POEM TITLE tides
POEM
The wind moves clouds like a glass
blower, rain the fingers of ghosts
seeking the residue from whisky
coloured dreams. Rain lands on a
beach, grains of sands memories from
past lives, tide washes into a shell,
spirits long to tell the people about
their tales of Blackness on sea, an empty bottle
in the waters the echoing vowel of the
sound of this village, the sea is time's fire
camouflaged. Can a village exhale as
the night rows away collecting lost
tears of those long gone in a bottle,
tears on a candle wait for a flame.
pen of Blackness on sea is synchronised with
ships sailing into the night
The wind and stories are strong enough
to carry the Blackness stone through dreams, clouds, across the
wings of birds as grey seals preview stars through the sea's
glass eye. Inverted dreams of sleepers play
out through the evening,
how far into dreams do sleepers have to go to revive this harbour,
characters of old have a final dram before catching arrows
in empty bottles, whispering final words into glass, throwing the
bottles into the sea with the passing shadows of birds.
Whispering lobsters are heard
About being separated from their King, the water.
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