Turning the Sea

If only I had a plow

With which to turn the sea

As once they cut sod on the prairie

I’d cultivate from the deep

Words I do not know 

 

I reach my hand

Into the surf thinking there

In foam a way of describing mercy

The sea merely swallows me

Returns my hand empty

 

I sit out on a rock

With mussels & barnacles

Under the wild spray of the waves

Seeking a way to say grace

My tongue a stone

 

A child of babel

I’d study the art of silence

In doldrums where currents sleep

If such a curriculum would

Help define love

 

Along the beach

I stumble among the shells

Left by those who once lived here

Who spoke the sea’s patois

The words beneath

 

Again I return as once I departed

An empty hand in search of a plow

With which to turn the sea as once

On the prairie they turned the sod

Advertisements

About Peter Notehelfer

I'm a retired people person who now finds the time to watch the little details of the world without worrying about being watched by anyone . . . I live on an Island north of Seattle with my wife named Ellen, a yellow dog named McGee, a yellow cat named Gatzby, and four fine chickens . . . I read fiction, bake bread, smoke salmon, and fish whenever the weather allows . . . Oh, and yes, I try to write a poem every day simply to avoid senility!
This entry was posted in poetry and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

6 Responses to Turning the Sea

  1. your words have such a soothing effect

    Like

  2. den169 says:

    Very powerful.

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s