The earth is shifting, the skies are swirling with devastating energy, and the seas are mounting. The last few days, and as I write, storms are landing in the Eastern States and Canada, and here in BC we just had a large earth tremor. Thankfully no major damage nor injury. It seems like a good moment to boldly post a poem that has been sitting in my desk drawer for years. Shall I? I shall.
The Hidden Tempest
The sea sighed as
sailboats quietly played on her back.
A gentle game.
One of tolerance.
Her depths smirked at the efforts
to keep these toys moving about.
An irritation to the sea.
Their sails did nothing to inspire her.
She heaved a second sigh.
And another one.
She started to rock.
The movements awakened
a quiet yearning.
She began to roll.
hastily sought a safer bath.
But the sea wouldn’t wait.
She had had enough.
She had been subdued for too long
and shook her tides loose,
her primal song
arousing her hidden tempest.
She roared, kicked up her waves,
caressed the sky,
inviting it to dance.
(who could refuse the sea’s wild charms?)
They tangoed, teased, until
clouds intertwined their arms of wet,
the horizon no longer:
Waves snapped, sounds exploded, tornadoes whipped, currents got lost,
white, blue, grey mountains formed and died in a blink of an eye,
fish and birds frolicked in frenzied unions.
The sea satisfied with her powerful play,
pulled back her tendrils of storm
only to witness,
scattered sails who could not survive
her turbulent thirst.