Song of the Sea Bathed Siren
….aj ondas….
Love, along a mystical shoreline,
Where we throw away so easily these
(small) gifts-
sand. pebbles. deep, wondrous sea.
Where words become meaningless
despite my stretching, and
‘mystical’ and ‘love’ ever fast,
now approach the loss of
truth, as
symbols of my
heart (love.)
But breathless, now, my heart, my love,
let not these words fall in vain,
drop by drop against your hopes.
I beg of you, if you can hear me calling,
here on this distant shore,
close your eyes and feel the beating of my heart
pressed against yours.
I desire never your anguish,
Nor ever did I dare to cross the Sea of Faith
to prove I am but a cheat.
Hear me-
Where once a poet dreamed of sailors
taking first voyages to lands unknown,
dreams of beauty, riches, ritual attrition,
(Valhalla, I am coming)-
Now we have come, still wet
to a country neither you nor I have known.
I will not scuttle across the sand
which has worn away my shell.
I am here,
I am here,
and I lay in wait, soft upon the strand.
….aj ondas….
Each day, I linger in the rising of the sun,
watching infinite the waves
which called me to this foreign place.
Each day, I bathe in salted sea
and witness my legs, growing dark
beneath the punishing sun.
The walking. The crags. The inlet streams.
I am watching, I am waiting.
Penelope? I renounce that fate.
The churn of day by day by night by day-
The stories I have told
of star made heroes,
star made shadows round-
Where is faith now?
Where once, this poet dreamed of mermaids
echoing in sleep,
I have heard the mournful cry in truth, and
it was mine.
In the reflection of this molten tide,
she, the mermaid?
She was
me.
From my better makers,
I steal sounds which pierce my heart
that I might take from it
its healing juice
and revive your withered mind.
I will give you this heart, ‘though it has broken open.
But were you here-
your ear close to my lips-
your heat enclosing my sunbaked body warm,
your fingers untangling my white washed hair,
I would not cry.
I would tell you, instead,
my stories from the sky,
and sing you melodies
from sirens I have heard within
the echo of the tide.
I shall wait. I…
And see here, how fine my cerulean gem
which I have plucked from oceanic sparkle!
I wear upon my finger, here,
and there, upon my cheek,
at times, around my neck,
and in sorrow at my feet.
In hope I touch my lips to it
and cast it out
to fairer days,
that it might bring tales
of the sea of faith,
and the sailors calling,
alee, alee.
Love, along a mystical shoreline,
Where we throw away so easily these
(small) gifts-
sand. pebbles. deep, wondrous sea.
Where words become meaningless
despite my stretching, and
‘mystical’ and ‘love’ ever fast,
now approach the loss of
truth, as
symbols of my
heart (love.)
But breathless, now, my heart, my love,
let not these words fall in vain,
drop by drop against your hopes.
I beg of you, if you can hear me calling,
here on this distant shore,
close your eyes and feel the beating of my heart
pressed against yours.
I desire never your anguish,
Nor ever did I dare to cross the Sea of Faith
to prove I am but a cheat.
Hear me-
Where once a poet dreamed of sailors
taking first voyages to lands unknown,
dreams of beauty, riches, ritual attrition,
(Valhalla, I am coming)-
Now we have come, still wet
to a country neither you nor I have known.
I will not scuttle across the sand
which has worn away my shell.
I am here,
I am here,
and I lay in wait, soft upon the strand.
….aj ondas….
Each day, I linger in the rising of the sun,
watching infinite the waves
which called me to this foreign place.
Each day, I bathe in salted sea
and witness my legs, growing dark
beneath the punishing sun.
The walking. The crags. The inlet streams.
I am watching, I am waiting.
Penelope? I renounce that fate.
The churn of day by day by night by day-
The stories I have told
of star made heroes,
star made shadows round-
Where is faith now?
Where once, this poet dreamed of mermaids
echoing in sleep,
I have heard the mournful cry in truth, and
it was mine.
In the reflection of this molten tide,
she, the mermaid?
She was
me.
From my better makers,
I steal sounds which pierce my heart
that I might take from it
its healing juice
and revive your withered mind.
I will give you this heart, ‘though it has broken open.
But were you here-
your ear close to my lips-
your heat enclosing my sunbaked body warm,
your fingers untangling my white washed hair,
I would not cry.
I would tell you, instead,
my stories from the sky,
and sing you melodies
from sirens I have heard within
the echo of the tide.
I shall wait. I…
And see here, how fine my cerulean gem
which I have plucked from oceanic sparkle!
I wear upon my finger, here,
and there, upon my cheek,
at times, around my neck,
and in sorrow at my feet.
In hope I touch my lips to it
and cast it out
to fairer days,
that it might bring tales
of the sea of faith,
and the sailors calling,
alee, alee.
