sunrise over swamps

sunset over melancholy seas

Poem 16 of 30

Something is rattling in the wind. It sounds like an old canvas sail, metal clinking against metal, and the creak of aging wood on the water,

but we are far from the sea, and far from the life of salt-spray air and tides and

water rushing and pouring and sliding over the sand,

grinding ancient rock and bone to tiny particles

in an endless rhythm that began

at the start of all things.



Poem 12 of 30

I’ve left scattered thoughts across the countryside. Tired and weary from a long journey,
Not sure if I could gather it into a set of simple words
or cohesive thoughts.

The sweep of ocean,
brittle stone cliffs carved in yellow and red,
ancient land that breathes and lives a silent and steady erosion
and hides slime-coated boards from shipwrecks.
A log washed upon an unapproachable shore.
Vast expanses washed in darkened skies and thick rainstorms.
A vast and lonely swamp where the single farmhouse rots in its coating of bright green mould.
The river courses over isolated farms.

We rush by,
The view a blur of wild and silent landscapes,
From the comfort of our car.
We do not know the torment that fixes within the mind of the farmer
wandering those paddocks
with no one to hear his thoughts.


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Poem 8 of 30

His eyes reminded her of the sea: cool, pale, and catching the sunlight they took on shades of green and blue. Everything he said seemed as mysterious and deep as the waters of the ocean, inhabited by unseen thoughts and forms of unspeakable beauty, and as perfect and strong as the rhythms of the tide.

Her hair reminded him of waves swept along a wide river: dark and flowing through untamed forests and the dwelling places of iridescent dragonflies. Her every movement seemed as fluid as a wild animal hunting among vivid flowers

He did not know how to speak of it to her, nor her to him. They kept their silence.





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