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.

(Meant to be read in the voice of a child)
Grandma says, that she grew up in the water
She says that she lived on the edge of a place called Myrtle Beach
That she could drive 15 minutes and then jump into the sea

She says- that the smell of sea salt and seagrass is the smell of home
And that she can still hear the sounds of crashing waves on an empty beach
She says that the best feeling was sinking under a wave and watching the crisp clear current pull the water over her--

I told her that I went to a beach too!
Momma took me back to where she used to live
To get to the beach we had to cross two bigggg rivers
Grandma said that one of those was a creek when she was my age.
That men dug the other-- by hand a long time ago 90 feet across
But they are much bigger now!

I told Grandma that when I got to the beach, there were a bunch of buildings, right there in the water
I said it was silly of people to leave buildings in the water like that.

I asked-- if we tried to keep those buildings out of the water
And she said no...

I asked-- if we knew they were gonna get so wet
Grandma said-- that we knew since the 1950’s
She told me about a scientist named Edward Teller
Who gave a big speech to the important people
He predicted the future in 1959
And told them the ice was going to melt.

I asked why we let it melt...
and then grandma got real quiet...


...I’ve-- seen pictures of the ice in school.
--We learned about polar bears and penguins
We even went to visit them in the zoo
My teacher said they only live in zoos now.

We-learned-about-coral-too!
We learned-- that they are animals that look
kind-of like rocks
-Or like plants!
-Or like jellyfish!
We learned that fish like to live there-
Fish like the ones in NEMO!
My teacher said there’s not much coral left...

I asked--
why the coral at the aquarium
didn’t look all bright and colorful like the movies
I asked-- why there were no Nemo’s in the aquarium
I asked-- what that big ocean current was called
I asked-- if sea turtles still ride in the E..ast Austra...lian current

She said that the Clown fish died when the coral was bleached
-And there aren’t many sea turtles
-And there is no more current
-Because the waters are too warm

I asked how the water got so warm,
I asked-- Who Did It!
She said Everyone
And I didn’t understand that

I asked grandma if she did it!
She said yes-I said How

She said every time she drove her car
And every time she flew on an airplane
And every time she used a plastic cup
She released carbon into the environment

I asked how all those things made carbon
She said that carbon comes from burning things
She said that we burn things to make energy

I asked if we could make good energy
She said that we can
We can use water, wind, and sunlight to make
~Clean~ energy

I asked if we made clean energy
Grandma said that only 15% of our energy was clean

I asked how carbon made the water hot
Grandma told me that when carbon goes into the air
It traps heat near the earth
Kind-of like a blanket
And it makes the air warmer

She said that the ocean
and the ocean animals
try really hard to absorb the carbon,
But too much carbon is bad for them

I asked why it was so bad
She said that carbon was an acid
~like lemons~
And when the ocean absorbs the carbon,
The ocean becomes more aaa-cidic
And most fish can’t live in a-cidic water


I remember learning that plankton
can’t live in acidic water either
My teacher said that plankton are very important
They make oxygen
And they feed the fishes
I even heard they used to make the water green

I told grandma
about the field trip my class took to the Smithsonian
There was a new shellfish exhibit
The teacher said
that everything in the room was extinct or endangered
There were *****- and oysters- and corals

The sign said that-
“these shells can’t form in acidic water”
I asked the teacher if ***** and oysters and things were important
She said that they were an ess...ential-
Source of food for coastal communities

I asked if they were so ess...ential--
than why didn’t we protect them…

She told me that some people tried to help
She said people talked about it
and bought less plastic
And supported sus...tan...iable companies
She said that there weren’t enough of those people

I asked-- what could have protected them
She said-- that poli...ticians and CEOs could have protected them
She said-- that if there were laws
restricting or banning fossil fuels
Or carbon emissions
We could have kept the ***** alive

I asked why the poli...ticians didn’t make those laws
She said that the poli...ticians were good friends
With the oil companies
She said that if they made those laws
Their friends would lose money

But that doesn’t make sense because-
Grandma told me
We ended up spending more money
Reacting to climate change
Than it would have taken
To prevent climate change.

I just don’t understand so much--
It doesn’t make sense...

Grandma--
I wanna know why there’s more plastic in the ocean than fish
I wanna know why we wear air masks when we go outside
I wanna know why there are so many hurricanes
And fires
And droughts
And floods
I wanna know why your old house is underwater
I wanna know what waves looked like without trash in them
I wanna know why lady liberty is drowning
I wanna know what hawaii was
I wanna know why california is on fire
And why Charleston doesn’t exist
I wanna know why there’s no coral
Or fish
Or pandas
Or tigers
Or butterflies
I wanna know why there are so many wars over food
I wanna know why we’re out of water
I wanna know why there are walls in the ocean
I wanna know why you didn’t listen to the scientists---

I wanna know why you didn’t do anything to fix it!

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.

Her skin was dark and her hair was black,
She walked with a Spanish sway,
‘She could be from South America,’
I would hear the neighbours say,
She’d taken the cottage in Ansley Court,
Put seagrass mat on the floor,
Then given them something to talk about
With the shingle she hung on the door.

‘A Course is starting on Wednesday week
For the women of Risdon Vale,
“The Secret Rites of the Shuar Revealed,”
(For ladies alone - No Male!)
The art of centuries, hidden ‘til now
Will be taught in a matter of weeks,
Be among the first to learn of these skills,
(At just sixty dollars, each!)’

Said one, ‘It’s probably just a scam,
For what could she have to show?’
‘This village is such a bore,’ said Pam,
‘I’d pay to see rushes grow!’
But curiosity killed the cat
They say, in that wise old saw,
And half the women of Risdon Vale
Turned up to the stranger’s door.

She took the women, one at a time
Examined each one alone,
Then chose just six to make up the course
And sent all the others home.
She’d weeded out all the gossipers,
And the ones that were loose of tongue,
Had sworn to secrecy those she chose
At an altar with candles on.

Not one of the chosen ones would speak,
Not one of them say a word,
They hung together in whispered cliques
And wouldn’t be overheard.
Their husbands too, were kept in the dark
When asked, they would heave a sigh,
Shrug their shoulders, and raise a brow
Though everyone wondered, ‘Why?’

Ted Wilkins wasn’t impressed by this
And took himself to the pub,
‘I don’t like secrets,’ he told his mates,
Then left to head for the scrub.
They said he’d gone with Emily Bates,
They’d been having it off for years,
‘Her cottage is suddenly empty too,’
Said the wags in ‘The Bullock’s Curse.’

There wasn’t a tear in the Wilkins home,
She seemed to be quite relieved,
‘I always thought that she must have known,’
So half of the Vale believed,
A woman alone is a tidy mark
For a man like Michael Stout,
They saw him creep to her house one night,
But no-one saw him come out.

The tongues were wagging in Risdon Vale
About ‘funny goings-on,’
‘The preacher hasn’t been seen at church
Since that spat with Lucy Chong,’
Then Red Redoubt who had beat his wife
Took off, when he knew the score,
For Gwen had bid him ‘good riddance’ when
He was heading on out the door.

The women met on a Wednesday night
And they burned a light ‘til dawn,
‘What do you think they do in there?’
Said the gossip, Betty Spawn,
She crept up close to the house one night
And peered at the light within,
So Pam came out and surprised her there,
Said, ‘Why don’t you come right in!’

The six week course was almost done
When the police came round one night,
Kicked the door of the cottage in,
Gave the girls a terrible fright.
‘We need to know what you’re doing here,
There are rumours, round about,’
But the woman from South America
In the dark, had slipped on out.

There were pots and pans and cooking things
And a smell of something stale,
‘We’ve been learning all these secret things
But we can’t tell you, you’re male!’
Then a cry came out from another room
From a lad in the local police,
He said, ‘There’s six new shrunken heads
Out here on the mantelpiece!’

David Lewis Paget

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.

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.

There are lights in the sky
Each a lamp lit for someone else
And none for me

I’d sent flame after flame
Up there for you hoping that
One day they’d be bright enough
To reach you

To listen to your words of white heat warmth
That will send a wave of fire through
The void and light a billion stars
For me
Even if you didn’t intend to
Your words, your smile,
Even your silence is what
Lit up the sky for me
So that I saw besides everlasting darkness
And ever more endless shadow
There are life brewing in the silence
Though not for me

The silence only smothers, and suffocates me
Like an invisible hand tightly gripping onto my throat
Without me noticing, ever so violently
Yet ever so slowly squeezing harder and harder
Till I cannot breath, not knowing the reason why

It forces me down into the depth of the abyss
Till I am no longer one, but one with the shadow
One with the bottomless pit of despair and fear
Till I am no longer within the void, but am the void

Yet, when I saw you
When I met you
I was lifted up out of where I thought I belonged
And could hold against the weight
Of all that is without light
The gloom, the shadows, the night
The black of space
The silence that cries
And floated weightlessly
Above, below, and within
All there ever was, and will be
For, even though I know not how
My love for you
Has the power to lift me up:

Beyond the wild fields of stars
Beyond the glistening ocean of light
Beyond the dreamless darkness
Beyond the unkempt bed of life
Beyond the inescapable swamp of death
And beyond
All of time

To a place where only the existence of you
Holds out its shapeless hand to me
And lead me
Rather the merely dust, and breath of me
Through the void, to the empty vessel
Carrying all the pure
Feelings, senses, love, and even pain

Though it is a place
Way beyond the rays of any sun
Way beyond the circle of life
Way beyond decay and apathy
Way beyond flesh and blood

I saw every color
Every being
Every state of being
Every possible and impossible thing
Every time and space
Pass through the ghost of you and I
And cease to be
At least that’s what they appeared to be

The twinges, the sharp electric sparks
You sent through out every atom of my body
And every participle of my soul
Told me that

They are no longer life that exist exterior to us
But within us, or rather
They are us, were us, and will always be
As they have never existed otherwise
In and since that moment of eternity

I see every river through me
My blood and hair
Every fish, your touch
Every dancing seagrass
The joy your gaze ripples through me

I see every mountain and valley
All around you
Every bump on your skin
Every wave on your fingertips
Every stone and sharp edges, my pain
Every field my words of love unending

Every burning star
Dots our shining eyes
Every moon, every heavenly body
That passes, they are the fleeting
Yet never ceasing reflection of affections
Waltzing again and again across our sight
Playful like children
Not yet exposed to any worldly sorrow

Every bit of space without light
Every pit of pure darkness
Caves of eternal shadow
Every howling silence that plunders pass
They are too, forever part of our love
For
They are the pain of longing
That makes each moment of proximity
So frighteningly precious
Afraid to be lost, so keeping it close
Like a token of innocent love
Pass down through generations
Till no being of flesh and mind
Remains, yet the dust still holds
Tightly onto it
Never letting go

And,
At last
Every bit of you
Like water droplets through the given earth
Like sunshine in an inseparable bond with life
Like rains of stars that will never leave the sky
Have seeped, melted, and spread
Through every drop sweet and bitter of me
Till I am no longer just acquainted with living
But am the very dream of life.

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.

Sand. Seagrass. Wind.
You are fed.
Solitude for breakfast.

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,
she held a secret, 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 a divine
revelation, “I am human,
light and dark, I release the
suffering”, 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 home
in the embrace of the one whom
loved her before existence, she spoke not, for
all the songs have already been sung,
the eons have spoken, softly, she closes
her eyes in the heavenly warmth,
there is only the whisper, “I have
returned to you when I was never lost”

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.

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

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.

Two worlds meet as crystal waters dance to shore, tickling powdered sand with fingers of foam. The sound evokes calming sensations, perhaps revelations, before falling silent as the wave retreats. A sailing boat strokes the surface, whistling with the wind as it carves patterns, unaware of what lies beneath. Even the sun looks on in awe, as its rays gently caress the quilt of blue, congratulating its infinity. The land above, so blissfully unaware, sits and inhales salt stained air.

Beneath the clouded sky of blue, lies the ocean’s treasure chest, a beauty born of rock and sand. It offers a glimpse into its world, for the inquisitive, stuck on land. Fish of every sort dash amongst confused hues of greens and blues, gulping salt water as if it were scarce. Angelfish dart around like horizontal fireworks, while seahorses surf the foamy riptide. The sun’s rays explore the thick meadows of seagrass, that sway in slow motion to the breeze of the current. Coral castles cemented in the sand curiously poke their turrets out of the water, causing waves to trip and fall and spill their froth. This is the ocean’s natural aquarium, yet mankind still invade the shallows with camera lenses and alert senses, attempting to prove they can figure it out.  

The sea becomes weary, tired of showing off. With its final yawn, it exhales out one last chunk of rock before it falls into a deep, cold slumber. The fresh palette of turquoise has faded into shades of murky blue as the ocean’s belly is revealed. The sun, now desperately trying to reach its rays towards darkened depths, is now just a golden haze, unable to offer any warmth. On one side stands a wall of coral, tarnished with colour, hypnotising life so it does not stray. The other offers an unconscious abyss, frightening to the wary, tempting to the brave.

The deep proves uncharitable to navigation, yet it’s muffled moans still encourage exploration. Faint whispers echo and fade, carried by indecisive currents. Now too deep for the day’s light to intrude, creatures below must brighten their own paths; fish with fangs carry glowing white pearls from their heads, while faceless ***** drag strings of electricity from their pulsing pink bodies. A lone whale glides by in her watery flight, her haunting lullaby becoming lost in the great Somewhere, accompanying the secrets that stay sealed beneath the blue.

There are lights in the sky
Each a lamp lit for someone else
And none for me

I’d sent flame after flame
Up there for you hoping that
One day they’d be bright enough
To reach you

To listen to your words of white heat warmth
That will send a wave of fire through
The void and light a billion stars
For me
Even if you didn’t intend to
Your words, your smile,
Even your silence is what
Lit up the sky for me
So that I saw besides everlasting darkness
And ever more endless shadow
There are life brewing in the silence
Though not for me

The silence only smothers, and suffocates me
Like an invisible hand tightly gripping onto my throat
Without me noticing, ever so violently
Yet ever so slowly squeezing harder and harder
Till I cannot breath, not knowing the reason why

It forces me down into the depth of the abyss
Till I am no longer one, but one with the shadow
One with the bottomless pit of despair and fear
Till I am no longer within the void, but am the void

Yet, when I saw you
When I met you
I was lifted up out of where I thought I belonged
And could hold against the weight
Of all that is without light
The gloom, the shadows, the night
The black of space
The silence that cries
And floated weightlessly
Above, below, and within
All there ever was, and will be
For, even though I know not how
My love for you
Has the power to lift me up:

Beyond the wild fields of stars
Beyond the glistening ocean of light
Beyond the dreamless darkness
Beyond the unkempt bed of life
Beyond the inescapable swamp of death
And beyond
All of time

To a place where only the existence of you
Holds out its shapeless hand to me
And lead me
Rather the merely dust, and breath of me
Through the void, to the empty vessel
Carrying all the pure
Feelings, senses, love, and even pain

Though it is a place
Way beyond the rays of any sun
Way beyond the circle of life
Way beyond decay and apathy
Way beyond flesh and blood

I saw every color
Every being
Every state of being
Every possible and impossible thing
Every time and space
Pass through the ghost of you and I
And cease to be
At least that’s what they appeared to be

The twinges, the sharp electric sparks
You sent through out every atom of my body
And every participle of my soul
Told me that

They are no longer life that exist exterior to us
But within us, or rather
They are us, were us, and will always be
As they have never existed otherwise
In and since that moment of eternity

I see every river through me
My blood and hair
Every fish, your touch
Every dancing seagrass
The joy your gaze ripples through me

I see every mountain and valley
All around you
Every bump on your skin
Every wave on your fingertips
Every stone and sharp edges, my pain
Every field my words of love unending

Every burning star
Dots our shining eyes
Every moon, every heavenly body
That passes, they are the fleeting
Yet never ceasing reflection of affections
Waltzing again and again across our sight
Playful like children
Not yet exposed to any worldly sorrow

Every bit of space without light
Every pit of pure darkness
Caves of eternal shadow
Every howling silence that plunders pass
They are too, forever part of our love
For
They are the pain of longing
That makes each moment of proximity
So frighteningly precious
Afraid to be lost, so keeping it close
Like a token of innocent love
Pass down through generations
Till no being of flesh and mind
Remains, yet the dust still holds
Tightly onto it
Never letting go

And,
At last
Every bit of you
Like water droplets through the given earth
Like sunshine in an inseparable bond with life
Like rains of stars that will never leave the sky
Have seeped, melted, and spread
Through every drop sweet and bitter of me
Till I am no longer just acquainted with living
But am the very dream of life.

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.

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.

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.

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

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

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 *******'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

It is a midwinters night on the coast of Massachusetts,
Walking on the sandy shore, looking at the sadden moon that hides in and out from winters clouds. I can still see the far away from streetlights upon the sea like a dream, I take in the sea cold air with care...that is when I spotted a bottle with a note in it, I scooped it out of the water, it still had seagrass on it. I am so truly happy to have found it, I open the note of something very old, as I read it is written something like this 1896, off of Georges Banks. Oh, my Love, I miss you, nobody but me out on winter madness sea, my memories taking me back to you.
Your love is irreplaceable I do hope with time you will find the note of my heart, I send out on sea...obeying love from above you are all I need. Oh, Love commands me to write....day and night for the rest of my life. I miss your kiss, it becomes a need for my soul,
Oh, darken clouds claiming the stars and moon;
Time is like a thief that has taken your love from me,
I become weary, and so very sadden without you with me.
So I write you this note on teardrop ink.
The old crying sea rolled on as it had millions of more years to play around like a sad ghost... I hope and pray the true love that you haven't forgotten me? You are all that keeps me hanging on
My God who watches over me has been so kind to me,
''I pray I am with you once more...''
I am blaming time for the looking glass of my age of woman,
My looks may have changed some but not all that much,
But I will say this as I write my heart down into this note
my Love for you is still the same, It runs stronger than the winters storms so please never let our love be a lost blind spot of passion.
- Judy Emery © 1981
The Queen Of Darken Dreams Poetic Lilly Emery

the sequence is always
lurking on the tip
of my tongue:
vintage film that
tastes like bottom
-less honey
     mead.

three eight year olds hover on the front lines,
each in their own corner of forest. an older
boy throws his rusty longsword
with a frustrated, huffling yell into the
blackwater. a summer god doused in
sun dips an ear into the stratosphere
and listens through the trees, his
presence crawling through the dirt
as he watches the three children
fight lovingly against each
other.

three cousins draw a
treaty in the mud. they’re unsure on
the details. their hunched forms
murmur against the sunset. they meet between
tree forts. they hate each other a little bit still,
though they’re not entirely sure why. the sword
of the blackwater is a rusty pipe:
sleeping in liquid tar,
tangled in seagrass.

we finish our alliance written in mud.
fingers later smell of pine smoke
and homegrown moss.

three explorers linger on over
trembling planks of crimson
wood, peering through the
docks. they seek a longsword
made of backwoods and amethyst,
dozing somewhere in the murky water.

(even now
i don’t think i
could pull it out).

valiantly
(like some kind
of fantasy novel)
we tip toe across miry sand
and velvet rockweed. (small
fish probably sleep in it now).
we give up, and every summer
i scrutinize the cloudy water:
nothing there but sunfish
and unresolved tension.

before the war we swam beneath
the crimson planks and we were
mermaids, pirates, knights - all
at once and one at a time. the
years blend together and we
hate each other in different
ways. now we’re so old (none
of us taller than the sword
still). we’re never here at
the same time anymore,
and the summer god may not
have his ear to the earth
as he did so long
ago.


i hear three eight year olds
back at the docks, voices rising
from beneath warm obsidian.
there’s yelling through a dense
thicket: we’re screaming our
heads off - (they roll into the water,
turning into fish made of sunset
and memory). some summer god
somewhere rolls over in bed.
we listen in our daydreams
for another battle cry, galumphing
through shallows and ocean shores
until we surrender, making ourselves
forget about swords and tree forts
made of earth and twine.

yet i still hear three eight year olds
howling their heads off
somewhere in the back
of my mind, arguing in
sing-song voices
over who had won
the war.

Small fry

Fingerlings are playing among seagrass in shallow water
they stop when the big shadow of an adult passes overhead
sometimes they play is so exciting they forget
and end swallowed whole by a fish that knows no mercy.
Alas, the tiny fry has a short memory and soon leave
the seagrass attracted by shiny pebbles shines like nuggets
of gold on a summer day.
The play stops as it just like old school friends drift apart
to other seas and too smart to anyone bearing false bait.
There are no promises for elderly fish when finally caught
a fishmonger awaits them or the supermarket’s frozen
counter displayed in all their faded glory