At the Inlet
Riptides shift at the inlet
with a violent pull
back to the ocean.
Sun breaks the marine layer
to color the waves in places
of spectral entrance.
Grave-shaped winds bury
the shore with shore
to begin a new world.
A serpent completes the ring
holding me in change
I take from the watchful.
Crows darken the oak
like the hope of arising
from the masks we shadow.
John Swain lives in Louisville, Kentucky, USA. Red Paint Hill published his first collection, Ring the Sycamore Sky.
Wow,, I guess this poem compares to our inner selves, as an inlet. At least that is how I see your words. There are some deep revelations within us and you seem to capture them in your abstract. Wonderful poem, John. Welcome to Whispers and if you are already a contributor - it is good you are here! Sheri
ReplyDeleteThank you very much, Sheri!
DeleteA peaceful, easy feeling is what I get upon reading "At the Inlet." Thank you for sharing it, John and continued blessings!
ReplyDelete-MJ (www.tgbtgpublictions.com)
Thank you, Maurice. And blessings to you!
DeleteLoved the picture you painted with this well written poem. Thank you for sharing your poem.
ReplyDeleteCharlene
Thank you very much, Charlene.
DeleteI live at the edge of the sea in Alaska--there is nothing of greater beauty than the graceful magnificence of natural change--the light and water in constant flux are a perfect backdrop for every permutation of mood. Your words are delicious! Victoria
ReplyDeleteThank you for your message, Victoria. I would love to visit Alaska someday.
ReplyDelete