Brimketill, Reykjanes

Why do they let it go, the sea
Back to its roil and tumble
The clefts, the nooks, the craggy 
Holes can’t seem to hold on to
The rushing blue and white the
Blackness of the rocks darker
As they let it slip through
Their fingers, tears down the faces
Of cliffs. Why do they not keep
The frantic waters sheltered in
Steep hollows, shallows with no
Traces of the deep, silent
Holding its grief in sleep. Why would
The ocean crash into stony
Arms if its heart was not bent
On seeking its keep.

Advertisements

Rocks Seen From the Edges of Cliffs

Image may contain: ocean, cloud, sky, outdoor, nature and water

Last night I dreamt my body was in revolt again
That I had never learnt to be afraid of spiders
And they were attacking me again. That the fear
Of hissing noises and hanging from cliffs
Had never rewired my brain and now I was
Falling, reaching for slithering vines with
Venom in their teeth. And I think how billions
Of deaths have not taught us what to do
With grief. So many, I had not thought death
Had not taught us so many truths and ways to
Go on living. No phobias, no thicker skins,
No recoil from the hiss and bite of grief. How has
Evolution passed us by, I think. Maybe, as usual,
I have the wrong end of this writhing mess. Maybe
It is grief that keeps us human in the face
Of so much ugliness.

The sea, like grey silk

Image may contain: cloud, sky, mountain, ocean, outdoor and nature

The sea like grey silk
Clothes its depths in
Shimmering sadness. And
Grief is not a cliff that
Demands that you leap, but
Every shipwreck knows that
There is a limit to
How long it can keep its
Secrets in the deep before
The sea strips all veneer, and
They rise, cliff like, to crash
On unclothed shores.