The Endless Sea

Seeing my title for this post involves the sea I'm going to post these pictures I took while jogging down on Santa Monica beach recently. You feel like you're on the set of Baywatch running here... (note the little lifeguard huts)






I must say that I love these cool vignettes that these iPhone Camera Apps have on them. They open up new ways of being creative. Cool huh?

Actually, I've decided to add this photo of my younger brother Luke and I doing idiot Baywatch impressions next to a lifeguard tower on Santa Monica Beach in the middle of winter, Christmas '09.




So anyway, I've written a lot of different types of poetry and music on this blog but haven't written much of the following type of poetry, despite it being the style that opened this blog, and a style that I really enjoy writing. The poem I refer to that opened my blog and the one below share the "sea" theme also, which is interesting to me as I find myself using similar imagery for the same general purpose and meaning.

I could explain its meaning, but even for me the meaning has many facets, so I leave it to you to interpret however you may. I hope more than anything that it conjures images and feelings for you, regardless of how it sits with you intellectually.

I'm going to record myself reciting it as I sometimes do, as I like to show how I hear the poem's lope and meter.


The Endless Sea



The buckled oak yoke blows in the breeze

With an ease that makes the old crows quease

But it will suffer none except the solitary sun

And beat the necks of all non-red wrecking men 

Who dare to wear any other robe but the sacred scarlet garb and garland

To what end are we, what depths of sea

Will we, one day, eventually

Return or see as new, what will ensue

When all we know to now be true 

Flows into the endless sea of blue

You have an answer, so do you, but me?

I freeze at thoughts like these for we

Can only know what's true to now and so left are we to humbly bow

Before the power if that sea's heavy gown

And growl, not unlike a predators howl

So I'll not wonder how or where

Or at the heavens stare

For there are none that can be sure

Not even the sun that has seen the years if yore 

What the next perplexed jaeger's blank page has in store