Late August - poem

As nights cool darkness finds you,
and mysteries of mortality creep in,
surround you,
that beseeching hollow refrain about your paltry worthiness,
resonates as an awful tightening
rendering you stunned and stricken.
What wonders are there still to be played out?
If any.

Troubling accounts of destiny,
wrestle in your chest,
welt the heart like a whip,
while morbid fingers pull on your dreams at night,
shifting shadows haunt your deeds done.
Sleep anyway, night brings the cool,
the paradox,
and the rest.

Kingdom of Sea

The Kingdom of Sea Shore swells compelled by the moon, driven by massive currents crest, curl and thunder down, a process of eons, carving the rock into sand, making a shelf in the rugged continent. Light strewn coral beds form, a divine circus of lively function, where colours have fins, where eels sway their grotesque heads, jellies drift in, mollusks sieve the waves, and big lipped groupers idly fan the water, while ocean turtles stop in for rest pausing over orange stars, purple urchins and frenetic crabs. Further out in that cobalt blue, bullet nosed swift hunters abound, slicing through the water, screaming towards prey. They shatter schools in frenzy, eat and gorge, the bloodied column now littered with flesh. Those bits sift down and settle in the abyss, where meters long ribbon fish, anglers and bizarre bioluminescent fish reside in blackness, where molten vents host strange worms in the starless midnight of the fathomless deep. Way above, world traveling cetaceans fly though in brighter light. They glide as whales, whacking the surface when discovering krill, family types and the dolphins too, sonar squeaks and chatter keep members by, they breech and plunge, pirouette and dance in the volumes, in the ancient sea, the spawner of life our salt tears a vestige of then, a link to the water planet.