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The Sunday Poem: Earthquakes and Oceans

October 15th, 2006

The land is under the sky
And the ocean is under the sky
But the land is also under the ocean.
Beneath, the grumbling tectonic heave
Of molten earth, breaking angry creases
Open in what is really a very thin skin,
Reminds us of the narrow shell
Covering all great heats. It is like that,
When I see her, and I feel the cracks
Open, tremors crazing, until to say
Anything is a quiet earthquake in me.
I could break—
But the sky is over the land
And the sky is over the ocean,
The sky everlasting.
The ocean is dammed within,
Ready to flow and beat its waves
Against any shore accessible,
Full and patient,
Waiting.

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3 Responses to “The Sunday Poem: Earthquakes and Oceans”

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    1. Amaranthar said on

      Try as she might
      the ocean doth heave
      under sun’s full light
      or moonlights weave
      ‘gainst rocks solid might.

      Built from beneath
      under her waves domain
      up through her wreath
      flexed rock rose in pain
      to make mountain and heath.

      But she did protest
      at his willful intrusion
      for there was no jest
      in his rude extrusion
      she did detest.

      So beat she against his edge
      pushed through her soft wake
      for he would not hedge
      against protests’ sake
      rather be like a sledge

    2. Tiny Froglet said on

      (Written prior to my divorce in 1999)

      The mind is a shifting
      Planet, thin surface skin
      Supporting cities, crops,
      Wars and waters that
      Seem stable and eternal.
      Fault lines, known and
      Unknown, expand or
      Contract, leaking molten
      Unease and leaden
      Uncertainty as bubbles
      That snap and hiss,
      Background tinnitus.
      Occasional eruptions,
      Scalding, devouring all in
      Range, are merely blips
      On a soular sonar screen
      Tracking amplified
      Brainwaves, predicting
      Massive mental tectonic
      Movement, not far behind
      The superstructures of
      Routine and sub-routine,
      Rumbling into the unconscious
      And boiling into dreams
      Filled with lava and ash
      Covering colossal, skeletal ruins

    3. Amaranthar said on

      What was that about patterns, Raph?

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