Threaded Bubbles On An Ocean Floor
Threaded Bubbles on an Ocean Floor
For Ge
(a series of poems on the sea)
Ocean Floor
There is nothing to see, even if you wanted to,
nothing but darkness,
darkness with its cold chill
suffocating,
the heavy weight of water
descending relentlessly,
infusing bubbles of gas through thick diver suits,
mini gas chambers
which turn you green purple black
until you become one with the darkness.
The ocean is not blue or green,
not when you get down to the bottom.
It isn't shadowy - shadows need light for shape.
It is black - sweet sticky choking tar,
viscous bubbles oozing,
slicing sweetly through layers of throat
til the warm blood marries the darkness
in a bloodied sacrifice.
There is a price to pay for love
but everything is so sweet and familiar
the blood your own
you're choked in yourself and never knew
you needed air.
Icarus
The most useful toys lead to
death without you
knowing until it is
too late and your eyes
gape open at the hungry waves,
those mouths lapping your burn wounds.
Why did you trust in luxury -
the down your father gave you,
the smile the sun bestowed on you,
invisible teeth
melting the consciences of your servants
who, in turn, bound you lovingly
to your watery mummification?
The world owes you not a living
(nor a life)
and even as you splutter your last breath
('Why me?')
the cruise liner glides past you,
oblivious.
Dolphins, Starfish and Rainbow Clownfish
These creatures move -
The sleek grey sparkling in the sun
as the water laps cheerfully
with orchestral snout songs.
The life here breathes a miracle,
waves breaking on one strong
back after another
bursting through its frothy chains
to claim its piece of
freedom on a half moon.
Such are natural stars,
no need for artificial
spotlights, heavy costumes and
caked faces with mascara.
It is an angel's laughter we hear,
an unselfish community
enjoying themselves
and their world.
Mermaid
She is the exotic beauty of the sea,
fair and pretty
like the rainbow shell she holds
to capture the song of the wind,
Her long tresses gilded
with sundrops and stardances,
her lips
perfect in a plum's heart,
widening into a shy smile.
When you are by the waves
she perches near you,
innocently tropical,
blue-green paua scales
shimmering of cold glass.
You smile and let her go
because you cannot have her
but she remains
an elusive dream.
Island Singer
My song rides the sun up the horizon
and then back down again,
tracing the rise and fall
of tides and seasons,
death and life passing as
waking visions which melt into nightdreams.
I sing of heavens opening with
light freely given,
cold rain in its comfort
fire and ice where they're needed,
all taken for granted.
I sing the song of flowers,
trees and animals that speak
in silent whispers that
need one to listen to hear.
I sing of smooth and rough pathways,
through hills and valleys past
deserts and rivers that
wind from start to finish
even though those at the start and middle
cannot see the end until they reach it.
I sing of loves renewed,
loves grown old with bitterness and
painful forgetfulness and forced nonchalance,
loves in their passing shapes
unseen
yet by wishers, hopers, dreamers
until the time is ripe.
I sing of hearts broken,
sewn badly with threads that
weakly pull for survival
only to break because they
wanted their own way in their own time
(no one knows love and pain
although everyone thinks he does -
if you did you wouldn't fret so).
Finally I sing
of homes of family transient
(homes started, homes ended,
generations rising, generations falling),
humanity disappearing to the
invisible up or down.
I sing of paradise on earth and
paradise in heaven knowing that
paradise on earth is nothing like
paradise in heaven.
I sing of life at its lowest,
most awful state and yet I sing
because I am an island singer
and I live to sing.
(c) Esther
For Ge
(a series of poems on the sea)
Ocean Floor
There is nothing to see, even if you wanted to,
nothing but darkness,
darkness with its cold chill
suffocating,
the heavy weight of water
descending relentlessly,
infusing bubbles of gas through thick diver suits,
mini gas chambers
which turn you green purple black
until you become one with the darkness.
The ocean is not blue or green,
not when you get down to the bottom.
It isn't shadowy - shadows need light for shape.
It is black - sweet sticky choking tar,
viscous bubbles oozing,
slicing sweetly through layers of throat
til the warm blood marries the darkness
in a bloodied sacrifice.
There is a price to pay for love
but everything is so sweet and familiar
the blood your own
you're choked in yourself and never knew
you needed air.
Icarus
The most useful toys lead to
death without you
knowing until it is
too late and your eyes
gape open at the hungry waves,
those mouths lapping your burn wounds.
Why did you trust in luxury -
the down your father gave you,
the smile the sun bestowed on you,
invisible teeth
melting the consciences of your servants
who, in turn, bound you lovingly
to your watery mummification?
The world owes you not a living
(nor a life)
and even as you splutter your last breath
('Why me?')
the cruise liner glides past you,
oblivious.
Dolphins, Starfish and Rainbow Clownfish
These creatures move -
The sleek grey sparkling in the sun
as the water laps cheerfully
with orchestral snout songs.
The life here breathes a miracle,
waves breaking on one strong
back after another
bursting through its frothy chains
to claim its piece of
freedom on a half moon.
Such are natural stars,
no need for artificial
spotlights, heavy costumes and
caked faces with mascara.
It is an angel's laughter we hear,
an unselfish community
enjoying themselves
and their world.
Mermaid
She is the exotic beauty of the sea,
fair and pretty
like the rainbow shell she holds
to capture the song of the wind,
Her long tresses gilded
with sundrops and stardances,
her lips
perfect in a plum's heart,
widening into a shy smile.
When you are by the waves
she perches near you,
innocently tropical,
blue-green paua scales
shimmering of cold glass.
You smile and let her go
because you cannot have her
but she remains
an elusive dream.
Island Singer
My song rides the sun up the horizon
and then back down again,
tracing the rise and fall
of tides and seasons,
death and life passing as
waking visions which melt into nightdreams.
I sing of heavens opening with
light freely given,
cold rain in its comfort
fire and ice where they're needed,
all taken for granted.
I sing the song of flowers,
trees and animals that speak
in silent whispers that
need one to listen to hear.
I sing of smooth and rough pathways,
through hills and valleys past
deserts and rivers that
wind from start to finish
even though those at the start and middle
cannot see the end until they reach it.
I sing of loves renewed,
loves grown old with bitterness and
painful forgetfulness and forced nonchalance,
loves in their passing shapes
unseen
yet by wishers, hopers, dreamers
until the time is ripe.
I sing of hearts broken,
sewn badly with threads that
weakly pull for survival
only to break because they
wanted their own way in their own time
(no one knows love and pain
although everyone thinks he does -
if you did you wouldn't fret so).
Finally I sing
of homes of family transient
(homes started, homes ended,
generations rising, generations falling),
humanity disappearing to the
invisible up or down.
I sing of paradise on earth and
paradise in heaven knowing that
paradise on earth is nothing like
paradise in heaven.
I sing of life at its lowest,
most awful state and yet I sing
because I am an island singer
and I live to sing.
(c) Esther