If I timed my throws just right
I would hear the shush and gurgle of the sea as it lapped over my feet
followed by the ploop, doomp and putush of my pebbles.



And then I looked at the palette of blues before me
and I tried to name them all.
The sea laughed at my folly and splashed at my page
creating a water colour of its own.

copyright, 2007. Verilion

Labels: meditations by the sea, poem

Let us worship at the altar of the sea.
the sound of the waves rolling in
sssh
the wind whispering in my ears,
broar,
the sun beating down on my bones.
The sun setting behind the sea’s edges,
when the vermilions merge
and there’s no telling where the sky ends
and the sea begins.
The evenings spent in Mazatlan,
my head resting on my hands
hoping to see that elusive
green flash.
The moon rippling on the waves,
pulling them here and there
and me sitting hugging my knees
captivated by the splendour of it.
The sound of stones
plopping into the water.
The feel of salty spray
washing my face
as my fingers dangle in the wake.
My feet plunged in the water
being tugged by the current.
Come in, come further, let me cleanse you.

Copyright, 2007. Verilion

Labels: meditations by the sea, poem