Death Wish at Sea

big waves under cloudy sky

Photo by GEORGE DESIPRIS on Pexels.com

The storm was predicted,
Jet black was the sky,
But I  needed to cross,
I remember not why.

The ship sailed for Dublin,
I knew I must try
To bolster my nerves
My fear to defy.

A storm was predicted,
Air pressure awry.
Not for the first time
I feared I would die.

But that storm was a beast
And I let out a cry,
‘Please Lord do listen,
Oh please let me die!’

But we made it across
That dread Irish Sea,
But I’ve never yet mastered
My fears. Let them be!

 

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Westwards

Stockholm Archipelago (4)

‘Baltic Sunset’ . . .  Photo – WHB – 2019   ©

 

WESTWARDS

As the sun sinks down
In the Western sky,
My mind rejoices
With the thought that I

One day might follow
Its receding track,
To find where it leads
With no turning back.

And where it ends I’d
Be content to rest,
build a new home there
In the far northwest.

The rest of the days
Still vouchsafed to me,
Content to reside
By that other sea,

But I know at heart
That it cannot be;
Our time has long passed,
We just are not free.

Those causes to stumble,
Our exchanges unfurled,
Tell us our new life lies
In a parallel world.

Bar-Rose

 

ATHENA

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POSEIDON & ATHENA:  WHB … Pen & Ink, 2019

ATHENA

 

She
Born of male
Warrior Goddess
Meant not to fail

Faced fear
Lord of the Sea
Her major prize
Attica’s key

Poseidon’s trident
Challenged by
Athena’s spear
The stakes so high

But olive tree
Of course
Beat salt spring
And horse

The prize
The city
The winner
No pity

Athens the realm 
Athena’s gain
Poseidon’s loss
To him the pain

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Athena and Poseidon vied for control of Athens and its surrounding territory, Attica. … Poseidon struck the rock with his trident and produced a salt spring or a horse.  

Athena brought forth an olive tree from the ground by the touch of her spear and she was proclaimed the victor.

The Ballad of the Fatberg

Fatberg – Fatberg, Growing so fast;
Fatberg – Fatberg, Growing so fast;
Please don’t tell them where I am
They’re sure to set up a webcam.

I’ve made my way along this river
Accepting all from every giver
Now I’m stuck – a great fat ball.
Full of gunge and ten feet tall.

Mounds of wet-wipes, cooking fat.
Now you know what happens to that.
Rolled into one gigantic ball,
Big as the goddammed Albert Hall.

They say how many of us exist
In pipes and rivers in our midst.
Across our fair and pleasant land
Disposed of waste … Ain’t it grand!

When they’ve dispersed my fat and grease
all those wet wipes, every piece
Then at last I’ll meet my end
But then the next one will descend

And when dissolved, where do we go?
Why, into the sea then, don’t you know?
That great big cess pool in the ocean,
Unlikely to stir your dulled emotions. 

A FATBERG is a congealed mass in a sewer system formed by the combination of non-biodegradable solid matter, such as wet wipes, and congealed grease or cooking fat. Fatbergs became a problem in the 2010s in England, because of ageing Victorian sewers and the rise in usage of disposable cloths. Wikipedia

Chesil Beach, Jurassic Coast, Dorset

[ Photo Gallery # 99 ]

Chesil Beach is one of the glories of England’s coastline. The name derives from the Old English ‘ceosel’ or ‘cisel’, meaning “gravel” or “shingle”.  It lies at the eastern end of what is known as the Jurassic Coast which stretches for many miles along the shores of Dorset and Devon on England’s southern coast.  My Gallery this week displays a number of photographs which  I took there 10 years ago.

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Dorset-Oct07 61 ChesilBeachDorset-Oct07 62 ChesilBeach

 

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“I Would Live In Your Love” … Sara Teasdale

[  # 93 of My Favourite Short Poems  ]

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Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

I Would Live In Your Love – Sara Teasdale

I would  live in your love

As the sea-grasses live in the sea,

Borne up by each wave as it passes,

Drawn down by each wave that recedes;

I would empty my soul

Of the dreams that have gathered in me

I would beat with your heart as it beats,

I would follow your soul as it leads.

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A gentle love poem by the American lyric poet, Sara Teasdale (1884-1933).  After her marriage in 1914, she used the name Sara Teasdale Filsinger.  As the sea-grass lives in and is sustained by the sea, so the poet wishes her life to be consumed and given wholly to her love. The images created belie her own love story when it would appear that she married largely to meet with the wishes of her parents.  The marriage ended in divorce in 1929 and just four years later Sarah was found dead in her bath.  Although denied at the time, it is believed that the death was suicide.
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A touch will be enough

monochrome photo of couple holding hands

Photo by Min An on Pexels.com

A touch will be enough

I think of my first love
who escaped south
and who now faces old age
with a brightness
far better than death’s impending despair.

My last love,
All passion spent,
Was of a quiet deep fulfilment
of silent bliss
engaging me
while the blackbird
for both of us now
sings in the highest tree
and, with a distant touch of the hands,
a slower walk with the waves
on that distant shore,
bird and sea,
my soul is fed,
listening to their songs
keeping at bay life’s end.

For now
I dream converse,
I listen to my memories,
resisting that clouding of the vision
which elapsed time brings.

I allow perception of days to come
in which appreciative eye
and halcyon heart
will enable a new closeness,
one of being together
in harmony with both past and present,
and the future becomes again
brighter.

A touch will be enough.

 

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Sea, Sun, and Hills

clouds dawn dusk forest

Photo by Lukas Kloeppel on Pexels.com

THREE  HAIKU

 

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The Sea

The sea in its strength
Thrusts its breakers to the shore
Stressing my weakness

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The Sun

The morning sun rose
Feeding life into darkness
Renewing with hope

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The Hills

The hills are my strength
Confirming Nature’s promise
That tomorrow lives

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Joy In The Wind

Spring Wind-WHB

‘Wind On The Orme’ – Pen & Wash … WHB  2017     © 

 

The Wind In Springtime

As the leaves sway in the gentle breeze
And branches stir with crackling joyous glee,
So the wind sings songs amongst the trees
Displaying its delight in being free.

And as the zealous air disturbs the sea
White horses top the breaking vernal wave;
I’m minded of what Springtime means to me
How for its reappearance we all crave.

As waves furrow their path towards the shore,
And full-sailed yachts are snared and driven along,
I now can celebrate and lust for more, 
And yearn to hear its plangent soughing song.

Here as the fire’s flames leap up to the sky
And buffeted they dance with intense glee,
They spread their warmth as every breath drifts by,
Flickering now in every shadow I see.

Thus do I greet the season’s steady hope,
To pray that all its promises are kept, 
That midst bold Nature’s green kaleidoscope
Only our triumphant tears are wept.

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