Love Affair

I heard the beating of your heart,
and the rhythm enthralled me.

The pattern rolled upward on the crest of a wave,
as it reached towards the sky,

then the beat slowed, became hushed,
as the surf washed gently over the sand.

Such passion…
accompanied by such peace.

I launched by myself
to surf upon your waves,

rising with you on the highest crests
and resting in your arms as we swept up on the shore.

My fresh water keel licked at your salty brine
and I felt your laughter echo off my hull.

We frolicked under sunny skies that warmed
the surface, and denied the coldness of your depths.

The red sky of evening sought to warn us,
but we glanced away, pretending not to see.

Winds plunged your waves to the depths.
My weathered planks were beaten in the storm.

Together we crashed upon the jagged rocks,
splintered wood and frothing angry foam.

I lay broken with pieces strewn,
your salty tears dried upon my hull.

I heard you sing a mourning song
in harmony with the wind.

You swept me off the crags;
carried me in your arms.

You sang to me a lullaby,
as I rested in your deep.

Published in: on April 30, 2011 at 9:17 pm  Comments (3)  
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Little Johnny Windstorm

“Look at me!”, you shout in your boisterous voice,
as you rip the front door out of my hand,
sending me down the steps in a drunken stumble.

Broad shouldered,
you meet my forward advance
like a defensive lineman,
making me fight for every step
down the concrete path;
daring me to look you in the face.

You dance around me like a schoolyard bully;
tugging at my clothes, touseling my hair,
all the while laughing at my attempts
to evade your mockery.
Refuge is finally reached
behind strong glass doors.

I watch from my haven of safety,
as you run off down the street;
kicking leaves into the air;
swinging from tree branches;
howling in childish delight.

Published in: on October 28, 2010 at 11:51 am  Comments (4)  
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Polished Stone

Rough and unrefined,
just a simple stone
thrown into a stream.

Fluid flow of icy cold
friction in the sand,
course of nature is
in control, no option
for the stone.

With final water’s wash,
polished smooth and round,
stone now glistens in the sun,
by attrition now transformed.


The following song was recommended to me as having the same message, by a reader of this poem.

Published in: on June 9, 2010 at 1:57 am  Leave a Comment  
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Battle of the Tempest

Hands grip tight as mighty gusts wrench my being.
Invisible forces tug at inner determination.

I fix my grasp.

Trembling betrays strength’s edge of endurance.
Eyes close, needing full concentration.

I hold fast.

Onslaught of winds diminish in fervor.
Muscles relax in limp liberation.

Battle is over.

Published in: on July 7, 2009 at 9:59 pm  Leave a Comment  
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