In the shallow waters, children play
Crashing waves all night and all day
Beautiful shells, colorful fish
For what more could one wish?
Then you go deeper, into the open
Where whales roam and ships lay broken
Filled with multitudes of life
With which the ocean is rife.
Deeper still, into the abyss
Where light dies and things seem amiss
Monstrous things with long, jagged teeth
Swim all around in the underneath.
Then there is the bottom of it all
It's there that you feel so very small
No man can go that deep
Down where lies the things that sleep.
Do you ever wonder if you're really enjoying something?
If you even can really enjoy something
You're on this beautiful island
Only 48 hours left
And wondering: Can I really enjoy this moment
Can I appreciate it with all my heart?
Do you know this feeling
That feeling of sorrow
Sorrow in your heart, a lump in your throat
Knowing there are only 48 hours left
So you stand there
At midnight
Stand on the balcony and look at the ocean
Listen to the wind
That's when the feeling starts
You try to stretch the time
Boats
Her heart
was the ocean
and he
was a boat
then love
was the captain
who kept it
afloat
Whenever i see you cry,
I'm reminded that a bit too much of something is not good for you.
I'm reminded of waves, and how, like people
they have the ability to bring joy
and also cause pain.
I'm reminded that even on it's bad days,
the ocean, together with cliffs
continues to be a great conductor
of the only sound that keeps me sane.
I'm reminded that the only difference
between tears and waterfalls,
is what causes the water to fall down.
I once hit my head
so hard
dreams leaked out
they were semi-solid
things
gelatinous and transluscent
like something from the dark
reaches near the bottom
of the ocean
pale, icy colored reds and blues and greens
I could never view them directly
but only from the corner
of my eye
there were not many
perhaps half a dozen?
if I allow life to slow
Being me is being in your head 24/7,
Being me is having constant debates with life and death..
Being me is not even being here.. Being me, is Being a watcher, a listener an observer..
Being me is loving the storm and the clouds,
Being me is unbashadly thinking out loud..
Being me is an inability to hold a grudge..
Being me is constantly feeling star-struck..
Being me is being an ocean of possibilities,
Being me is being silent in difficulties.. Being me is clearly not that easy.. Being me is an experiment to revive humanity..
Being me is being on trips with the sun and the sea..
Being me is an overdose of curiosity.. Being me is loving so-so deep, that everything I touch begins to heal..
As an old man I met a young girl
who loved the ocean more.
She spoke in rapture,
longed for danger,
and let waves wash away
her heart, exposed;
winter storm along the desolate shore.
Once captured by sea,
she could not shake its spell.
Her fever burned, contagious
down her back, seaweed green
and glistening in the long night rain.
I fell in love with her devotion,
gasping for breath along the coast.
Cold waters, Pacific Northwest,
blue numb skin, struggling
the ocean
was more
than a dream,
it was a place
she needed to visit
to find herself.
and when she returned
to the city,
you could see the sun
in her eyes, the wind
in her hair, and taste
of the infinite salt
on her lips.
i want you
under open sky
the sun in your
forehead & spread hair
the grass around your thighs
making no mistakes
of roundness
i want you in
water & the air
i want you
as long as there is
ocean
on the same earth
i want the
feel of under you
a planet
The shattered water made a misty din.
Great waves looked over others coming in,
And thought of doing something to the shore
That water never did to land before.
The clouds were low and hairy in the skies,
Like locks blown forward in the gleam of eyes.
You could not tell, and yet it looked as if
The shore was lucky in being backed by cliff,
The cliff in being backed by continent;
It looked as if a night of dark intent
Was coming, and not only a night, an age.
Someone had better be prepared for rage.
There would be more than ocean-water broken
Before God’s last Put out the Light was spoken.
The heart can think of no devotion
Greater than being shore to the ocean--
Holding the curve of one position,
Counting an endless repetition.
The day that I come home,
What will you find to say,--
Words as light as foam
With laughter light as spray?
Yet say what words you will
The day that I come home;
I shall hear the whole deep ocean
Beating under the foam.