By Arcassin Burnham
when you looked in to my eyes,
i had the strangest feeling,
flying rodents in my tummy,
retro waves came rolling in,
witches and their brooms,
soldiers at war , fighting and weaponry,
car crashes into the lake, with fire and debris,
clowns making entertainment amusing at the circus,
make you happy with one kiss unless its worth it,
stuck in a dream wave,
retro waves that came rolling in.
I remember that day on Mount Tamalpais.
We picnicked under the loving sky
On Bolinas ridge, atop Wicklow hill,
The maiden’s breast. We found those apple trees,
Who’d gone wild and fell into their world.
A blossom on the way.
I took your picture and you developed into
A sea-horse, or was it a mermaid? The ridge
Was foaming about you and birds were swimming
Like fish underneath. We found a tree, an umbrella
Left at the beach. The coral-grass became our bed
And wine turned into water.
A spiral dance in arms of anemone, it was
All embrace! That reef was spawning heaven.
At the treasure chest under the sea maiden,
Like children on highland pap, we played
At the beach that day in a castle above the clouds,
Beneath the wave.
Positivity is a wave
which sweeps the surface;
laps at my feet
to then melt
like i did at my mother's
by the fireplace in winter,
much like the fireplace
and her warm feet.
Anxiety also lies close to the shore;
it is the wave that throws itself
against the rocks.
I am the rock.
the sound of a wave lapping,
and suddenly everything is
vaguely surreal, under the
hidden stomach of the stars
ghosts of silver struggle
in the white light.
when the water splashes
little islands croon.
love, rescues me from
the millions of pieces
where i lie scattered.
A girl wearing a flowing gown,
on which yellow butterflies are in profusion
sows seeds of happy confusion
inadvertently in midtown.
The day on its upward swing
pauses a moment, catching my breath
I jump on, with her, we fly up
the girl smiling to herself
allowed me to arrest herself
inside me for keeps, without persuasion
Standing , neck-deep.
In this hole I've dug for myself
But more importantly,
There doesn't seem to be a point to any of this-
But, for whatever reason,
I find myself needing too...
Nourish it but—
Punish it while—
Trying to ignore it but,
Letting it find its way through paper skin.
Something that once held so much identity—
So much purpose...
Has suddenly become an overwhelming burden.
A monstrous wave of confusion
If not vaporized,
Will devastate everything I hold dear.
And still, with every intimidating consequence,
Every fear manifested before me—
A nagging, reluctant hunger remains.
A dire craving waiting patiently.
Grinning through hopeless tears.
Watching a panicked orphan wade through a typhoon—
Knowing full well its crippled victim would soon return.
Similar to a wave in the sea,
I cannot be restrained.
Rising up after falling
again and again.
Each time stronger,
crashing down harder
Resembling the messages sent in bottles,
rippling waves inscribed with purpose.
Drowning my anchors
in the deepness of the water.
Destroying what destroys me,
refusing to stop
kissing the shore line
even after being pushed away.
Poetry surfs on a wave of words
Heading for the beach of simile and the metaphor dunes
If you surf too long the moment is gone
The wave swallows the poem, rolls it along
And throws it on the beach, to splutter and cough
Copyright © 2015 Kim Whysall-Hammond
Lying on the beach,
it's getting darker each time you blink.
Hear the colorful explosions up high,
the sky is in chaos, don't you think?
Forget what I told you,
leave those words to the tide.
The stars are peaking through,
my ignorance is wild and wide.
A handful of white rocks,
you smile like a maniac.
Breathing out hoaxes,
while I play piano on your back.
The fireworks stopped,
you gave me black rocks.
My blanket was made for two,
yet another startling paradox.