My compass' needle points
to far away shores and
remote distances call
fetching me,
my mind;
quietening my squall-cries,
and they drown, float,
transmogrify
into those of seabirds
flinging white-on-grey,
windy-winging,
stormbird-singing.
Rain dripping from pandanas
answers every need in me.
This solitudinal fancy
so suspends every day
in a dream that i walk
flattered city streets
strewn with crab-beads and coral,
seaweed and shell;
prints of bare feet.
It is no shame now to recall
youth and time,
the beach years
and the choral
of seabirds;
to recline
in an office chair
for a moment spared
in passionate fantasy
of wind and rain,
of tossed, foamy sea.
Author notes
word bank [a]
A contest entry
- word bank [should be easy] by the chase.
475 points, ended August 26, 2007, 9 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
-
to recline
in an office chair
for a moment spared
in passionate fantasy
of wind and rain,
of tossed, foamy sea.
this is the scene
one should really
just let be the train of thought
and live the life of the
beach scene -
This is beautiful :]
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