Friday, August 22, 2008

Poetry Friday


At The Beach

No doubt there's a term for it,
for when the crest of a wave
breaks from its own momentum --

when the tips,
once curved toward the inevitable shore,
shoot sideways in a traveling spray.

Such a spectacle. Sudden and showy.
The lit end of a fuse line
sparkling splendidly
and horrifically
toward explosion.

But I do not have the word for it.
Do not know the terminology
of roiling waters.

Today, all I know,
is that on shore
where the waves bathe the sand
and the sun dries the sand
and the waves bathe the sand
and the sun dries the sand

is a place where anyone,
anyone at all,
can sit for a spell
and watch the wild water
carry on.

2 comments:

Kelly Fineman said...

Lovely. Although I think you do have the language of roiling waters.

Jim D said...

I really have an urge to go to the beach....great job!

Jim D