A shift and stir, from side to side,
And rolling underneath,
Her sweet embrace is gentle tide
Her whispers, just beneath.

Washed upon the solid ground,
I feel a calming breeze,
Despite the earth to which I’m bound,
She puts my mind to ease.

Thrown from ship, I’ve seen the sea,
And she has seen no less of me.

The dark grey skies refused to rest,
The sea would not abate,
Frothy caps creeped up on crest,
I bowed my head, accepting fate.

On she came, oh once again,
Snapping beams asunder,
Thrown was I, to ocean den,
Blue mountains forcing under.

Use the eyes to look outside, view the curse,
Avoid hostile, selfish, and the perverse,
For they are out to kill the ones who stand,
Tall above the rest, heads above the sand.

Within the mind your hidden conscience dwells,
Seek it, lift it, delivered from the hells.

I find myself quite happy here,
A here so far from there,
But when old ghosts begin to near,
I find myself quite short of air.

Friends of old are foes reborn,
And so they have their place,
Ever hidden, scorn and thorn,
And yet they seem to know my face.

Their mournful moans, heart-wrenching,
Play softly in the azure,
Upon their thrones, most quenching,
Singing psalms of adjure.

Their place beneath the crest is holy,
A place devoid of men, so lowly.

An orange glow pervaded space,
Brought forth a humming muse,
I peeked into the outside world,
Guiding eyes by brilliant hues.

As she rose into the sky,
And greens returned to green,
She eased my mind into a lull,
And lifted orange sheen.

Pallid blue became azure,
Dull grey shimmered white,
The muddy palette vivified,
Bathing life in golden light.

Aching hands push spinning blades,
That kick up dirt beneath the shade,
Reduce the world to itching mist,
I wipe my brow and breathe, sun-kissed.

Word after word appears only a tease,
Defiling meanings, shown only to please,
Not written with love, they pour down the page,
Stifle the poet and drip with disease.

Letters, oh letters, from such an old age,
Gracing the poet, transform him to sage,
Yet meaning so less when they lack proper feel,
They condemn his actions, becoming his cage.

This poet has learned not to write, but to kneel,
Received in the bosom of only things real.

Though loves break and away sway,
Past the block blockade, a bypath,
Let indecision end today.

Begin anew, new life assay,
Forget the old dark darkroom wrath,
For day daylight, there’s no delay.

Forget dead deadwood in the way,
Block out outright the barb and gath,
Let indecision end today.

Feel not now as praying prey,
Stand strong and tall, forestall warpath
For day daylight, there’s no delay.

Clear clearcut of grey decay,
The soil assoils for lattermath,
Let indecision end today,
For day daylight, there’s no delay.

Dressed for war, yet fragile still,
She preys upon the weak of will,
Condemning actions others take,
Begets confusion in her wake.

At end of day, when light grows dim,
And cooler winds abate hot skin,
Her inner fire, quenched by ire,
Sheathed and shelved appears less dire.

Salty tears of deep remorse,
Cascade her face and run their course,
Controlled by demons deep within,
Furious storm births quiet din.

Strong-hearted souls, they love her so,
Unhurt by vicious seeds she sow,
They cherish her, for life is short,
Quarrels are of no import.