Sea of Love
White whispers shush the sheltered shore, as soon the cockcrows wake,
and seas defy the skittish sky, sense summer zephyrs quake -
the passions of the sunrise pulse, the whitecaps throb and ache.
Along the crags crawl shallow shades the shrouded sun effaces,
while rain in streams belies the dreams that fantasy embraces -
the ocean sprays of yesterdays reveal forgotten faces.
The midday sun has slowed its run, a shrinking puddle steams,
amongst the knells of shattered shells a wounded seagull screams -
affection blends and never ends, or so it sometimes seems.
At dusk a ruddy fringe descends, the skyline's furnace burns
and neath the swells where Neptune dwells, an undercurrent churns.
As seven stranded seamen seek the dimple-dappled moon
eleven sultry sirens serenade a lonely loon -
the breakers pound and sometimes sound a melancholy tune.
While twilight hosts monsoons with ghosts of barbed electric spangles,
a mermaid braves the crashing waves adorned in starfish bangles -
the spirit yearns in twists and turns entwined in rockweed tangles.
The storms ignite the briny night and rip the skies askew
with zigzag teeth flashed deep beneath a blazing bolt tattoo -
the flood abides the ebbing tides when all begins anew.
Terry O’Leary defines himself as "A physicist lacking gravity..."