quiet poetry

Sunday, Labor Day Weekend 8/31/14

It is a quiet day to end the summer.
There is no sun and gray clouds blanket the sky.
There has been no rain yet,
but the smell in the air says that rain is on its way.

Though not officially,
tomorrow is the commercial end of the season.

After this weekend, the beaches will empty.
The waves will continue,
but without the bodies lining the shoreline,
the sound of waves crashing into the sands will be different.

Have you ever heard the sound of waves on an empty beach?
They echo.
And there is a natural perfection to this sound.
It makes walking along the vacant sands
easier to understand man’s need to discipline his own silence 
so he can listen to Mother Earth as she breathes . . .

I prefer it like this; there is no one on the beach but me, alone,
with the outgoing tides washing my thoughts to sea,
and the cool offshore breeze comforts the depths of my lungs
with its sweet flavor of my boyhood memory.

I have walked the same beach since I was a child.
I have grown into the footsteps I once followed and become man.

But dreaming in my youth, I looked out at the horizon from shore
and watched the outgoing fishing boats
take to the open sea beneath an overcast sky.

Behind them was a land and family dependent upon their survival,
and in front were the rolling waves, and miles of endless water.
Overhead, the seagulls twirl above the masts of different ships,
eager to dive at the bait which fishermen toss overboard,
and in moments, this vision faded into the foggy distance.

Looking outward at the drowsy sky,
my heart is a boy’s filled with dreams,
but my mind is an adult’s,
wishing I could take one trip—just one,

and I could be ocean bound.

Somewhere between the layers of ocean and sky,
my dreams sail off passed the lobster pots,
and beyond the fishing canyons.

I could drift along with nothing else
but the anonymous waves swelling beneath my ship,

and the sky above watching down on me;
its beautiful attention shining on the back of my neck
and its soft gray light welcoming me into the middle of nowhere.

I see this dream as a vision of freedom.  
Even in the face of gray skies and rain,
I see this vision as beautiful.

Have you ever heard the sound of rain falling into an empty sea?
It echoes.
And there is a natural perfection to this sound.
It makes drifting along the ocean
easier to understand man’s need to discipline his own silence
so he can listen as God the Father sleeps.

True, it is a quiet day to end the summer.
The sky is gray and there is no sun.
But I don’t mind the rain.
It only means today will wash away the faults of yesterday
(If we let it)
Tomorrow will be clean

and we can be forgiven

imagesrainatesea

 

 

 

 

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