The Sunday Poem: Earthquakes and Oceans

 Posted by (Visited 5937 times)  The Sunday Poem
Oct 152006
 

The land is under the sky
And the ocean is under the sky
But the land is also under the ocean.
Beneath, the grumbling tectonic heave
Of molten earth, breaking angry creases
Open in what is really a very thin skin,
Reminds us of the narrow shell
Covering all great heats. It is like that,
When I see her, and I feel the cracks
Open, tremors crazing, until to say
Anything is a quiet earthquake in me.
I could break—
But the sky is over the land
And the sky is over the ocean,
The sky everlasting.
The ocean is dammed within,
Ready to flow and beat its waves
Against any shore accessible,
Full and patient,
Waiting.

  3 Responses to “The Sunday Poem: Earthquakes and Oceans”

  1. Amaranthar says:
    October 15, 2006 at 11:08 am

    Try as she might
    the ocean doth heave
    under sun’s full light
    or moonlights weave
    ‘gainst rocks solid might.

    Built from beneath
    under her waves domain
    up through her wreath
    flexed rock rose in pain
    to make mountain and heath.

    But she did protest
    at his willful intrusion
    for there was no jest
    in his rude extrusion
    she did detest.

    So beat she against his edge
    pushed through her soft wake
    for he would not hedge
    against protests’ sake
    rather be like a sledge

  2. Tiny Froglet says:
    October 15, 2006 at 11:27 am

    (Written prior to my divorce in 1999)

    The mind is a shifting
    Planet, thin surface skin
    Supporting cities, crops,
    Wars and waters that
    Seem stable and eternal.
    Fault lines, known and
    Unknown, expand or
    Contract, leaking molten
    Unease and leaden
    Uncertainty as bubbles
    That snap and hiss,
    Background tinnitus.
    Occasional eruptions,
    Scalding, devouring all in
    Range, are merely blips
    On a soular sonar screen
    Tracking amplified
    Brainwaves, predicting
    Massive mental tectonic
    Movement, not far behind
    The superstructures of
    Routine and sub-routine,
    Rumbling into the unconscious
    And boiling into dreams
    Filled with lava and ash
    Covering colossal, skeletal ruins

  3. Amaranthar says:
    October 15, 2006 at 11:49 am

    What was that about patterns, Raph?

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