Hope For The Oceans     
 Poetry About The Oceans

 

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Song of the Wave
The strong shore is my beloved
And I am his sweetheart.
We are at last united by love, and
Then the moon draws me from him.
I go to him in haste and depart
Reluctantly, with many
Little farewells.

I steal swiftly from behind the
Blue horizon to cast the silver of
My foam upon the gold of his sand, and
We blend in melted brilliance.

I quench his thirst and submerge his
Heart; he softens my voice and subdues
My temper.
At dawn I recite the rules of love upon
His ears, and he embraces me longingly.

At eventide I sing to him the song of
Hope, and then print smooth kisses upon
His face; I am swift and fearful, but he
Is quiet, patient, and thoughtful. His
Broad bosom soothes my restlessness.

As the tide comes we caress each other,
When it withdraws, I drop to his feet in
Prayer.

Many times have I danced around mermaids
As they rose from the depths and rested
Upon my crest to watch the stars;
Many times have I heard lovers complain
of the smallness, and I helped them to sigh.

Many times have I stolen gems from the
Depths and presented them to my beloved
Shore. He takes in silence, but still
I give for he welcomes me ever.

In the heaviness of night, when all
Creatures seek the ghost of Slumber, I
Sit up, singing at one time and sighing
At another. I am awake always.

Alas! Sleeplessness has weakened me!
But I am a lover, and the truth of love
Is strong.
I may weary, but I shall never die.

Kahlil Gibran

From "Desolation Row"
Praise be to Nero’s neptune
The Titanic sails at dawn
And everybody’s shouting
Which side are you on?
And Ezra Pound and t. s. eliot
Fighting in the captain’s tower
While calypso singers laugh at them
And fishermen hold flowers
Between the windows of the sea
Where lovely mermaids flow
And nobody has to think too much
About desolation row

Bob Dylan

         

Sea Fever
I
must go down to the seas again, to
      the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer
     her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and
     the white sail's shaking,
And a gray mist on the sea's face, and a gray
     dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call
     of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be
     denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white
     clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume,
    and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the
     vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way, where
     the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing
     fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the
     long trick's over

John Masefield

 

         
       
      on the ebb tide beach everything
                we pick up is alive
   Chiyo-ni
 
After The Storm
After the storm
the sea is calm
Once dark clouds,
threatening and cold,
separate and
the light again
shines brightly
over now gentle waters

Peace surrounds us
Fears fade away
Chill winds that stirred
and left us cold and shaking
are now at rest.
Life again fills with light,
calming fears of life's storm
that rise within oneself.

Beyond the clouds
the sun is always shining
the sky is always blue.
Clouds change and waves
rise and fall, come and go.
The unchanging is eternal.
Storms are but awhile
and so with faith I wait!

Peace, serenity.
Tranquil seas.
Light overcomes darkness.
The gentle breeze
awakens my spirit.
My soul is ready for the new day.
Beautiful is God's creation and love
and I embrace the Eternal embracing me!

N. Ellsworth Bunce  1998

  

Ode To a Large Tuna in the Market
Among the market greens,
a bullet
from the ocean
depths,
a swimming
projectile,
I saw you,
dead.

All around you
were lettuces,
sea foam
of the earth,
carrots,
grapes,
but
of the ocean
truth,
of the unknown,
of the
unfathomable
shadow, the
depths
of the sea,
the abyss,
only you had survived,
a pitch-black, varnished
witness
to deepest night.

Only you, well-aimed
dark bullet
from the abyss,
mangled at one tip,
but constantly
reborn,
at anchor in the current,
winged fins
windmilling
in the swift
flight
of
the
marine
shadow,
a mourning arrow,
dart of the sea,
olive, oily fish.

I saw you dead,
a deceased king
of my own ocean,
green
assault, silver
submarine fir,
seed
of seaquakes,
now
only dead remains,
yet
in all the market
yours
was the only
purposeful form
amid
the bewildering rout
of nature;
amid the fragile greens
you were
a solitary ship,
armed
among the vegetables,
fin and prow black and oiled,
as if you were still
the vessel of the wind,
the one and only
pure
ocean
machine:
unflawed, navigating
the waters of death.
Pablo Neruda

for whatever we lose (like a you or a me)
it's always ourselves we find in the sea
      e.e.cummings  


     
To the short night ending-
close to the water's edge
a jellyfish  
     
         Buson

                             
  Devotion
  The heart can think of no devotion
  Greater than being shore to the ocean-
  Holding the curve of one position,
  Counting an endless repetition.
                        Robert Frost

 

    The South Pacific
    wish I could tell you about the South Pacific. The way it
    actually was. The endless ocean. The infinite specks of
    coral we called islands. Coconut palms nodding gracefully
    toward the ocean. Reefs upon which waves broke into
    spray, and inner lagoons, lovely beyond description. I wish
    I could tell you about the sweating jungle, the full moon
    rising behind volcanoes, and the waiting. The waiting. The
    timeless, repetitive waiting
                                James A. Michener  
                                From "Tales of the South Pacific”

      

Enigmas
You've asked me what the lobster is weaving there with
        his golden feet?
I reply, the ocean knows this.
You say, what is the ascidia waiting for in its transparent
        bell? What is it waiting for?
I tell you it is waiting for time, like you.
You ask me whom the Macrocystis alga hugs in its arms?
Study, study it, at a certain hour, in a certain sea I know.
You question me about the wicked tusk of the narwhal,
        and I reply by describing
how the sea unicorn with the harpoon in it dies.
You enquire about the kingfisher's feathers,
which tremble in the pure springs of the southern tides?
Or you've found in the cards a new question touching on
        the crystal architecture
of the sea anemone, and you'll deal that to me now?
You want to understand the electric nature of the ocean
        spines?
The armored stalactite that breaks as it walks?
 The hook of the angler fish, the music stretched out
 in the deep places like a thread in the water?
    
 I want to tell you the ocean knows this, that life in its
        jewel boxes
 is endless as the sand, impossible to count, pure,
 and among the blood-colored grapes time has made the  petal
hard and shiny, made the jellyfish full of light
and untied its knot, letting its musical threads fall
from a horn of plenty made of infinite mother-of-pearl.

 I am nothing but the empty net which has gone on ahead
 of human eyes, dead in those darknesses,
 of fingers accustomed to the triangle, longitudes
 on the timid globe of an orange.

 I walked around as you do, investigating the endless star,
 and in my net, during the night, I woke up naked,
 the only thing caught, a fish trapped inside the wind.

 Palbo Neruda

         

A Name in the Sand
Alone I walked on the ocean strand,
  A pearly shell was in my hand;
    I stooped, and wrote upon the sand
      My name, the year, the day.
        As onward from the sport I passed,
          One lingering look behind I cast,
            A wave came rolling high and fast,
              And washed my lines away.
Hannah Flagg Gould     

Critical Mass -To The Last Whale
Over the years you have been hunted
by the men who throw harpoons
And in the long run he will kill you
jus to feed the pets we raise,
put the flowers in your vase
and make the lipstick for your face.

Over the years you swam the ocean
Following feelings of your own
Now you are washed up on the shoreline
I can see your body lie
It's a shame you have to die
to put the shadow on our eye

Maybe we'll go,
Maybe we'll disappear
It's not that we don't know,
It's just that we don't want to care.
Under the bridge
Over the foam
Wind on the water,
Carry me home.
David Crosby -from Wind On The Water

Roll on, deep and dark blue ocean, roll. Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain. Man marks the earth with ruin, but his control stops with the shore." -Lord Byron

 

Sitting by the Sea  
I sit by the sea
And let the waves talk to me
With stories of days gone by
About seafarers of old and sailors so bold
And frigate birds high in the sky.
 
The lapping of the waves
Recalls better days
When our people were free to roam
The great oceans wide
With the wind and stars as our guide
Looking for some place called home.
Those mythical men
We will never see again
And gods that we still call our own
 How the world came to be
For people like me
Where our spirits forever did roam.
Now the waves on the shore
Don't seem the same any more
Their stories full of grief
Are filled with a warning
About global warming and its consequences
For our people on the reef.
Yet I still sit by the sea
While the waves talk to me
With stories of days gone by
About seafarers of old and sailors right bold
And frigate birds high in the sky.
                               Jane Resture
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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