don’t talk to me about cat stevens, i’m not following anyone, except the earth i guess, but don’t blame gravitational pull on me, i’m not here to illuminate your first kiss, that is love’s domain, craters aren’t my fault either, malicious kamikaze asteroids, neil armstrong’s one small step tickled, glad he & the other boys left, scarred me with their flag, took pieces of me, worthless rocks really, like whiskers shaved off in the sink, i will take credit for the tides, those undulating liquid waves, curling, crashing, little surfers smashing, love when they get barreled, even more when they wipeout, don’t trust my words, after all, i don’t care, you can stare up at me all you want, make your own meaning, i’m nothing without you.
Tag: Ocean
Ocean Rose
When I Think Of Trains
human-made ocean tide of steel, freight and escape, like waves continually crashing, compartments rush by, sound bending wind, horn blasting, alerting animals that machine can collide, graffiti painted sides, desperate spray paint, crude canvas carried from small town to town, and this meant progress, loneliness, like a harmonica pretending, like running away, like blue collar grease, a sunset, a sunrise, an aching, a braking, cacophony, a screech and heartbeat.
Only These Four Words
only quiet these woods
bark green leaves, smell
of jasmine is everything
we wished for this
only ocean gray waters
sand sun toes touch
cold salt wet time
here on winter beach
only nature and words
my notebook of memories
we walked up mountain
your eyes forever sky
only everything, this air
we breathe in together
life, all of it
will go on forever
Gulf of Mexico
Little Oceans
Puddle, seconds before child
stomps that glistening water, sky rain,
cousin to Atlantic and Pacific.
Wet space where Trident gum lives between
teeth and tongue, swishing this way and that,
minty boat soon to be spit out.
Blue eyes, reflecting sunset waves, dancing
light, endless saltwater pools, see, feel
everything.
Square windowed snowfall, winter flakes
drift, living Monet, pine trees frozen
in distance.
When The Glass Water Bottle Spoke
I see all the plastic bottles filled and shiny,
pasted labels over clear water within. I’ve
never been jealous of that crinkle sound,
sad little ache after the last drop is gone.
Always wondered what disposable meant,
dented, crushed, twisted, one on top of the
next, in bins, trashcans, on streets. Others
tossed off boats, or tide taken away from sand
into sea. Gulped by curious pelicans hungry
for more than digestive death.
Me, I like lips that touch my rim again and
again, tender sips when I’m brimming with cool
life-giving liquid. But I’m a romantic, I believe
in everlasting love, that you will want me forever.
Lunch with Dr. Sylvia Earle
Dr. Sylvia Earle (Marine Biologist) is in the front row. I’m standing next to Kim Chambers, the open water distance swimmer.
To learn more about Dr. Sylvia Earle and Kim Chambers, please visit:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sylvia_Earle
Daniel W. Polk 