion
seagrass dancing in the wind
motion of water going out with the tide
the birds singing
But yet
the calm is overwhelming
the strong resilience of the trees
the soft yet courageous ground
beauty of unity all intertwined
as time trickles on
seasons change
clouds come in, the rain, the snow, wind, the blossoms
but yet all remains the same
all remains one
as all is God
and God is one.
Nov 14, 2022
Nov 14, 2022 at 5:31 PM UTC
*Borne of the waters
By
Jude Kyrie
Even before I existed
I was part of the ancient seas.
That primordial mix
Salty and teaming
with the origins of all life.
Now after countless eons have passed.
I walk outside of its briny boundaries.
My feet still pulled by it's presence
Pulling me to it farthest depths.
As I step into the edges
of its wet sand.
I hear her whisper
in salted winds.
Come back to me,
Come back my child
to your mother.
You are mine
and I am yours.
I belong to the sea
She is my blood.
The wavelets
are my heartbeat.
The seagrass my veins.
Nothing ever ends.
come back to us.
the gulls cry from above.
Only new beginnings exist
Only new life.
You belong to me
She pulses
from her mighty depths.
I am your eternal mother.
Breathe your air
Sing in the sunlight of earth.
But return to me.
Remember my son
You belong to the sea*
Feb 6, 2017
Feb 6, 2017 at 5:30 PM UTC
just bit a plum out of fruit stock
sparkles soared to a dim lamp light
it painted crimson next to the checks
I rotated bulged edges side by side
just to reach the breaking point
observing through wide shut windows
in hundred meters tower
above
when willows fell to dusty moors
how
I landed on a hilly snowy ground
it seems you masterpieced this picture
out of my shattered glass
kicked a fish rod on this fruit's cover
guess tight fishnet returns his fists and **** you's
sugarcoated in seagrass
gates of his citadel placed lifetime guardians
my eyes are on railroad station
in my half-sleep
when trains arrived at schedule
pitbull jumped over the fence
and bit me in my left hand
gnawing young wrist
all along this apartment is filled with air
from now on
laid floors are shaking
and statue of me is.
bit this fruit from an unexamined angle
didn't pass me token
and now I wipe weepy eyes
in sight of stature of you
sobbing in my blanket
but inside I'm two steps ahead
con art in flesh
waving goodbye
picking rotten fruit and
dropping it in a pile of trash
moreso I'm no plum degustator
them acnes will blush my forehead
toyed with you like a child
Feb 18, 2021
Feb 18, 2021 at 3:16 AM UTC