Friday, February 23, 2018

Ocean World

Today, the wind's offshore,
the sea is flat.
A child has made a pile of sand
and smoothed its wall,
adorned it with a flag.

Transparent wavelets lap at our feet
tentatively roll a bright green strand of weed
to be left here, a mark of this high tide.
Others will push the tide line further up
and further still when onshore winds bring waves
that fly with greater energy
on long white wings until they meet
the sharp sword edge of sand
white feathers whispering to the shining grain
and when the air decides to show her power
on those grey days when dark clouds scud and roll
and waves, deep green
gape with wide open mouths before the savage bite
that shifts sand, breaks rocks
rattles and crashes on the round brown stones
until it passes, and the Sun casts light on coruscating scales
the wind makes playful patterns once again
and now you show your colours
green turquoise purple silver blue and gold
and your rich textures riffled by gentle touch
or dark blue cats paws smearing as they turn.
or there a complex swirl where the waves worry at a rock
love-child of water and stone
a tracery that flashes and is gone and then returns.

Infinite appearances, changing, unchanging
in all the evolution seen by Earth in four thousand
thousand thousand years since you arrived
oozed out of solids, smashed in from endless sky
enough to puddle oceans on the wrinkled rock
since when you hold a mirror
to the sky and clouds
Changing One,
Giver of Life, along with Light, Earth, Air and Time
showing that self-same face in ancient time as now,
the changing unaltered feature of a changing world
infinite faces of the one great Deep.
Surface of an inner space
the place of whales and clouds of minute life
and all that can be in between.

Slow, dark and endless, where we can fly
with that silver disc above
signalling that interface where we can breathe
the tiny surface of one Depth.

Dark, swelling slowly, breathing in our heat
rising to sink this beach
collapse that man-size, earthen cliff
licking its softness easily away
tasting the plastic, bright as a child's toy
break every boundary with power enough
to turn our seaside dream to matchwood,
to a rubbish tip.

Not vengeful, just a being that observes the Laws.

As we must all, even though
at times we may show mastery
dancing the dance of mayflies in our little day
our self-made castle washed away
leaves nothing but a dent upon the sand
maybe a memory...

(c) Richard Lawson
February 2018

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