Sea gulls strut in rolling breakers
brilliant on sandy shore
uninformed of noisy war.
Here death occurs when it should, as it should.
She watches waving beach grasses
while arranging her response
to the anguished caught in wild fires and raging floods.
She says a prayer but can’t think on it for long.
The gulls are flying off
beach grass waves at clouds
crabs burrow in for the night,
Sunset flares as day travels on.
© photo and poem by caf
The shore lies in stillness
a palette for the work of water.
Rocks live free from concern.
Pounding surf or soft caress
of gentle waves –
all the same to rock and shore.
What appears destruction
is only rearrangement –
shocking to brittle minds.
Rock will crumble to sand,
sand will dissolve in water,
and the ocean is all there is.
© poem and photo by caf
The White Mare
A white mare snorted for me in the yard one night
signaling it was time
to leave my desk and pens and tea and come outside
where poetry lives.
I followed her beckoning and rode her to the sea
where I dismounted to watch
as she galloped through the sandy tides.
The waves grew large as the moon rose up
and cloaked us in soft light,
Shadows of clouds lie atop reflective moon beams.
I watched safe from the jetty
as the mare splashed and pranced in the water,
her mane mirrored in the crest of curling waves,
her breath becoming the sound of breakers in the rocks.
Her neigh rose and fell with the wind
and the calls of the gulls in the squall.
A five year old girl appeared and jumped on the mare’s back
clutching her withers and laughing,
daring the sea to swallow them.
The mare paused, gave me a long look and trotted
back to where I clung to the safety of rock and land.
She must have known I longed for the freedom of the storm
for she regarded me with her wild eyes and untamed soul
“Come with us. Everyone needs to leave everything
at least once.”
© Poem and Photo by Carole A. Fults