Sea dreaming
When the sun beats down in Cambridge
I long to see the sea,
to taste the salt that's in the air,
to paddle leisurely.
To clamber over sun-baked rocks
to see what pools they hold
and all the creatures that hide there,
their stories still untold.
To hear the wavelets as they splash
against the waiting sand
and watch as they roll out again
with each well struck backhand.
As evening falls the sea air cools,
the tide returns to shore.
The gulls fly off to find their roosts
and for the sun's encore
she splatters darkness with her glows
of red and orange bright,
the sea reflects each gleaming hue
before the launch of night.
Refresh
Sticky sweat
swept clear by the silky coolness
of the calm sea.
Lost to the sea
Up on the yellow sun scorched cliffs
you can hear the chattering waves.
A seagull dips and swoops in time
and somewhere out at sea a ship
flashes into the empty sky
as clouds tear across the moon's face.
In darkness I can see your face
that last day as we walked the cliffs.
It was one of an azure blue sky,
the grass brushed by the breeze in waves.
I felt that we were a safe ship
cast upon its own silent time.
I had no thought of winter time
when I would miss your laughing face
and go to search for your tall ship,
a figure stark against the cliffs.
Praying for you amongst the waves
and breathing hopes towards the sky.
When-ere it answered me, the sky
expected some reward, some time
to guide you through the howling waves.
I did not know then that your face
could be mislaid below cold cliffs
as aching storms destroyed your ship.
So now when I see a small ship
battered hard in a harsh night sky,
I run to warn those on the cliffs
and wait with them in freezing time
as though together we may face
whatever comes from out the waves.
For those that ride upon the waves
to foreign lands in a good ship
know all too well what they could face
when thunder heralds in the sky.
Their souls may take to flight in time
as love is lost to rugged cliffs.
My waves of grief can bleach the sky,
your ship was lost in greedy time,
your loving face cast onto cliffs.
Glenis Moore is a relatively new writer working in the flat lands of the Fens near Cambridge, UK. When she is not writing she makes beaded jewelry, knits, reads and runs 10K races slowly. She has been previously published by Dust Poetry, The Galway Review, Infinity Wanderers and
Cosmic Daffodil.
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