Hail to the sea


The vivid green paws


Of the sea


Played with the rock cliffs, batted


Them like torn twigs,


Buffeted in the barking 


Winds of the gale,


Swatting the pale, 


Cardboard king,


On the hill, unseating him,


Pretender to his mournful, desolate throne


Of death,


Built of a splintered tree


On desecrated lands,


Sending him tumbling down


In his tinseled crown,


Only to take up his beguiling tune again


On his fife 


And his drum.




The wail


Of the waves


Overwhelms all


The spires of existence




They slip




In dim


Strands through darkness


Into the abyss.


Almost gone the waffling


Tip-toed, tall,






Of the feeble minions


In white wigs


That used to trip


Along after the weak and wobbling


Pied piper who, it was said, chains and enslaves 


All life,


Yet who one day saw


Even his fife


And his drum






Into the green dance.


Now he too is gone into the wild, primeval,


Laughing hiss


Of the waves of the sea,


No more to be.


Gone by the power of the paws


Of the sea,


The clamping jaws,


The widening maw of the watery, untamed beast 


Of the sea,


Of the earth,


Who rides forth


On the mist of the east,


From unmapped horizons.


Now she is running


Ever so swiftly


On her bright green paws


To take back the night of innocence,


Of steep stillness


And stars unknown,


Born of ancient, bright-winged stone.


©Sharon St Joan, 2019


Photo credit: Photo of public domain work of art / The Great Wave off Kanagawa / Katsushika Hokusai / Wikipedia

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