The wind is smart with seaweed, salt, and mold.
I push my slumping body through its pulls;
it flails my rubber coat with brackish gusts.
I trudge along the beaten crescent beach,
impounded by gray granite headland walls
and cymbal-smashing dies irae waves,
past stinking heaps of purple mussel bones.
The tangled seaweed sinews snare my shoes.
A memory
of watching Perseid from here with her
recedes,
a decrescendoing recessional.
A lighthouse wails a single French horn note.
Some ten tones up, a seabird imitates,
a matted gull on guano-crusted rock.
With depthless marble eyes he watches, blank,
not me, not sea, but nothing, everything,
and cracks the note apart atonally.
He’s not a raven, thrush, or nightingale;
his song is neither love, nor prophecy,
nor soulful fling, but empty piercing shrieks,
of endless, apathetic sea,
a cacophonous anti-melody.
There’s nothing here but mildewed requiem.
I turn back to the cliff-hid path for home.
——————-
Update: This poem has been published in the Winter 2011 issue of Cirque, a literary journal for the Pacific North Rim. You can view and/or purchase Cirque online at www.cirquejournal.com.
Somewhat stark, and yet beautiful. I love sea beach imagery and you’ve described it so well – I can almost smell the seaweed and hear the sounds. Rich and deep, thank you for the experience of your poem.
Thanks very much for reading my poem and for your kind compliment. You do me honor.
I just received the funniest comment on this post: “Hrm, Not the best post unfortunately. Sorry to be so blunt! You should try some Norwegian carrot cake ( gulrotkake i langpanne ) to cheer you up instead.” At first I thought, well, carrot cake probably would cheer me up, especially if it had a delicious buttercream frosting. But then I googled the post and found that this person (or bot?) has left this exact comment on a jillion internet sites. So, I’m sure my poem is still not the best post, unfortunately, but maybe the carrot cake advice was not as sincere as I thought.