Writing

The Kraken

A beast awakens every century or so
When stirrings begin in depths below
He lurks in the darkness of briny seas
As hunter, he preys; he’s deaf to pleas
Ripping bows, keels, compass, and sail
While harpoons fly and tall masts flail
The monster snaps their vessels in two
Sailors meet their demise in water blue
Unblinking black eyes; slithering grips
The Kraken lives in a graveyard of ships.

© Literary Remains

Writing

Same Old Song

The lines of age gently maps my face
while silver strands teases hair
I try to remember the chords
of Stairway to Heaven
never forgetting
the young years
when I wanted
to change
the world
but instead,
it was the world
that changed me.
With hands, older now
I strum six strings
from my youth
up and down
on a neck
of wood
unfettered
and lamenting
riffs reminding
me that the music
within has never died.

© Literary Remains

Writing

Song Of The Sea

It’s a song that journeys
in the wake of a wind.
Maritime psalms —
amid spin-drifts’
rolling waves;
the ballads
from far
and far away.
Minuscule shards
blanket the seabed —
honing and smoothing
the sea glass treasures
of eloquence. Starfish
pulsing and tracing
their fingers
in the sand —
saltwater bathes
those living below
in vast pink coral caves.
A sacred communing —
live urchins, crab,
barnacles and shrimp.
In a sapphire depth,
the dolphin ballet —
there, they pirouette,
whistle, and click.
Octopus newlyweds
entwine one another,
ribboned tentacles spun —
here, are ancient souls;
whales in tribal pods
serenading the sea
with their melody
of  soft refrain.
A kelp forest;
sea rays with
long white wings,
gliding over canopy —
beneath; seals, otters,
sea turtles, jellyfish too,
dancing to the song of the sea.

© Literary Remains

Writing

Nature’s Law

She is the law that rules us all.

Engineer of all things green
claws, fur, and feather –
all the wildlife seen.

She is the sea
and undertow
tidal ebb… and flow
the movement of cloud
sand, earth, and sky
clapping thunder
falling rain…
and deserts dry.

She is purple of pansy
and velvet of violet
rose petals
soaked in crimson
the lullaby breeze
through forest trees
and birds…
swift of wing
that fly in between.

She is the predator and prey,
the air that fills our lungs,
soil that fills our grave.

She thrives, despite us all.

© Literary Remains