He Lays in the Ocean

He lays in the ocean,

cruciform, eyes lacerated by salt

awaiting divine tides to guide Him

one way or another.

Beneath the waters, clear and glittering,

He discerns the Sun's shimmering corona

glinting back in the sands.

He rules to retrieve it, and diving under,

parts the water with His hands,

hinged with heavy chest.

Grasping that miraged halo

provided His rough hands

with nothing but coarse sand

and no safety of shore nor surface.

Freira

Fervent fevered frowns

on a mossy fingered bridge.

Folded foliage sways

in faint but fickle leaning,

frightening the freira

whose lightly seasoned feathers

brush against the ridge.

A most maternal dismay;

the ballet of flidge.

Tip

I keep my desperate delights locked away

in an airtight sealed bag

until long nights of longing,

hedonistic heart and aching feet,

disparate dissonance in decrescendo

and rapid crescendo returning.

I am saved for another day

as my suspect aspects widen

and I am short of breadth.

Ebb and Flow

White foaming waves,

roll pebbles cruncing

hard into smooth,

overhead swoop shadows

falling and rising

in circular motions.

Motions circular in

falling and rising,

shadows swoop overhead,

smooth into hard,

crunching pebbles roll,

waves foaming white.

Bled Colours

Primary manifestations

of secondary thoughts,

my colours all bleed into one.

Letting the sun's heat saturate

the pondering of pores

and the contrast of thought is gone.

Such is the richness of colour

I have no want to mix

but to bask in vividity.

Yet a citrus drop on my tongue

in nectar hydration

heightens my stroke's lucidity.

So I let the tool fall freely

as the waves roll in eights

and the skimmed stone ripples sixes

but then a cloud conceals the rest

and the tide's creeping in

until all my colour mixes.