"Autobiographies of great nations are written in three manuscripts – a book of deeds, a book of words, and a book of art. Of the three, I would choose the latter as truest testimony." - Sir Kenneth Smith, Great Civilisations

"I must write each day without fail, not so much for the success of the work, as in order not to get out of my routine." - Leo Tolstoy

I have never believed that one should wait until one is inspired because I think the pleasures of not writing are so great that if you ever start indulging them you will never write again. - John Updike

"The life of every man is a diary in which he means to write one story, and writes another; and his humblest hour is when he compares the volume as it is with what he vowed to make it." - J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

Poetry is the shadow cast by our streetlight imaginations." - Lawrence Ferlinghetti


[Note - If any article requires updating or correction please notate this in the comment section. Thank you. - res]


Monday, October 22, 2012

R.E. Slater - Sea Change (a poem)




Sea Change
by R.E. Slater


It was there. Seen almost immediately in the
greying disappointment pooling in her eyes -
shading a sullen face wrenched in faraway muse.
Seen in the profound sadness wasting away,
leaving me feeling lost and alone. Refusing
chaste solace when dully looking away, guardedly
watching the cold, heavy tides break - entwining
castaway lovers until dawn’s early lights.

A familiar feeling sounding lost souls, plunged
love’s deepest fathoms cast its hastening bights.
Constant as the endless tide’s fey running seas -
ebbing and flowing enchanted shoreline lees.
Adrift true loves that never truly abides -
eternally searching forlorn worlds fled a’flight.
Pierced Venus’ oft scouring shoals, chastened
bright coral’d reefs of valiant dreams dispelled.

Drowned in dark melancholy’s deepest waters -
(whose old despairs I fought vainly to avoid).
Overwhelmed in the lostness of my kindred soul
alive the brimming haunts of betrayal’s sad eyes.
Bravely resisting time’s cruel, crooked hand -
numbed a greying sea’s massing rolling pitch.
Casting long and low against its swelling pride -
washing in-and-out, tide-upon-tide, too gladly
exhausted upon a sandy surf’s glistening foams.

Abroad, it was, that I found myself discovered
(almost immediately as I discovering looked).
Transfixed a nethering shoal’s nearest redoubts,
cradling fey promising songs of virginal rebirth.
Like quicksilver’d flashes lit a ruddy dawn’s rays,
whispering demurely ’neath morning’s low hums.
Flashing on lifted waves thrusting ashore, met
a lifting fog’s muted, misty skirt, casting astern.

A’ sudden plunged love o’er the face of the deep,
slipping, sliding, unbroken its vast running tides.
Cast a turbulent ocean’s moaning deep loss -
awash blissful songs sung amid carefree daze.
Making me know no other place so safe -
cradled within my castaway lover’s moiling gaze.
Bearing me up even as I was birthed, across
undying storms bursting Atlantic’s grey bows.

Once a’ locked hoary time’s toiling, carnal seaways -
(bestirr’d sirens’ healing songs of blackest depths).
Offering wanton treasures flung flotsam’d regrets
lest thrust upon carrying seas I wouldst forever sail.
Where no wind nor trouble could rightly prevail -
so deep, and great, this thrice-bound love brought.
Newborn into the shadows of my riparian haunts -
bending southwards bound upon steady rhythm
safely haven’d within heaven’s flaming descents.


- R.E. Slater
Oct 22, 2012
rev. Oct 25, Nov 5-6, 19, 2012; Jan 8, 2013

@copyright R.E. Slater Publications
all rights reserved



No comments:

Post a Comment