ocean

Ocean-gazing

Blue expanding
crisp white
of tiny sails –
horizon

The lull is gentle
lucidity swelling
serenity present

How safe it is
to imagine limitlessness
when I am grounded
breast to railing
anchored ashore.

(Image my own)

What is this ocean,
this vastness?

Blue upon blue
tiny crisp white sails
the only demarcation
between sky and water

infinite flow
a lulling swell
and I as witness

Docked
waiting
wondering

What is this ocean
that calls to me?

(Image my own)

Water mimics sky,
withholds resplendence of blue,
dons a grey raincoat.

The ocean calls in so many indescribable ways: Elan Mudrow has captured its pull so wonderfully in this magnificent poem:

Creativity –
eight-legged predator –
invades the decks
of my listing mind,
reproducing rapidly.

Her generous,
bejewelled appendages
skittering beneath
my plastic-boned
Caucasian frailty.

I hesitate –
friend or foe?
Should I trample
crush this invasion,
or surrender…
risk madness?

We are ocean –
bound, shoreless
prefer interior spaces
wary of open vistas
equally vulnerable
collapsible

Skittish
evaders
intent on
escape
future
uncertain…

I flee
creativity’s
lair – enter
into darker
passages

Destiny –
creativity’s cousin –
awaits, tail raised
in venomous arc –
dances a warning
does not
strike

body
glowing
phosphorus
green,
melts into
swirling,
flourescent
particles of
Kundalini
rising.

(Image: fineartamerica.com)