Almost, at times, the sea

Sea fog rubs its back upon my window-panes,
Salt in places, hindering tide,
Push waves, push waves tranquil on a shore;
Sea birds arranged in sections of sky.

Suppose a row, a seaweed neck, no fishing
No fishing with another hook;
Jackfish, Jackfish in a yard of sea,
Twos, twos into a net; put a stove, put a stove.

If I were surely, the sea wind said, something soon
Someday; whitecaps, whitecaps what is a storm.
Wet spoil gaiters and swells and little canvas
Or ready gray lining, curls, curls.

I settle a stretch, sea at the till; sail or rustle
Mourn in a morning. A high beach and a
Perfect sight, a blow is delighted; put an anchor down.
Put something down someday in my sand.

Copyright © 09/08/2019 lance sheridan®

N7 Almost, at times, the sea

53 comments on “Almost, at times, the sea

  1. NZain says:

    Delightful read on this chilly, grey drizzly Sunday morning, Lance—curled up with a cup of tea.

  2. rabirius says:

    I see you are back. And again with a brilliant poem.

  3. Mindsplint says:

    Nice to read, that you are back and compliment for this wonderful poem! Greets Bea 🙂

  4. Happy that you’re back. So beautiful and so musical!!

  5. What a surprise, dear Lance, to see you back in full power and beauty of your poems. All the best, Elisa

  6. jenanita01 says:

    This lovely poem reminds me that I have not visited my best friend, the sea for a while… time to rectify that, I think…

  7. Watt says:

    Beautiful poetry, Lance. 🙂

  8. crazywitch25 says:

    Great job personifying the world. Our human emotions cling to the fear of inhuman tides.

  9. Isha Garg says:

    Your work is crafted to perfection, Lance!

  10. Connotare says:

    I actually really love the poem

  11. Perfect to read in this morning;s drizzle

  12. Good to see your words again. I so enjoy your poems of the sea.

  13. Devon Brock says:

    Lance, the repetitions in this poem push a real sense of urgency throughout – a futile attempt at “taking control” against the wind, against the sea that will accept no tiller. The final stanza, oh yes, relinquishing control and letting time and tide do its business while you “settle a stretch”. Wonderfully wrought. Devon

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