Literary Yard

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‘Seascape I’ and other poems

By: J.K. Durick

Seascape I

In the face of this I should feel
intimidated, feel isolated, or
at least out of place watching
these waves toss and tumble,
pull and pitch. Now I find that
I don’t know the language of
waves. There must be proper
names for each phase of a wave,
the pulling up, the filling out,
then the thrust and the splash
and spray, each step properly
named, labeled. With these
words I could begin to control
the moment, feel almost at
home in all this, this wild scene
a place fit for legends and heroic
feats, but without the words
I end up feeling all alone, like
A castaway left to quietly fend
for himself.


Seascape II

The ocean owns the afternoon –
Plays the sun, masters the clouds,
Makes whispers of the waves. It
Smiles and makes peace with us.
This is the stuff of symphonies, of
Nineteenth century paintings, of
Memories, soft memories that we
Mistake for the nature of oceans.
The afternoon owns the ocean –
Plays tricks with the sun, the clouds,
Tricks we easily fall for. They own us,
Play and master us, make us feel
At home in all this.



Getting there, getting anywhere
Has a good feel to it.
We tie up to a pier and gangway
To the shore
In a port of any sort.
Or we fasten our seatbelts again
And prepare for the thump of being
Where we set out to be.
Or we’re pulling up front
Paying the cab fare
Getting out, tending to our suitcases
Then going into the place
Where we set out to be.
It’s there –
All and any final destination
Has the feel of home
We all can recognize.

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