This is a poem I started writing one early evening at dinner. The water was calm, the breeze was silky. There were only one or two other people on the patio so far. I started writing this on my placemat.
So here's my second version of this poem...
Light tells time here.
It shows you when to open up;
It tells you when you’ve had enough, then
signals you to
shutter down.
It makes you look – to make you see.
Water shows you how to feel here.
When shy, you want to call it over;
when bold, you
want it to seduce you.
When fierce, you surrender to its will
When playful, you want to wiggle in its embrace.
It makes you feel – to make you live.
Stone keeps order here.
Stone stands still on watch --
Sundried stones sound safety,
Mossy stones undo the careless.
Brine-pickled stone offers refreshment
with an edge of
recklessness;
Brine-pickled blocks bind water, wind, and light
to show you your
fortune.
Waves lick languidly at the shore
Wandering over to taste, then
Willfully sliding – sibilantly gliding away
While stone lies lapping up
silken swaths of
sea-wine.
The soft jazz of liquid time
Beats
Slaps
Pats Pops
Against antique rock.
Rocks tell of danger, mischief and other lives.
Half-hidden, poking out in warning and cheeky guile.
“Walk me, but watch your step, for
You are not alone.”
Waves make new terrains, then wipe the slate clean
to start again.
Wind sculpts water;
water sculpts stone;
stone stands
still.
