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 May 2017
Fay Slimm
The breast of the sea swells tonight
as her efforts to rise, heightened
by great heaving breaths break her skin
and inflated balloons, topped thinly
with spume burst, the sea is in labour.


She roars, tries suppressed pitch to gain
the shore, finds her efforts checked
then sweeps out once more tumbling
somersaults over herself, grumbling
with loud submarine thunderly sounds
as irate she sends pebble-bed pounding.


Bloated, yet moving in no way slower
her bellows ignored foamy tears flow
down watery frills and rollers make
short work of staining her saline face.


Sea-Swell intends to bare all tonight
in majestic embrace with a Spring-tide
 May 2017
David Lewis Paget
While wandering on a local beach
Half buried in **** and sand,
The sparkle of something caught my eye
The shape of an old tin can.
I kicked it loose from entangling ****
And saw there was something within,
A colourful creature there indeed,
An octopus in a tin.

I thought it cute so I took it home
To put in the garden pond,
Then added salt for a briny mix
So it wouldn’t think to abscond.
It swam on out of the tin to feed
And seized on a goldfish there,
I said to Diane, ‘He has a need,’
While she just tore at her hair.

‘What were you thinking?’ Diane said,
‘It’ll eat all the fish we’ve got,’
‘They’re only a couple of bucks,’ I said,
‘I’ll get some more at the shop.’
He settled right in, our strangest pet,
And cost us to feed the least,
I said that I’d name the tinker, ‘Jet’,
Diane just called him ‘The Beast’.

He started to grow, outgrew his can,
So settled down in the depths,
He couldn’t be seen for thick pondweed,
Diane said,’It’s for the best.’
The dog would bark when The Beast came up,
Would stand there, wagging his tail.
We loved that dog, though barely a pup,
Then Diane began to wail.

‘It’s eaten the effing dog,’ she said,
Her language was more than coarse,
And Rin-Tin-Tin in the pond was skin,
She said, ‘Keep it away from my horse!’
I poked around in the pool for him
Just trying to make him rise,
He bit the end of my pole clean off,
He must have grown to a size.

She said I had to stop feeding him
But that only made it worse,
He looked for food, and he got the cat
As it chased a couple of birds.
Diane was walking down by the pond
When I suddenly heard her scream,
A tentacle wrapped around her leg
It looked like a nightmare scene.

I tried my best to peel it away
The octopus was too strong,
Diane went struggling over the edge
And fell right into the pond,
It took her down to the lower depths
And ate her, clean to the bone,
I tell this tale, so you won’t forget,
Don’t take an octopus home.

David Lewis Paget
 May 2017
Harley Hucof
In those hopeless nights i am sick of doubt
Confused child, will i go north? Will i go south?

Who has summoned the servants of the night?
They stir and wait, dead stones, ghosts in the light

Death comes uninvited, though god is lost
Smile child your sins will be washed

I believe i can reach your mind deep
The magic and the colors, the lust and the dreams

I want something, someone new
Someone to be there when the night is through

Discoverers and searchers stop wasting time
Redemption is a lie

Hidden connections and a forbidden trance
I summon you to pray and dance

Because all your sins are gone
Unless you waste the dawn


Words Of Harfouchism
I hope it will make sense for some..



South = heaven      north = hell
 Apr 2017
Sobriquet
So many lines and laments
scribed in ink and feeling,
for the girl who is the ocean

but she is a swell and surge
too dauntless and wild,
for a lover whose bones crave the shore.

She craves the squalls and gusts,
and cast iron skies,
a worldly drift to sate the salt in her skin,
the deep pull of currents in her blood.

She is chaotic but not reckless,
she is fickle, but not feckless.
Love her boldly or not at all
her bones belong to the sea
but she will always return to the shore.
Wow thankyou for the kind words everyone. Feels really good to know people enjoy my words, and my first Sun too!
 Apr 2017
vivian cloudy
In the water
in the ocean
and in the sea
the litter that
subsists
eventually
knits together
far
in the corner
away
from the body
And while it surfaces
within the water
in the ocean
and in the sea
Litter never
rides with waves
for in our
rightful states
we ever
bind
 Apr 2017
ryn
.

•see-
min-
gly tied, moored to this bed•
rust
enc-
rust-
ed, e-
mpty
,beat-
en an-
•                       d un-                       •
•••                       man-                       •••
•••••                    ned•                    •••••
a wreck long forgotten... and ghostly
dead• anchored but afloat,
never touching the
sand




.
 Apr 2017
Jonathan Witte
My younger brother still fishes
when he can, when the weather
is agreeable, when he can afford
some tackle and beer for the cooler.

He sits alone on the river bank
and smokes and drinks and waits
in the shifting shade of cottonwoods
for the unmistakable pull on the line.

He fishes whether
the fish are biting
or not. He is intimate with
psychology and the placid
deceit of undisturbed water.

My brother is an angry man.

As kids, we fished
together on the dock
and killed them
with our hands.

Careful not to kneel
on scattered hooks,
we baited the lines
on our knees a foot
above brackish water.

We dropped fish heads
off the edge of the dock
and watched them float
down, almost out of sight,
settling into final stillness
only to snap back to life
(or the false throes of death)
by the white claws of *****
picking them into oblivion—
goodbye eyes,
goodbye gills,
goodbye teeth,
goodbye scales.

Brother, I don’t remember anymore:
was it triumph or merely shame
that left us shivering in the sun?
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